THE LAST CAMPAIGN.
The battle of Monmouth was the last great battle before the final victory
at Yorktown. The three and a half years which intervened, however, were
busy years for Washington. He was obliged to settle disputes between the
French and American officers, to order the disposition of the forces, and
to give his attention to all the suggestions of plans for action. He was
greatly concerned that Congress should be growing weak and inefficient.
Here was a man, whom some had foolishly supposed to be aiming at supreme
power, only anxious that the civil government should be strengthened. He
saw very clearly that while the separate States were looking after their
several affairs, the Congress which represented the whole country was
losing its influence and power. “I think our political system,” he wrote,
“may be compared to the mechanism of a clock, and that we should derive a
lesson from it; for it answers no good purpose to keep the smaller wheels
in order, if the greater one, which is the support and prime mover of the
whole, is neglected.”
[Illustration: WASHINGTON’S CAMP-CHEST AND COOKING UTENSILS. [NOW IN THE
NATIONAL MUSEUM AT WASHINGTON, D. C.]]
He was indignant at the manner in which Congressmen, and others who
were concerned in the affairs of the country, spent their time in
Philadelphia. “An assembly,” he said, “a concert, a dinner, a supper,
that will cost three or four hundred pounds, will not only take off men
from acting in this business, but even from thinking of it; while a great
part of the officers of our army, from absolute necessity, are quitting
the service; and the more virtuous few, rather than do this, are sinking
by sure degrees into beggary and want.” How simply he himself lived may
be seen by the jocose letter which he wrote to a friend, inviting him to
dine with him at headquarters. The letter is addressed to Dr. Cochran,
Surgeon-General in the army:
“DEAR DOCTOR: I have asked Mrs. Cochran and Mrs. Livingston
to dine with me to-morrow; but am I not in honor bound to
apprize them of their fare? As I hate deception, even where
the imagination only is concerned, I will. It is needless to
premise that my table is large enough to hold the ladies. Of
this they had ocular proof yesterday. To say how it is usually
covered, is rather more essential; and this shall be the
purport of my letter.
“Since our arrival at this happy spot, we have had a ham,
sometimes a shoulder of bacon, to grace the head of the table;
a piece of roast beef adorns the foot; and a dish of beans
or greens, almost imperceptible, decorates the center. When
the cook has a mind to cut a figure, which I presume will be
the case to-morrow, we have two beefsteak pies, or dishes of
crabs, dividing the space and reducing the distance between
dish and dish, to about six feet, which, without them, would
be near twelve feet apart. Of late he has had the surprising
sagacity to discover that apples will make pies; and it is a
question if, in the violence of his efforts, we do not get one
of apples, instead of having both of beefsteaks. If the ladies
can put up with such entertainment, and will submit to partake
of it on plates once tin but now iron (not become so by the
labor of scouring), I shall be happy to see them; and am, dear
Doctor, yours.”
The main activity of the two armies in the last years of the war was
in the South, where General Gates, and after him General Greene, were
engaged in a contest with Lord Cornwallis. Washington, meanwhile,
kept his position on the Hudson, where he could watch the movements
of the enemy still in strong force in New York. The care of the whole
country was on his shoulders, for, except by his personal endeavors,
it was impossible for the armies to secure even what support they did
receive from Congress and the State governments. The letters written by
Washington during this period disclose the numberless difficulties which
he was obliged to meet and overcome. He was the one man to whom all
turned, and he gave freely of himself. How completely he ignored his own
personal interests may be seen by an incident which occurred at Mount
Vernon.
Several British vessels had sailed up the Chesapeake and Potomac, and had
pillaged the country roundabout. When these vessels lay off Mount Vernon,
the manager of Washington’s estate, anxious to save the property under
his charge, went out and bought off the marauders by a liberal gift.
Washington wrote at once, rebuking him for his conduct. In the letter, he
used these words:
“I am very sorry to hear of your loss: I am a little sorry to
hear of my own; but that which gives me most concern is, that
you should go on board the enemy’s vessel and furnish them with
refreshments. It would have been a less painful circumstance to
me to have heard that, in consequence of your non-compliance
with their request, they had burnt my house and laid the
plantation in ruins. You ought to have considered yourself as
my representative, and should have reflected on the bad example
of communicating with the enemy, and making a voluntary offer
of refreshments to them with a view to prevent a conflagration.
It was not in your power, I acknowledge, to prevent them from
sending a flag on shore, and you did right to meet it; but
you should, in the same instant that the business of it was
unfolded, have declared explicitly that it was improper for you
to yield to their request; after which, if they had proceeded
to help themselves by force, you could but have submitted; and
being unprovided for defense, this was to be preferred to a
feeble opposition, which only serves as a pretext to burn and
destroy.”
In July, 1781, Washington’s army, which was watching Sir Henry Clinton
in New York, was re-enforced by the French troops, and at the same time
a French squadron cruised off the coast ready to co-operate. General
Greene was crowding Lord Cornwallis in the South and edging him up into
Virginia, and the design was to keep the two British armies apart, and
defeat each. But the siege of New York was likely to be a long one, and
the French admiral had orders to repair to the West Indies in the fall.
So time was precious.
Accordingly, Washington determined to mass his troops in Virginia, unite
the northern and southern armies, and, in conjunction with the French
fleet, completely crush Cornwallis. It was necessary, however, that
Clinton, in New York, should suspect nothing of this scheme, or else he,
too, would join Cornwallis. The change of plan was carried out with great
skill. Letters were written detailing imaginary movements, and these
letters fell into the hands of the British general, who supposed that
great preparations were making to attack him in New York. Meanwhile, a
few troops only were left in camp at White Plains, while the rest of the
army crossed the Hudson and moved rapidly to Virginia. It was not until
the two armies were within reach of each other that Clinton learned what
had really been going on.
[Illustration: KNIFE-AND-FORK-CASE USED BY WASHINGTON.]
Washington took this opportunity to make a flying visit to Mount Vernon.
It was the first time he had been there since he left it to attend
that meeting of the Continental Congress at which he had been chosen
Commander-in-Chief. He had never lost sight of his home, however. Thither
his thoughts often turned, and many a time, amid the anxieties and cares
of his burdensome life, he looked with longing toward the quiet haven of
Mount Vernon. He wrote weekly to the manager of his estate, and he gave
him one general rule of conduct in this wise: “Let the hospitality of the
house, with respect to the poor, be kept up. Let no one go away hungry.
If any of this kind of people should be in want of corn, supply their
necessities, provided it does not encourage them in idleness.”
[Illustration: “PRESENTLY A BALL DID STRIKE THE CANNON, AND, ROLLING OFF,
FELL AT WASHINGTON’S FEET.”]
He staid but a couple of days at Mount Vernon, where he was joined by
Count Rochambeau, and then he hastened to the headquarters of the army
at Williamsburg. It was now the middle of September. Cornwallis was at
Yorktown, and everything depended on the ability of the combined French
and American forces to capture his army before he could be re-enforced
by Clinton. The leading generals of the American army were there eagerly
directing operations, and Washington was at the front superintending the
works, for the men were fighting Cornwallis with the spade as well as
with cannon. Washington put the match to the first gun that was fired.
One who was in the army at the time relates an incident that came under
his notice:
“A considerable cannonading from the enemy; one shot killed three men,
and mortally wounded another. While the Rev. Mr. Evans, our chaplain, was
standing near the Commander-in-Chief, a shot struck the ground so near as
to cover his hat with sand. Being much agitated, he took off his hat, and
said, ‘See here, General!’ ‘Mr. Evans,’ replied his excellency, with his
usual composure, ‘you’d better carry that home and show it to your wife
and children.’”
Indeed it seemed to many that Washington bore a charmed life, and it
was often said that he was under the special protection of God. He was
fearless, and constantly exposed to danger, but his constant escapes
made him cool and self-possessed, and the admiration of his men. He was
excited by the events which were hurrying the war to the close, and he
watched with intense earnestness the several assaults which were made on
the works. Once he had dismounted and was standing by Generals Knox and
Lincoln at the grand battery. It was not a safe place, for, though they
were behind a fortification, it was quite possible for shot to enter
the opening through which they were looking. One of his aids, growing
nervous, begged him to leave, for the place was very much exposed.
“If you think so,” said Washington, “you are at liberty to step back.”
Presently a ball did strike the cannon, and, rolling off, fell at
Washington’s feet. General Knox seized him by the arm.
“My dear General,” said he, “we can’t spare you yet.”
“It’s a spent ball,” replied Washington, coolly. “No harm is done.” He
watched the action until the redoubts which his men had been assaulting
were taken; then he drew a long breath of relief and turned to Knox.
“The work is done,” he said emphatically; “and well done.”
The siege was short, the work was sharp, for it was full of enthusiasm
and hope, and when, on October 19, the army of Lord Cornwallis
surrendered to General Washington, there was a tumult of rejoicing in
camp which was long remembered. Washington issued orders that the army
should give thanks to God. “Divine service,” he said, “is to be performed
to-morrow in the several brigades and divisions. The Commander-in-Chief
earnestly recommends that the troops not on duty should universally
attend, with that seriousness of deportment and gratitude of heart which
the recognition of such reiterated and astonishing interpositions of
Providence demand of us.”
The officers of the combined armies spent some time in the neighborhood,
and there was a great ball given at Fredericksburg by the citizens of
the place. The most distinguished guest was the mother of Washington,
then seventy-four years old, who came into the room leaning on the arm
of her son. She was quiet and dignified, as one after another of the
French officers made his bow and his complimentary speech; but I think
there must have been a great deal of motherly pride in her heart, though
it is said that when her George came to see her alone after the victory
at Yorktown, she spoke to him of his health, marked the lines of care in
his face, spoke of his early days, and gave him a mother’s caution, but
said nothing of the glory he had won. To the last he was her boy, and not
America’s hero.