_A Life of Washington. By James K. Paulding. New York: Harper and
Brothers._
We have read Mr. Paulding's Life of Washington with a degree of
interest seldom excited in us by the perusal of any book whatever. We
are convinced by a deliberate examination of the design, manner, and
rich material of the work, that, as it grows in age, it will grow in
the estimation of our countrymen, and, finally, will not fail to take
a deeper hold upon the public mind, and upon the public affections,
than any work upon the same subject, or of a similar nature, which has
been yet written--or, possibly, which may be written hereafter.
Indeed, we cannot perceive the necessity of any thing farther upon the
great theme of Washington. Mr. Paulding has completely and most
beautifully filled the _vacuum_ which the works of Marshall and Sparks
have left open. He has painted the boy, the man, the husband, and the
Christian. He has introduced us to the private affections,
aspirations, and charities of that hero whose affections of all
affections were the most serene, whose aspirations the most God-like,
and whose charities the most gentle and pure. He has taken us abroad
with the patriot-farmer in his rambles about his homestead. He has
seated us in his study and shown us the warrior-Christian in
unobtrusive communion with his God. He has done all this too, and
more, in a simple and quiet manner, in a manner peculiarly his own,
and which mainly because it is his own, cannot fail to be exceedingly
effective. Yet it is very possible that the public may, for many years
to come, overlook the rare merits of a work whose want of arrogant
assumption is so little in keeping with the usages of the day, and
whose striking simplicity and _naiveté_ of manner give, to a cursory
examination, so little evidence of the labor of composition. We have
no fears, however, for the future. Such books as these before us, go
down to posterity like rich wines, with a certainty of being more
valued as they go. They force themselves with the gradual but rapidly
accumulating power of strong wedges into the hearts and understandings
of a community.
From the preface we learn, that shortly after the conclusion of the
late war, Mr. Paulding resided for several years in the city of
Washington, and that his situation bringing him into familiar
intercourse with "many respectable and some distinguished persons" who
had been associated with the Father of his Country, the idea was then
first conceived of writing a Life of that great man which should more
directly appeal to the popular feeling of the land, than any one
previously attempted. With this intent, he lost no opportunity of
acquiring information, from all authentic sources within his reach, of
the private life, habits and peculiarities of his subject. We learn
too that the work thus early proposed was never banished from the mind
of the author. The original intention, however, was subsequently
modified, with a view of adapting the book to the use of schools, and
"generally to that class of readers who have neither the means of
purchasing, nor the leisure to read a larger and more expensive
publication." Much of the information concerning the domestic life of
Washington was derived immediately from his cotemporaries, and from
the "present most estimable lady who is now in possession of Mount
Vernon." In detailing the events of the Revolution, the author has
principally consulted the public and private letters of Washington.
The rich abundance of those delightful anecdotes and memorials of the
private man which render a book of this nature invaluable--an
abundance which has hardly more delighted than astonished us--is the
prevailing feature of Mr. Paulding's Washington. We proceed, without
apology, to copy for the benefit of our readers such as most
immediately present themselves.
Although it is of little consequence who were the distant ancestors of
a man who, by common consent, is hailed as the Father of his Country,
yet any particulars concerning his family cannot but be a subject of
curiosity. In all my general reading I have only chanced to meet with
the name of Washington three or four times in the early history and
literature of England. In the diary of Elias Ashmole, founder of the
Ashmolean Museum, are the following entries:--
"_June 12th, 1645_. I entered on my command as comptroller of the
ordnance."
"_June 18th_. I received my commission from Colonel Washington."
Hume, in his account of the siege of Bristol, has the following
passage:--"One party led by Lord Grandison was beaten off and its
commander himself mortally wounded. Another, conducted by Colonel
Bellasis, met with a like fate. But Washington, with a less party,
finding a place in the curtain weaker than the rest, broke in, and
quickly made room for the horse to follow." This was in 1643. Five
years afterwards, that deluded monarch, Charles I., suffered the just
consequences of his offences against the majesty of the people of
England, and from that time the cause of royalty appeared desperate.
The more distinguished and obnoxious adherents of the Stuarts exiled
themselves in foreign lands, and the date of the supposed arrival of
the first Washington in Virginia, accords well with the supposition
that he may have been the same person mentioned by Ashmole and Hume.
In an old collection of poetry, by Sir John Menzies[2] and others,
there is a fine copy of verses to the memory of Mr. Washington, page
to the king, who died in Spain. In the year 1640, William Legge, Earl
of Dartmouth, married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir William Washington.
But the name and family of Washington are now extinct in the land of
our forefathers. When General Washington was about making his will, he
caused inquiries to be instituted, being desirous to leave some
memorial to all his relations. The result was a conviction that none
of the family existed in that country. But the topic is rather curious
than important. The subject of this biography could receive little
additional dignity through a descent from the most illustrious
families of Christendom. He stands alone in the pure atmosphere of his
own glory. He derived no title to honors from his ancestry, and left
no child but his country to inherit his fame.
[Footnote 2: Perhaps _Mennes_--Ed.]
The house in which Washington was born stood about half a mile from
the junction of Pope's Creek with the Potomac, and was either burned
or pulled down long previous to the revolution. A few scanty relics
alone remain to mark the spot which will ever be sacred in the eyes of
posterity. A clump of old decayed {397} fig trees, probably coeval
with the mansion, yet exists; a number of vines, and shrubs, and
flowers still reproduce themselves every year as if to mark its site,
and flourish among the hallowed ruins; and a stone, placed there by
Mr. George Washington Custis, bears the simple inscription, "Here, on
the 11th of February," (O.S.) "1732, George Washington was born."
The spot is of the deepest interest, not only from its associations,
but its natural beauties. It commands a view of the Maryland shore of
the Potomac, one of the most majestic of rivers, and of its course for
many miles towards Chesapeake Bay. An aged gentleman, still living in
the neighborhood, remembers the house in which Washington was born. It
was a low pitched, single-storied, frame building, with four rooms on
the first floor and an enormous chimney at each end on the outside.
This was the style of the better sort of houses in those days, and
they are still occasionally seen in the old settlements of Virginia.
On page 106, vol. i., we find the following interesting particulars:
It has been related to me by one whose authority I cannot doubt, that
the first meeting of Colonel Washington with his future wife was
entirely accidental, and took place at the house of Mr. Chamberlayne,
who resided on the Pamunkey, one of the branches of York River.
Washington was on his way to Williamsburg, on somewhat pressing
business, when he met Mr. Chamberlayne, who, according to the good old
Virginia custom, which forbids a traveller to pass the door without
doing homage at the fireside of hospitality, insisted on his stopping
an hour or two at his mansion. Washington complied unwillingly, for
his business was urgent. But it is said that he was in no haste to
depart, for he had met the lady of his fate in the person of Mrs.
Martha Custis, of the White House, county of New Kent, in Virginia.
I have now before me a copy of an original picture of this lady, taken
about the time of which I am treating, when she captivated the
affections of Washington. It represents a figure rather below the
middle size, with hazel eyes, and hair of the same colour, finely
rounded arms, a beautiful chest and taper waist, dressed in a blue
silk robe of the fashion of the times, and altogether furnishing a
very sufficient apology to a young gentleman of seven and twenty for
delaying his journey, and perhaps forgetting his errand for a time.
The sun went down and rose again before Washington departed for
Williamsburg, leaving his heart behind him, and, perhaps, carrying
another away in exchange. Having completed his business at the seat of
government, he soon after visited the White House, and being
accustomed, as my informant says, to energetic and persevering action,
won the lady and carried her off from a crowd of rivals.
The marriage look place in the winter of 1759, but at what precise
date is not to be found in any record, nor is it, I believe, within
the recollection of any person living. I have in my possession a
manuscript containing the particulars of various conversations with
old Jeremy, Washington's black servant, who was with him at Braddock's
defeat, and accompanied him on his wedding expedition to the White
House. Old Jeremy is still living while I am now writing, and in full
possession of his faculties. His memory is most especially preserved,
and, as might be expected, he delights to talk of Massa George. The
whole series of conversations was taken down verbatim, in the peculiar
phraseology of the old man, and it is quite impossible to read the
record of this living chronicle of the early days of Washington,
without receiving the full conviction of its perfect truth.
The following account of his last illness is copied, we are told, from
a memorandum in the handwriting of Tobias Lear, his private secretary
and confidential friend, who attended him from first to last.
On Thursday, Dec. 12, the general rode out to his farms at about ten
o'clock, and did not return home till past three. Soon after he went
out the weather became very bad; rain, hail, and snow falling
alternately, with a cold wind. When he came in, I carried some letters
to him to frank, intending to send them to the post-office. He franked
the letters, but said the weather was too bad to send a servant to the
office that evening. I observed to him that I was afraid he had got
wet; he said, no; his great coat had kept him dry: but his neck
appeared to be wet--the snow was hanging on his hair.
He came to dinner without changing his dress. In the evening he
appeared as well as usual. A heavy fall of snow took place on Friday,
which prevented the general from riding out as usual. He had taken
cold (undoubtedly from being so much exposed the day before,) and
complained of having a sore throat; he had a hoarseness, which
increased in the evening, but he made light of it, as he would never
take any thing to carry off a cold,--always observing, 'Let it go as
it came.' In the evening, the papers having come from the post office,
he sat in the room with Mrs. Washington and myself, reading them till
about nine o'clock; and when he met with any thing which he thought
diverting or interesting, he would read it aloud. He desired me to
read to him the debates of the Virginia Assembly on the election of a
senator and governor, which I did. On his retiring to bed he appeared
to be in perfect health, except the cold, which he considered as
trifling--he had been remarkably cheerful all the evening.
About two or three o'clock on Saturday morning he awoke Mrs.
Washington, and informed her that he felt very unwell, and had an
ague. She observed that he could scarcely speak, and breathed with
difficulty, and she wished to get up and call a servant; but the
general would not permit her, lest she should take cold. As soon as
the day appeared, the woman Caroline went into the room to make a
fire, and the general desired that Mr. Rawlins, one of the overseers,
who was used to bleeding the people, might be sent for to bleed him
before the doctor could arrive. I was sent for--went to the general's
chamber, where Mrs. Washington was up, and related to me his being
taken ill between two and three o'clock, as before stated. I found him
breathing with difficulty, and hardly able to utter a word
intelligibly. I went out instantly, and wrote a line to Dr. Plask, and
sent it with all speed. Immediately I returned to the general's
chamber, where I found him in the same situation I had left him. A
mixture of molasses, vinegar, and butter was prepared, but he could
not swallow a drop; whenever he attempted he was distressed,
convulsed, and almost suffocated.
Mr. Rawlins came in soon after sunrise and prepared to bleed him; when
the arm was ready, the general, observing Rawlins appeared agitated,
said, with difficulty, 'Don't be afraid;' and after the incision was
made, he observed the orifice was not large enough: however, the blood
ran pretty freely. Mrs. Washington, not knowing whether bleeding was
proper in the general's situation, begged that much might not be taken
from him, and desired me to stop it. When I was about to untie the
string, the general put up his hand to prevent it, and, as soon as he
could speak, said, 'More.'
Mrs. Washington still uneasy lest too much blood should be drawn, it
was stopped after about half a pint had been taken. Finding that no
relief was obtained from bleeding, and that nothing could be
swallowed, I proposed bathing the throat externally with sal volatile,
which was done; a piece of flannel was then put round his neck. His
feet were also soaked in warm water, but this gave no relief. By Mrs.
Washington's request, I despatched a messenger for Doctor Brown at
Port Tobacco. About nine o'clock, Dr. Craik arrived, and put a blister
of cantharides on the throat of the general, and took more blood, and
had some vinegar and hot water set in a teapot, for him to draw in the
stream from the spout.
He also had sage-tea and vinegar mixed and used as a gargle, but when
he held back his head to let it run down, it almost produced
suffocation. When the mixture came out of his mouth some phlegm
followed it, and he would attempt to cough, which the doctor
encouraged, but without effect. About eleven o'clock, Dr. Dick was
sent for. Dr. Craik bled the general again; no effect was produced,
and he continued in the same state, unable to swallow any thing. Dr.
Dick came in about three o'clock, and Dr. Brown arrived soon after;
when, after consultation, the general was bled again: the blood ran
slowly, appeared very thick, and did not produce any symptoms of
fainting. At four o'clock the general could swallow a little. Calomel
and tartar emetic were administered without effect. About half past
four o'clock he requested me to ask Mrs. Washington to come to his
bedside, when he desired her to go down to his room, and take from his
desk two wills which she would find there, and bring them to him,
which she did. Upon looking at one, which he observed was useless, he
desired her to burn it, which she did; and then took the other and put
it away. After this was done, I returned again to his bedside and took
his hand. He said to me, 'I find I am going--my breath cannot continue
long--I believed from the first attack it would be fatal. Do you
arrange and {398} record all my military letters and papers; arrange
my accounts and settle my books, as you know more about them than any
one else; and let Mr. Rawlins finish recording my other letters, which
he has begun.' He asked when Mr. Lewis and Washington would return? I
told him that I believed about the twentieth of the month. He made no
reply.
The physicians arrived between five and six o'clock, and when they
came to his bedside, Dr. Craik asked him if he would sit up in the
bed: he held out his hand to me and was raised up, when he said to the
physician--'I feel myself going; you had better not take any more
trouble about me, but let me go off quietly; I cannot last long.' They
found what had been done was without effect; he laid down again, and
they retired, excepting Dr. Craik. He then said to him--'Doctor, I die
hard, but I am not afraid to go; I believed from my first attack I
should not survive it; my breath cannot last long.' The doctor pressed
his hand, but could not utter a word; he retired from the bedside and
sat by the fire, absorbed in grief. About eight o'clock, the
physicians again came into the room, and applied blisters to his legs,
but went out without a ray of hope. From this time he appeared to
breathe with less difficulty than he had done, but was very restless,
continually changing his position, to endeavor to get ease. I aided
him all in my power, and was gratified in believing he felt it, for he
would look upon me with eyes speaking gratitude, but unable to utter a
word without great distress. About ten o'clock he made several
attempts to speak to me before he could effect it; at length he said,
'I am just going. Have me decently buried; and do not let my body be
put into the vault in less than two days after I am dead.' I bowed
assent. He looked at me again and said, 'Do you understand me?' I
replied, 'Yes, sir.' ''Tis well,' said he. About ten minutes before he
expired, his breathing became much easier: he lay quietly: he withdrew
his hand from mine, and felt his own pulse. I spoke to Dr. Craik, who
sat by the fire; he came to the bedside. The general's hand fell from
his wrist; I took it in mine, and placed it on my breast. Dr. Craik
placed his hands over his eyes; and he expired without a struggle or a
sigh.
We proceed with some farther extracts of a like kind taken at random
from the book.
His manly disinterestedness appeared, not only in thus divesting
himself of the means of acquiring glory, perhaps of the power of
avoiding defeat and disgrace, but in a private act which deserves
equally to be remembered. While the British fleet was lying in the
Potomac, in the vicinity of Mount Vernon, a message was sent to the
overseer, demanding a supply of fresh provisions. The usual penalty of
a refusal was setting fire to the house and barns of the owner. To
prevent this destruction of property, the overseer, on receipt of the
message, gathered a supply of provisions, and went himself on board
with a flag, accompanying the present with a request that the property
of the general might be spared.
Washington was exceedingly indignant at this proceeding, as will
appear by the following extract of a letter to his overseer.
"It would," he writes, "have been a less painful circumstance to me to
have heard that, in consequence of your noncompliance with the request
of the British, they had burned my house, and laid my 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 refreshment to them with a view
to prevent a conflagration."
* * * * *
And here I will take what seems to me a proper opportunity of refuting
a false insinuation. In the edition of Plutarch's Lives, translated by
John and William Langhorne, and revised by the Reverend Francis
Wrangham, M.A., F.R.S., there is the following note appended to the
biography of Cato the Censor, whose kindness is said to have extended
to his cattle and sheep: "_Yet Washington, the Tertius Cato of these
latter times, is said to have sold his old charger!_"
On first seeing this insinuation of a calumny founded on hearsay, I
applied to Colonel Lear, who resided at Mount Vernon, and acted as the
private secretary of Washington at the time of his death, and many
years previously, to learn whether there was any foundation for the
report. His denial was positive and unequivocal. The horse of
Washington, sold, not by him, but one of his heirs, after his death,
was that which he was accustomed to ride about his plantation after
his retirement from public life. The aged war-horse was placed under
the special care of the old black servant who had served the same
campaigns with him; was never rode after the conclusion of the war,
and died long before his illustrious master.
* * * * *
As illustrating his character and affording an example of his great
self-command, the following anecdote is appropriate to my purpose. It
is derived from Judge Breckenridge[3] himself, who used often to tell
the story. The judge was an inimitable humorist, and, on a particular
occasion, fell in with Washington at a public house. They supped at
the same table, and Mr. Breckenridge essayed all his powers of humor
to divert the general; but in vain. He seemed aware of his purpose,
and listened without a smile. However, it so happened that the
chambers of Washington and Breckenridge adjoined, and were only
separated from each other by a thin partition of pine boards. The
general had retired first, and when the judge entered his own room, he
was delighted to hear Washington, who was already in bed, laughing to
himself with infinite glee, no doubt at the recollection of his
stories.
[Footnote 3: Author of Modern Chivalry.]
* * * * *
He was accustomed sometimes to tell the following story:--On one
occasion, during a visit he paid to Mount Vernon while president, he
had invited the company of two distinguished lawyers, each of whom
afterwards attained to the highest judicial situations in this
country. They came on horseback, and, for convenience, or some other
purpose, had bestowed their wardrobe in the same pair of saddle-bags,
each one occupying his side. On their arrival, wet to the skin by a
shower of rain, they were shown into a chamber to change their
garments. One unlocked his side of the bag, and the first thing he
drew forth was a black bottle of whiskey. He insisted that this was
his companion's repository; but on unlocking the other, there was
found a huge twist of tobacco, a few pieces of corn-bread, and the
complete equipment of a wagoner's pack-saddle. They had exchanged
saddle-bags with some traveller on the way, and finally made their
appearance in borrowed clothes that fitted them most ludicrously. The
general was highly diverted, and amused himself with anticipating the
dismay of the wagoner when he discovered this oversight of the men of
law. It was during this visit that Washington prevailed on one of his
guests to enter into public life, and thus secured to his country the
services of one of the most distinguished magistrates of this or any
other age.
Another anecdote of a more touching character is derived from a source
which, if I were permitted to mention, would not only vouch for its
truth, but give it additional value and interest. When Washington
retired from public life, his name and fame excited in the hearts of
the people at large, and most especially the more youthful portion, a
degree of reverence which, by checking their vivacity or awing them
into silence, often gave him great pain. Being once on a visit to
Colonel Blackburn, ancestor to the exemplary matron who now possesses
Mount Vernon, a large company of young people were assembled to
welcome his arrival, or on some other festive occasion. The general
was unusually cheerful and animated, but he observed that whenever he
made his appearance, the dance lost its vivacity, the little
gossipings in corners ceased, and a solemn silence prevailed, as at
the presence of one they either feared or reverenced too much to
permit them to enjoy themselves. He strove to remove this restraint by
mixing familiarly among them and chatting with unaffected hilarity.
But it was all in vain; there was a spell on the little circle, and he
retired among the elders in an adjoining room, appearing to be much
pained at the restraint his presence inspired. When, however the young
people had again become animated, he arose cautiously from his seat,
walked on tiptoe to the door, which was ajar, and stood contemplating
the scene for nearly a quarter of an hour, with a look of genuine and
benevolent pleasure that went to the very hearts of the parents who
were observing him.
In regard to the style of Mr. Paulding's Washington, it would scarcely
be doing it justice to speak of it merely as well adapted to its
subject, and to its immediate design. Perhaps a rigorous examination
would detect an occasional want of euphony, and some inaccuracies of
syntatical arrangement. But nothing could be more out {399} of place
than any such examination in respect to a book whose forcible, rich,
vivid, and comprehensive English, might advantageously be held up, as
a model for the young writers of the land. There is no better literary
manner than the manner of Mr. Paulding. Certainly no American, and
possibly no living writer of England, has more of those numerous
peculiarities which go to the formation of a happy style. It is
questionable, we think, whether any writer of any country combines as
many of these peculiarities with as much of that essential negative
virtue, the absence of affectation. We repeat, as our confident
opinion, that it would be difficult, even with great care and labor,
to improve upon the general manner of the volumes now before us, and
that they contain many long individual passages of a force and beauty
not to be surpassed by the finest passages of the finest writers in
any time or country. It is this striking character in the _Washington_
of Mr. Paulding--striking and peculiar indeed at a season when we are
so culpably inattentive to all matters of this nature, as to mistake
for style the fine airs at second hand of the silliest romancers--it
is this character we say, which should insure the fulfilment of the
writer's principal design, in the immediate introduction of his book
into every respectable academy in the land.