manifest, it is true, those striking displays of it which, in
Europe, have given renown to great captains. Operating with a
small army over an immense space, great manoeuvres and great
battles were necessarily unknown to him. But his superiority,
acknowledged and declared by his companions, the continuance of
the war during nine years, and its final success, are also to be
taken as proofs of his merit, and may well justify his
reputation. His personal bravery was chivalrous even to rashness,
and he more than once abandoned himself to this impulse in a
manner painful to contemplate. More than once, the American
militia, seized with terror, took to flight, and brave officers
sacrificed their lives to infuse courage into their soldiers.
{69}
In 1776, on a similar occasion, Washington indignantly persisted
in remaining on the field of battle, exerting himself to arrest
the fugitives by his example and even by his hand. "We made,"
wrote General Greene the next day, "a miserable, disorderly
retreat from New York, owing to the disorderly conduct of the
militia. Fellows's and Parsons's brigades ran away from about
fifty men, and left his Excellency on the ground within eighty
yards of the enemy, so vexed at the infamous conduct of the
troops, that he sought death rather than life." [Footnote 32]
[Footnote 32: Washington's Writings, Vol. IV. p. 94.]
On more than one occasion, also, when the opportunity appeared
favorable, he displayed the boldness of the general as well as
the intrepidity of the man. He has been called the _American
Fabius_, it being said that the art of avoiding battle, of
baffling the enemy, and of temporizing, was his talent as well as
his taste. In 1775, before Boston, at the opening of the war,
this Fabius wished to bring it to a close by a sudden attack upon
the English army, which he flattered himself he should be able to
destroy.
{70}
Three successive councils of war, forced him to abandon his
design, but without shaking his conviction, and he expressed
bitter regret at the result. [Footnote 33] In 1776, in the State
of New York, when the weather was extremely cold, in the midst of
a retreat, with troops half disbanded, the greater part of whom
were preparing to leave him and return to their own homes,
Washington suddenly assumed an offensive position, attacked, one
after another, at Trenton and Princeton, the different corps of
the English army, and gained two battles in eight hours.
[Footnote 33: Washington's Writings, Vol. III.
pp. 82, 127, 259, 287, 290, 291, 292, 297.]
Moreover, he understood what was even a much higher and much more
difficult art, than that of making war; he knew how to control
and direct it. War was to him only a means, always kept
subordinate to the main and final object,--the success of the
cause, the independence of the country. When, in 1798, the
prospect of a possible war between the United States and France
occurred to disturb the repose of Mount Vernon, though already
approaching to old age and fond of his retirement, he thus wrote
to Mr. Adams, his successor in the administration of the
republic.
{71}
"It was not difficult for me to perceive that, if we entered
into a serious contest with France, the character of the war
would differ materially from the last we were engaged in. In
the latter, time, caution, and worrying the enemy, until we
could be better provided with arms and other means, and had
better disciplined troops to carry it on, was the plan for us.
But if we should be engaged with the former, they ought to be
attacked every step." [Footnote 34]
[Footnote 34: Washington's Writings, Vol. XI. p. 309.]
This system of active and aggressive war, which, at the age of
sixty-six, he proposed to adopt, was one which, twenty-two years
before, in the vigor of life, neither the advice of some of the
generals, his friends, nor the slanders of some others, his
enemies, nor the complaints of the States which were laid waste
by the enemy, nor popular clamor, nor the desire of glory, nor
the recommendations of Congress itself, had been able to induce
him to follow.
{72}
"I know the unhappy predicament I stand in; I know that much is
expected of me; I know, that without men, without arms, without
ammunition, without any thing fit for the accommodation of a
soldier, little is to be done; and, what is mortifying, I know
that I cannot stand justified to the world without exposing my
own weakness, and injuring the cause, which I am determined not
to do. ... My own situation is so irksome to me at times, that,
if I did not consult the public good more than my own
tranquillity, I should, long ere this, have put every thing on
the cast of a die." [Footnote 35]
[Footnote 35: Washington's Writings, Vol. III p. 284.]
He persisted in this course during nine years. Only when the
protracted nature of the contest and the general indifference
were occasioning a feeling of discouragement, akin to apathy, did
he determine to strike a blow, to encounter some brilliant
hazard, to make the country aware of the presence of his army,
and relieve the people's hearts of some of their apprehensions.
{73}
It was thus that, in 1777, he fought the battle of Germantown.
And when, in the midst of reverses, endured with heroic patience,
he was asked what he should do if the enemy continued to advance,
if Philadelphia, for instance, should be taken; he replied, "We
will retreat beyond the Susquehanna river, and thence, if
necessary, to the Alleghany mountains." [Footnote 36]
[Footnote 36: Sparks's _Washington_, Vol. I. p. 221.]
Besides this patriotic calmness and patience, he displayed the
same quality in another form, still more praiseworthy. He saw,
without chagrin and ill-humor, the successes of his inferiors in
command. Still more, when the public service rendered it
advisable, he supplied them largely with the means and
opportunity of gaining them. A disinterestedness worthy of all
praise, rarely found in the greatest minds; as wise as it was
noble, in the midst of the envious tendencies of a democratic
society; and which, perhaps, we may be permitted to hope, was in
his case attended with a deep and tranquil consciousness of his
superiority, and of the glory that would follow him.
{74}
When the horizon was dark, when repeated checks and a succession
of misfortunes seemed to throw a doubt upon the capacity of the
Commander-in-chief, and gave birth to disorders, intrigues, and
hostile insinuations, a powerful voice was quickly raised in his
behalf,--the voice of the army, which loaded Washington with
testimonials of affectionate respect, and placed him beyond the
reach of complaints and hostile attacks.
In the winter of 1777 and 1778. while the army was encamped at
Valley Forge, exposed to the most severe hardships, some restless
and treacherous spirits organized against Washington a conspiracy
of considerable magnitude, which penetrated into the Congress
itself. He opposed himself to it with stern frankness, saying,
without reserve and without cautious insincerity, all he thought
of his adversaries, and leaving his conduct to speak for itself.
Such a course, at such a moment, was putting much at hazard. But
the public respect in which he was held was so profound, the
friends of Washington, Lord Stirling, Lafayette, Greene, Knox,
Patrick Henry, Henry Laurens, supported him so warmly, the
movement of opinion in the army was so decided, that he triumphed
almost without defending himself.
{75}
The principal framer of this conspiracy, an Irishman by the name
of Conway, after having sent in his resignation, continued to
spread against him the most injurious charges. General Cadwalader
resented this conduct; a duel was the consequence; and Conway,
severely wounded, and believing himself to be near his death,
wrote as follows, to Washington.
"I find myself just able to hold the pen during a few minutes,
and take this opportunity of expressing my sincere grief for
having done, written, or said any thing disagreeable to your
Excellency. My career will soon be over; therefore justice and
truth prompt me to declare my last sentiments. You are, in my
eyes, the great and good man. May you long enjoy the love,
veneration, and esteem of these States, whose liberties you
have asserted by your virtues." [Footnote 37]
[Footnote 37: Washington's Writings, Vol. V. p. 517. ]
{76}
In 1779, the officers of a New Jersey regiment, imperfectly paid,
burdened with debts contracted in the service, anxious about
their future prospects and those of their families, made an
official declaration to the legislature of that State, that they
would resign in a body, if they were not better treated.
Washington blamed them extremely, and required of them to
withdraw their declaration; but they persisted in their course.
"It was, and still is, our determination to march with our
regiment, and to do the duty of officers, until the legislature
should have a reasonable time to appoint others, but no longer.
We beg leave to assure your Excellency, that we have the highest
sense of your ability and virtues; that executing your orders has
ever given us pleasure; that we love the service, and love our
country; but when that country gets so lost to virtue and
justice, as to forget to support its servants, it then becomes
their duty to retire from its service." [Footnote 38]
[Footnote 38: Marshall's _Life of Washington_,
Vol. IV. p. 47.]
{77}
Thus, respect for Washington appeared conspicuously, even in the
cabals formed against him, and was mingled with disobedience
itself.
In the state of distress and disorganization into which the
American army was perpetually falling, the personal influence of
Washington, the affection which was felt for him, the desire of
imitating his example, the fear of losing his esteem, or even of
giving him pain, deserve to be enumerated among the principal
causes, which kept many men, both officers and soldiers, at their
posts, kindled anew their zeal, and formed among them that
military _esprit de corps_, that friendship of the camp,
which is a feeling of great strength, and a fine compensating
influence in so rough a profession.
It is a privilege of great men, and often a corrupting one, to
inspire affection and devotedness, without feeling them in
return. This vice of greatness Washington was exempt from. He
loved his associates, his officers, his army. It was not merely
from a sense of justice and duty, that he sympathized in their
sufferings, and took their interests into his own hands with an
indefatigable zeal.
{78}
He regarded them with a truly tender feeling, marked by
compassion for the sufferings he had seen them endure, and by
gratitude for the attachment which they had shown to him. And
when, in 1783, at the close of the war, at Frances's tavern, in
New York, the principal officers, at the moment of their final
separation, passed in silence before him, each one pressing his
hand as he went by, he was himself moved and agitated, at heart
and in his countenance, to a degree that seemed hardly consistent
with the firm composure of his spirit.
Nevertheless, he never showed to the army any weakness, or any
spirit of unworthy compliance. He never permitted it to be the
first object of consideration to itself, and never lost an
opportunity to inculcate upon it this truth, that subordination
and implicit submission, not only to its country, but to the
civil power, was its natural condition, and its first duty.
Upon this subject, he gave it, on three important occasions, the
most admirable and the most effective of lessons, that of
example. In 1782, he rejected, "with great and painful surprise,"
[Footnote 39] (these are his expressions), the crown and the
supreme power, which some discontented officers were offering to
him.
[Footnote 39: Washington's Writings, Vol. VIII. p. 300.]
{79}
In 1783, on the eve of the disbanding of the troops, having been
informed that the draft of an address was circulating through the
army, and that a general meeting was about to be held to
deliberate upon the means of obtaining by force, that which
Congress, in spite of justice, had refused to grant, he
expressed, in the orders of the day, his strong disapprobation of
the measure, himself called together another meeting, attended in
person, recalled the officers to the consideration of their duty
and the public good, and then withdrew, before any discussion
took place, wishing to leave to the parties themselves the merit
of retracing their steps, which was done promptly and generally.
[Footnote 40]
[Footnote 40: Washington's Writings,
Vol. VIII. pp. 392-400.]
{80}
Finally, in 1784 and 1787, when the officers in their retirement
attempted to form among themselves the Society of Cincinnati, in
order to preserve some bond of union in their dispersed
condition, and for the mutual aid of themselves and their
families, as soon as Washington saw that the uneasiness and
distrust of a jealous people were awakened by the mere name of a
military society, a military order, notwithstanding the personal
inclination which he felt towards the institution, he not only
caused a change to be made in its statutes, but publicly declined
being its president, and ceased to take any part in it. [Footnote
41]
[Footnote 41: Washington's Writings,
Vol. IX. pp. 26, 127.]
By a singular coincidence, about the same time, Gustavus the
Third, king of Sweden, forbade the Swedish officers who had
served in the French army during the American war, to wear the
order of the Cincinnati, "on the ground, that the institution had
a republican tendency not suited to his government." [Footnote
42]
[Footnote 42: Ibid., Vol. IX. p. 56.]
"If we cannot convince the people that their fears are
ill-founded, we should, at least, in a degree yield to them,"
said Washington, upon this subject. [Footnote 43]
[Footnote 43: Ibid., Vol. IX. p. 35.]
He did not yield, even to the people, when the public interest
would have suffered from such a course; but he had too just a
sense of the relative importance of things to display the same
inflexibility, when merely personal interests or private
feelings, however reasonable, were in question.
{81}
When the object of the war was obtained, when he had taken leave
of his companions in arms, mingled with his affectionate regret,
and the joy which he felt in the prospect of repose after
victory, another feeling may be perceived in his mind, faint
indeed, and perhaps even unknown to himself, and this was, a
regret in leaving his military life, that noble profession to
which he had devoted his best years with so much distinction. It
was a highly congenial employment to Washington, whose genius was
methodical, and more firm than inventive; who was just, and full
of good-will to all men, but grave, somewhat cold, born for
command rather than struggle; in action, loving order,
discipline, and subordination of ranks; and preferring the simple
and vigorous exercise of power, in a good cause, to the
complicated intrigues and impassioned debates of politics.
{82}
"The scene is at last closed. ... On the eve of Christmas, I
entered these doors an older man by nine years than when I left
them. ... I am just beginning to experience that ease and freedom
from public cares, which, however desirable, takes some time to
realize. It was not till lately I could get the better of my
usual custom of ruminating, as soon as I waked in the morning, on
the business of the ensuing day; and of my surprise at finding,
after revolving many things in my mind, that I was no longer a
public man, nor had any thing to do with public transactions. ...
I hope to spend the remainder of my days in cultivating the
affections of good men, and in the practice of the domestic
virtues. ... The life of a husbandman, of all others, is the most
delightful. It is honorable, it is amusing, and, with judicious
management, it is profitable. ... I have not only retired from
all public employments, but I am retiring within myself, and
shall be able to view the solitary walk, and tread the paths of
private life, with a heartfelt satisfaction. Envious of none, I
am determined to be pleased with all; and this, my dear friend,
being the order for my march, I will move gently down the stream
of life, until I sleep with my fathers." [Footnote 44]
[Footnote 44: Washington's Writings,
Vol. IX. pp. 1, 17, 18, 21, 323.]
{83}
Washington, in uttering such language, was not merely expressing
a momentary feeling, the enjoyment of repose, after
long-protracted toil, and of liberty, after a severe confinement.
The tranquil and active life of a great landed proprietor; those
employments, full of interest and free from anxiety; that
domestic authority, seldom disputed, and attended with little
responsibility; that admirable harmony between the intelligence
of man and the prolific power of nature; that sober and simple
hospitality; the high satisfaction which springs from
consideration and good-will obtained without effort,--these were
truly suited to his taste, and were the objects of constant
preference to his mind. He would probably have chosen this very
life. He enjoyed it; and he enjoyed, besides, all that could be
added to it by the public gratitude and his glory, which were
delightful in spite of their importunate claims upon him.
{84}
Always of a serious and practical turn of mind, he made
improvements in the cultivation of his estates, embellished his
mansion-house, occupied himself with the local interests of
Virginia, traced the outline of that great system of internal
navigation from east to west, which was destined, at a future
period, to put the United States in possession of one-half the
new world, established schools, put his papers in order, carried
on an extensive correspondence, and took great pleasure in
receiving, under his roof, and at his table, his attached
friends. "It is my wish," he wrote to one of them, a few days
after his return to Mount Vernon, "that the mutual friendship and
esteem, which have been planted and fostered in the tumult of
public life, may not wither and die in the serenity of
retirement. We should rather amuse the evening hours of life in
cultivating the tender plants, and bringing them to perfection
before they are transplanted to a happier clime." [Footnote 45]
[Footnote 45: Washington's Writings, Vol. IX. p. 5.]
{85}
Towards the end of the year 1784, M. de Lafayette came to Mount
Vernon. Washington felt for him a truly paternal affection, the
tenderest, perhaps, of which his life presents any trace. Apart
from the services rendered by him, from the personal esteem he
inspired, and from the attractiveness of his character, apart
even from the enthusiastic devotion which M. de Lafayette
testified for him, this elegant and chivalrous young nobleman,
who had escaped from the court of Versailles to dedicate his
sword and his fortune to the yeomanry of America, was singularly
pleasing to the grave American general. It was, as it were, a
homage paid by the nobility of the old world to his cause and his
person; a sort of connecting tie between him and that French
society, which was so brilliant, so intellectual, and so
celebrated. In his modest elevation of mind, he was flattered as
well as touched by it, and his thoughts rested with an emotion
full of complacency upon this young friend, whose life was like
that of none other, and who had quitted every thing to serve by
his side.
{86}
"In the moment of our separation," he wrote to him, "upon the
road as I traveled, and every hour since, I have felt all that
love, respect, and attachment for you, with which length of
years, close connection, and your merits have inspired me. I
often asked myself, as our carriages separated, whether that was
the last sight I should ever have of you. And though I wished to
say No, my fears answered Yes. I called to mind the days of my
youth, and found they had long since fled to return no more; that
I was now descending the hill I had been fifty-two years
climbing, and that, though I was blest with a good constitution,
I was of a short-lived family, and might soon expect to be
entombed in the mansion of my fathers. These thoughts darkened
the shades, and gave a gloom to the picture, and consequently to
my prospect of seeing you again. But I will not repine; I have
had my day." [Footnote 46]
[Footnote 46: Washington's Writings, Vol. IX. p. 77.]
Notwithstanding this sad presentiment, and his sincere taste for
repose, his thoughts dwelt constantly upon the condition and
affairs of his country. No man can separate himself from the
place in which he has once held a distinguished position.
{87}
"Retired as I am from the world," he writes in 1786, "I frankly
acknowledge I cannot feel myself an unconcerned spectator."
[Footnote 47]
[Footnote 47: Washington's Writings, Vol. IX. p. 189.]
The spectacle deeply affected and disturbed him. The
Confederation was falling to pieces. Congress, its sole bond of
union, was without power, not even daring to make use of the
little that was intrusted to it. The moral weakness of men was
added to the political weakness of institutions. The States were
falling a prey to their hostilities, to their mutual distrust, to
their narrow and selfish views. The treaties, which had
sanctioned the national independence, were executed only in an
imperfect and a precarious manner. The debts contracted, both in
the old and new world, were unpaid. The taxes destined to
liquidate them never found their way into the public treasury.
Agriculture was languishing; commerce was declining; anarchy was
extending. In all parts of the country itself, whether
enlightened or ignorant, whether the blame was laid on the
government, or the want of government, the discontent was
general.
{88}
In Europe, the reputation of the United States was rapidly
sinking. It was asked if there would ever be any United States.
England encouraged this doubt, looking forward to the hour when
she might profit by it.
The sorrow of Washington was extreme, and he was agitated and
humbled as if he had been still responsible for the course of
events. "What, gracious God!" he wrote, on learning the troubles
in Massachusetts, "is man, that there should be such
inconsistency and perfidiousness in his conduct? It was but the
other day, that we were shedding our blood to obtain the
constitutions under which we now live; constitutions of our own
choice and making; and now we are unsheathing the sword to
overturn them. The thing is so unaccountable, that I hardly know
how to realize it, or to persuade myself, that I am not under the
illusion of a dream." [Footnote 48]
[Footnote 48: Washington's Writings, Vol. IX. p. 221.]
{89}
"We have probably had too good an opinion of human nature in
forming our confederation. Experience has taught us, that men
will not adopt and carry into execution measures the best
calculated for their own good, without the intervention of a
coercive power." [Footnote 49]
[Footnote 49: Washington's Writings, Vol. IX. p. 187.]
"From the high ground we stood upon, to be so fallen, so lost, is
really mortifying." [Footnote 50] "In regretting, which I have
often done with the keenest sorrow, the death of our much
lamented friend, General Greene, I have accompanied it of late
with a query, whether he would not have preferred such an exit to
the scenes which, it is more than probable, many of his
compatriots may live to bemoan." [Footnote 51]
[Footnote 50: Ibid., Vol. IX. p. 167.]
[Footnote 51: Ibid., Vol. IX. p. 226.]