INDEX
List of Illustrations with Notes
MINIATURE OF WASHINGTON. By JAMES SHARPLESS
Painted for Washington in 1795, and presented by him to Nelly (Calvert)
Stuart, widow of John Parke Custis, Washington’s adopted son. Her son
George Washington Parke Custis, in whose presence the sittings were
made, often spoke of the likeness as “almost perfect.”
MEMORIAL TABLET OF LAURENCE AND AMEE WASHINGTON, IN SULGRAVE CHURCH,
NORTHAMPTONSHIRE
The injury of the effigy of Laurence Washington and the entire
disappearance of the effigy of Amee antedate the early part of the
present century, and probably were done in the Puritan period. Since
the above tracing was made the brasses of the eleven children have been
stolen, leaving nothing but the lettering and the shield of the
Washington arms.
BETTY WASHINGTON, WIFE OF FIELDING LEWIS
Painted about 1750, and erroneously alleged to be by Copley. Original
in the possession of Mr. R. Byrd Lewis, of Marmion, Virginia.
JOHN AND MARTHA CUSTIS
Original in the possession of General G.W. Custis Lee, of Lexington,
Virginia.
MINIATURE OF ELEANOR PARKE CUSTIS
From the miniature by Gilbert Stuart, in the possession of her
grandson, Edward Parke Lewis Custis, of Hoboken, New Jersey.
FICTITIOUS PORTRAIT OF WASHINGTON
The lettering reads, “Done from an original Drawn from the Life, by
Alex’r Campbell of Williamsburg in Virginia. Published as the act
directs 9 Sept’r 1775 by C. Shepherd.” It is the first engraved
portrait of Washington, and was issued to satisfy the English curiosity
concerning the new commander-in-chief of the rebels. From the original
print in the possession of Mr. W.F. Havemeyer, of New York.
COPY SHEET FROM YOUNG MAN’S COMPANION
The sheet from which Washington modelled his handwriting, and to which
his earliest script shows a marked resemblance. From the original in
the possession of the author.
LETTER TO MRS. FAIRFAX
Showing changes and corrections made by Washington at a later date.
From original copy-book in the Washington MSS. in the Department of
State.
PORTRAIT OF MARY PHILIPSE
From the original formerly in the possession of Mr. Frederick Philipse.
PORTRAIT OF MARTHA CUSTIS
Alleged to have been painted by Woolaston about 1757. It has been
asserted by Mr. L.W. Washington and Mr. Moncure D. Conway that this is
a portrait of Betty Washington Lewis, but in this they are wholly in
error, as proof exists that it is a portrait of Mrs. Washington before
her second marriage.
SURVEY OF MOUNT VERNON HILLS
Made by Washington as a boy, and one of the earliest specimens of his
work. The small drawing of the house represents it as it was before
Washington enlarged it, and is the only picture of it known. Original
in the Department of State.
MOUNTAIN ROAD LOTTERY TICKET
From the original in the Historical Society of Pennsylvania.
FAMILY GROUP
Painted by Edward Savage about 1795, and issued as a large engraving in
1798. The original picture is now in the possession of Mr. William F.
Havemeyer, of New York.
DINNER INVITATION
The official invitation while President, from the original in the
possession of the author.
DANCING AGREEMENT
This gives only the first few names, many more following. The original
was formerly in the possession of Mr. Thomas Biddle, of Philadelphia.
BOOK-PLATE OF WASHINGTON
This is a slight variation from the true Washington coat of arms, the
changes being introduced by Washington. From the original in the
possession of the author.
SURVEY OF WAKEFIELD
Washington’s birthplace. The survey was made in 1743, on the property
coming into the possession of Augustine Washington (second) from his
father, with the object of readjusting the boundary-lines. Original in
the possession of Mr. William F. Havemeyer, of New York.
WASHINGTON FAMILY BIBLE
This record, with the exception of the interlined note concerning Betty
Washington Lewis, is in the handwriting of George Washington, and was
written when he was about sixteen years old. Original in the possession
of Mrs. Lewis Washington, of Charlestown, West Virginia.
MINIATURE OF MRS. WASHINGTON
By an unknown artist. From the original in the possession of General
G.W. Custis Lee, of Lexington, Virginia.
EARLIEST AUTOGRAPH OF WASHINGTON
On a fly-leaf of the volume to which this title belongs is written,
“This autograph of Genl. Washington’s name is believed to be the
earliest specimen of his writing, when he was probably not more than 8
or 9 years of age.” This is a note by G.C. Washington, to whom
Washington’s library descended. Original in the possession of the
Boston Athenaeum.
RULES OF CIVILITY
First page of Washington’s boyish transcript, written when he was about
thirteen years of age. Used here by courtesy of Mr. S.M. Hamilton and
“Public Opinion,” who are preparing a fac-simile edition of the entire
rules.
LIFE MASK BY HOUDON
Taken by Houdon in October, 1785. From the replica in the Historical
Society of Pennsylvania.
TITLE-PAGE OF JOURNAL OF GEORGE WASHINGTON, 1754
Of this first edition but two copies are known. From the original in
the Lenox Library.
PRESIDENTIAL HOUSE IN PHILADELPHIA
Philadelphia offered to furnish the house for the President during the
time Congress sat in that city, but Washington “wholly declined living
in any public building,” and rented this house from Robert Morris.
Though it was considered one of the finest in the city, Washington
several times complained of being cramped.
[Illustration: SHARPLESS MINIATURE OF WASHINGTON, 1795]
Note
In every country boasting a history there may be observed a tendency to
make its leaders or great men superhuman. Whether we turn to the
legends of the East, the folk-lore of Europe, or the traditions of the
native races of America, we find a mythology based upon the acts of man
gifted with superhuman powers. In the unscientific, primeval periods in
which these beliefs were born and elaborated into oral and written
form, their origin is not surprising. But to all who have studied the
creation of a mythology, no phase is a more curious one than that the
keen, practical American of to-day should engage in the same process of
hero-building which has given us Jupiter, Wotan, King Arthur, and
others. By a slow evolution we have well-nigh discarded from the lives
of our greatest men of the past all human faults and feelings; have
enclosed their greatness in glass of the clearest crystal, and hung up
a sign, “Do not touch.” Indeed, with such characters as Washington,
Franklin, and Lincoln we have practically adopted the English maxim
that “the king can do no wrong.” In place of men, limited by human
limits, and influenced by human passions, we have demi-gods, so
stripped of human characteristics as to make us question even whether
they deserve much credit for their sacrifices and deeds.
But with this process of canonization have we not lost more than we
have gained, both in example and in interest? Many, no doubt, with the
greatest veneration for our first citizen, have sympathized with the
view expressed by Mark Twain, when he said that he was a greater man
than Washington, for the latter “couldn’t tell a lie, while he could,
but wouldn’t” We have endless biographies of Franklin, picturing him in
all the public stations of life, but all together they do not equal in
popularity his own human autobiography, in which we see him walking
down Market Street with a roll under each arm, and devouring a third.
And so it seems as if the time had come to put the shadow-boxes of
humanity round our historic portraits, not because they are ornamental
in themselves, but because they will make them examples, not mere
idols.
If the present work succeeds in humanizing Washington, and making him a
man rather than a historical figure, its purpose will have been
fulfilled. In the attempt to accomplish this, Washington has, so far as
is possible, been made to speak for himself, even though at times it
has compelled the sacrifice of literary form, in the hope that his own
words would convey a greater sense of the personality of the man. So,
too, liberal drafts have been made on the opinions and statements of
his contemporaries; but, unless the contrary is stated or is obvious,
all quoted matter is from Washington’s own pen. It is with pleasure
that the author adds that the result of his study has only served to
make Washington the greater to him.
The writer is under the greatest obligation to his brother, Worthington
Chauncey Ford, not merely for his numerous books on Washington, of
which his “Writings of George Washington” is easily first in importance
of all works relating to the great American, but also for much
manuscript material which he has placed at the author’s service.
Hitherto unpublished facts have been drawn from many other sources, but
notably from the rich collection of Mr. William F. Havemeyer, of New
York, from the Department of State in Washington, and from the
Historical Society of Pennsylvania. To Mr. S.M. Hamilton, of the former
institution, and to Mr. Frederick D. Stone, of the latter, the writer
is particularly indebted for assistance.
THE TRUE GEORGE WASHINGTON
I
FAMILY RELATIONS
Although Washington wrote that the history of his ancestors was, in his
opinion, “of very little moment,” and “a subject to which I confess I
have paid very little attention,” few Americans can prove a better
pedigree. The earliest of his forebears yet discovered was described as
“gentleman,” the family were granted lands by Henry the Eighth, held
various offices of honor, married into good families, and under the
Stuarts two were knighted and a third served as page to Prince Charles.
Lawrence, a brother of the three thus distinguished, matriculated at
Oxford as a “generosi filius” (the intermediate class between sons of
the nobility, “armigeri filius,” and of the people, “plebeii filius”),
or as of the minor gentry. In time he became a fellow and lector of
Brasenose College, and presently obtained the good living of Purleigh.
Strong royalists, the fortunes of the family waned along with King
Charles, and sank into insignificance with the passing of the Stuart
dynasty. Not the least sufferer was the rector of Purleigh, for the
Puritan Parliament ejected him from his living, on the charge “that he
was a common frequenter of ale-houses, not only himself sitting dayly
tippling there … but hath oft been drunk,”—a charge indignantly denied
by the royalists, who asserted that he was a “worthy Pious man, …
always … a very Modest, Sober Person;” and this latter claim is
supported by the fact that though the Puritans sequestered the rich
living, they made no objection to his serving as rector at Brixted
Parva, where the living was “such a Poor and Miserable one that it was
always with difficulty that any one was persuaded to accept of it.”
Poverty resulting, John, the eldest son of this rector, early took to
the sea, and in 1656 assisted “as second man in Sayleing ye Vessel to
Virginia.” Here he settled, took up land, presently became a county
officer, a burgess, and a colonel of militia. In this latter function
he commanded the Virginia troops during the Indian war of 1675, and
when his great-grandson, George, on his first arrival on the frontier,
was called by the Indians “Conotocarius,” or “devourer of villages,”
the formidable but inappropriate title for the newly-fledged officer is
supposed to have been due to the reputation that John Washington had
won for his name among the Indians eighty years before.
[Illustration: TABLET TO LAURENCE WASHINGTON AND HIS FAMILY IN
SULGRAVE CHURCH]
Both John’s son, Lawrence, and Lawrence’s son, Augustine, describe
themselves in their wills as “gentlemen,” and both intermarried with
the “gentry families” of Virginia. Augustine was educated at Appleby
School, in England, like his grandfather followed the sea for a time,
was interested in iron mines, and in other ways proved himself far more
than the average Virginia planter of his day. He was twice
married,—which marriages, with unconscious humor, he describes in his
will as “several Ventures,”—had ten children, and died in 1743, when
George, his fifth child and the first by his second “Venture,” was a
boy of eleven. The father thus took little part in the life of the lad,
and almost the only mention of him by his son still extant is the one
recorded in Washington’s round school-boy hand in the family Bible, to
the effect that “Augustine Washington and Mary Ball was Married the
Sixth of March 17-30/31. Augustine Washington Departed this Life ye
12th Day of April 1743, Aged 49 Years.”
The mother, Mary Washington, was more of a factor, though chiefly by
mere length of life, for she lived to be eighty-three, and died but ten
years before her son. That Washington owed his personal appearance to
the Balls is true, but otherwise the sentimentality that has been
lavished about the relations between the two and her influence upon
him, partakes of fiction rather than of truth. After his father’s death
the boy passed most of his time at the homes of his two elder brothers,
and this was fortunate, for they were educated men, of some colonial
consequence, while his mother lived in comparatively straitened
circumstances, was illiterate and untidy, and, moreover, if tradition
is to be believed, smoked a pipe. Her course with the lad was blamed by
a contemporary as “fond and unthinking,” and this is borne out by such
facts as can be gleaned, for when his brothers wished to send him to
sea she made “trifling objections,” and prevented his taking what they
thought an advantageous opening; when the brilliant offer of a position
on Braddock’s staff was tendered to Washington, his mother, “alarmed at
the report,” hurried to Mount Vernon and endeavored to prevent him from
accepting it; still again, after Braddock’s defeat, she so wearied her
son with pleas not to risk the dangers of another campaign that
Washington finally wrote her, “It would reflect dishonor upon me to
refuse; and _that_, I am sure, must or _ought_ to give you greater
uneasiness, than my going in an honorable command.” After he inherited
Mount Vernon the two seem to have seen little of each other, though,
when occasion took him near Fredericksburg, he usually stopped to see
her for a few hours, or even for a night.
Though Washington always wrote to his mother as “Honored Madam,” and
signed himself “your dutiful and aff. son,” she none the less tried him
not a little. He never claimed from her a part of the share of his
father’s estate which was his due on becoming of age, and, in addition,
“a year or two before I left Virginia (to make her latter days
comfortable and free from care) I did, at her request, but at my own
expence, purchase a commodious house, garden and Lotts (of her own
choosing) in Fredericksburg, that she might be near my sister Lewis,
her only daughter,—and did moreover agree to take her land and negroes
at a certain yearly rent, to be fixed by Colo Lewis and others (of her
own nomination) which has been an annual expence to me ever since, as
the estate never raised one half the rent I was to pay. Before I left
Virginia I answered all her calls for money; and since that period have
directed my steward to do the same.” Furthermore, he gave her a
phaeton, and when she complained of her want of comfort he wrote her,
“My house is at your service, and [I] would press you most sincerely
and most devoutly to accept it, but I am sure, and candor requires me
to say, it will never answer your purposes in any shape whatsoever. For
in truth it may be compared to a well resorted tavern, as scarcely any
strangers who are going from north to south, or from south to north, do
not spend a day or two at it. This would, were you to be an inhabitant
of it, oblige you to do one of 3 things: 1st, to be always dressing to
appear in company; 2d, to come into [the room] in a dishabille, or 3d
to be as it were a prisoner in your own chamber. The first you’ld not
like; indeed, for a person at your time of life it would be too
fatiguing. The 2d, I should not like, because those who resort here
are, as I observed before, strangers and people of the first
distinction. And the 3d, more than probably, would not be pleasing to
either of us.”
Under these circumstances it was with real indignation that Washington
learned that complaints of hers that she “never lived soe poore in all
my life” were so well known that there was a project to grant her a
pension. The pain this caused a man who always showed such intense
dislike to taking even money earned from public coffers, and who
refused everything in the nature of a gift, can easily be understood.
He at once wrote a letter to a friend in the Virginia Assembly, in
which, after reciting enough of what he had done for her to prove that
she was under no necessity of a pension,—“or, in other words, receiving
charity from the public,”—he continued, “But putting these things
aside, which I could not avoid mentioning in exculpation of a
presumptive want of duty on my part; confident I am that she has not a
child that would not divide the last sixpence to relieve her from real
distress. This she has been repeatedly assured of by me; and all of us,
I am certain, would feel much hurt, at having our mother a pensioner,
while we had the means of supporting her; but in fact she has an ample
income of her own. I lament accordingly that your letter, which
conveyed the first hint of this matter, did not come to my hands
sooner; but I request, in pointed terms, if the matter is now in
agitation in your Assembly, that all proceedings on it may be stopped,
or in case of a decision in her favor, that it may be done away and
repealed at my request.”
Still greater mortification was in store for him, when he was told that
she was borrowing and accepting gifts from her neighbors, and learned
“on good authority that she is, upon all occasions and in all
companies, complaining … of her wants and difficulties; and if not in
direct terms, at least by strong innuendoes, endeavors to excite a
belief that times are much altered, &c., &c., which not only makes
_her_ appear in an unfavorable point of view, but _those also_ who are
connected with her.” To save her feelings he did not express the “pain”
he felt to her, but he wrote a brother asking him to ascertain if there
was the slightest basis in her complaints, and “see what is necessary
to make her comfortable,” for “while I have anything I will part with
it to make her so;” but begging him “at the same time … to represent to
her in delicate terms, the impropriety of her complaints, and
_acceptance_ of favors, even when they are voluntarily offered, from
any but relations.” Though he did not “touch upon this subject in a
letter to her,” he was enough fretted to end the renting of her
plantation, not because “I mean … to withhold any aid or support I can
give from you; for whilst I have a shilling left, you shall have part,”
but because “what I shall then give, I shall have credit for,” and not
be “viewed as a delinquent, and considered perhaps by the world as [an]
unjust and undutiful son.”
In the last years of her life a cancer developed, which she refused to
have “dressed,” and over which, as her doctor wrote Washington, the
“Old Lady” and he had “a small battle every day.” Once Washington was
summoned by an express to her bedside “to bid, as I was prepared to
expect, the last adieu to an honored parent,” but it was a false alarm.
Her health was so bad, however, that just before he started to New York
to be inaugurated he rode to Fredericksburg, “and took a final leave of
my mother, never expecting to see her more,” a surmise that proved
correct.
Only Elizabeth—or “Betty”—of Washington’s sisters grew to womanhood,
and it is said that she was so strikingly like her brother that,
disguised with a long cloak and a military hat, the difference between
them was scarcely detectable. She married Fielding Lewis, and lived at
“Kenmore House” on the Rappahannock, where Washington spent many a
night, as did the Lewises at Mount Vernon. During the Revolution, while
visiting there, she wrote her brother, “Oh, when will that day arrive
when we shall meet again. Trust in the lord it will be soon,—till when,
you have the prayers and kind wishes for your health and happiness of
your loving and sincerely affectionate sister.” Her husband died “much
indebted,” and from that time her brother gave her occasional sums of
money, and helped her in other ways.
Her eldest son followed in his father’s footsteps, and displeased
Washington with requests for loans. He angered him still more by
conduct concerning which Washington wrote to him as follows:
“Sir, Your letter of the 11th of Octor. never came to my hands ’till
yesterday. Altho’ your disrespectful conduct towards me, in coming into
this country and spending weeks therein without ever coming near me,
entitled you to very little notice or favor from me; yet I consent that
you may get timber from off my Land in Fauquier County to build a house
on your Lott in Rectertown. Having granted this, now let me ask you
what your views were in purchasing a Lott in a place which, I presume,
originated with and will end in two or three Gin shops, which probably
will exist no longer than they serve to ruin the proprietors, and those
who make the most frequent applications to them. I am, &c.”
[Illustration: MRS FIELDING LEWIS (BETTY WASHINGTON)]
Other of the Lewis boys pleased him better, and he appointed one an
officer in his own “Life Guard.” Of another he wrote, when President,
to his sister, “If your son Howell is living with you, and not usefully
employed in your own affairs, and should incline to spend a few months
with me, as a writer in my office (if he is fit for it) I will allow
him at the rate of three hundred dollars a year, provided he is
diligent in discharging the duties of it from breakfast until
dinner—Sundays excepted. This sum will be punctually paid him, and I am
particular in declaring beforehand what I require, and what he may
expect, that there may be no disappointment, or false expectations on
either side. He will live in the family in the same manner his brother
Robert did.” This Robert had been for some time one of his secretaries,
and at another time was employed as a rent-collector.
Still another son, Lawrence, also served him in these dual capacities,
and Washington, on his retirement from the Presidency, offered him a
home at Mount Vernon. This led to a marriage with Mrs. Washington’s
grandchild, Eleanor Custis, a match which so pleased Washington that he
made arrangements for Lawrence to build on the Mount Vernon estate, in
his will named him an executor, and left the couple a part of this
property, as well as a portion of the residuary estate.
As already noted, much of Washington’s early life was passed at the
homes of his elder (half-) brothers, Lawrence and Augustine, who lived
respectively at Mount Vernon and Wakefield. When Lawrence developed
consumption, George was his travelling companion in a trip to
Barbadoes, and from him, when he died of that disease, in 1752, came
the bequest of Mount Vernon to “my loveing brother George.” To
Augustine, in the only letter now extant, Washington wrote, “The
pleasure of your company at Mount Vernon always did, and always will
afford me infinite satisfaction,” and signed himself “your most
affectionate brother.” Surviving this brother, he left handsome
bequests to all his children.
Samuel, the eldest of his own brothers, and his junior by but two
years, though constantly corresponded with, was not a favorite. He
seems to have had extravagant tendencies, variously indicated by five
marriages, and by (perhaps as a consequence) pecuniary difficulties. In
1781, Washington wrote to another brother, “In God’s name how did my
brother Samuel get himself so enormously in debt?” Very quickly
requests for loans followed, than which nothing was more irritating to
Washington. Yet, though he replied that it would be “very inconvenient”
to him, his ledger shows that at least two thousand dollars were
advanced, and in a letter to this brother, on the danger of borrowing
at interest, Washington wrote, “I do not make these observations on
account of the money I purpose to lend you, because all I shall require
is that you return the net sum when in your power, without interest.”
Better even than this, in his will Washington discharged the debt.
To the family of Samuel, Washington was equally helpful. For the eldest
son he obtained an ensigncy, and “to save Thornton and you [Samuel] the
expence of buying a horse to ride home on, I have lent him a mare.” Two
other sons he assumed all the expenses of, and showed an almost
fatherly interest in them. He placed them at school, and when the lads
proved somewhat unruly he wrote them long admonitory letters, which
became stern when actual misconduct ensued, and when one of them ran
away to Mount Vernon to escape a whipping, Washington himself prepared
“to correct him, but he begged so earnestly and promised so faithfully
that there should be no cause for complaint in the future, that I have
suspended punishment.” Later the two were sent to college, and in all
cost Washington “near five thousand dollars.”
An even greater trouble was their sister Harriot, whose care was
assumed in 1785, and who was a member of Washington’s household, with
only a slight interruption, till her marriage in 1796. Her chief
failing was “no disposition … to be careful of her cloathes,” which
were “dabbed about in every hole and corner and her best things always
in use,” so that Washington said “she costs me enough!” To her uncle
she wrote on one occasion, “How shall I apologise to my dear and
Honor’d for intruding on his goodness so soon again, but being sensible
for your kindness to me which I shall ever remember with the most
heartfelt gratitude induces me to make known my wants. I have not had a
pair of stays since I first came here: if you could let me have a pair
I should be very much obleiged to you, and also a hat and a few other
articles. I hope my dear Uncle will not think me extravagant for really
I take as much care of my cloaths as I possibly can.” Probably the
expense that pleased him best in her case was that which he recorded in
his ledger “By Miss Harriot Washington gave her to buy wedding clothes
$100.”
His second and favorite brother, John Augustine, who was four years his
junior, Washington described as “the intimate companion of my youth and
the friend of my ripened age.” While the Virginia colonel was on the
frontier, from 1754 to 1759, he left John in charge of all his business
affairs, giving him a residence at and management of Mount Vernon. With
this brother he constantly corresponded, addressing him as “Dear Jack,”
and writing in the most intimate and affectionate terms, not merely to
him, but when John had taken unto himself a wife, to her, and to “the
little ones,” and signing himself “your loving brother.” Visits between
the two were frequent, and invitations for the same still more so, and
in one letter, written during the most trying moment of the Revolution,
Washington said, “God grant you all health and happiness. Nothing in
this world could contribute so to mine as to be fixed among you.” John
died in 1787, and Washington wrote with simple but undisguised grief of
the death of “my beloved brother.”
The eldest son of this brother, Bushrod, was his favorite nephew, and
Washington took much interest in his career, getting the lad admitted
to study law with Judge James Wilson, in Philadelphia, and taking
genuine pride in him when he became a lawyer and judge of repute. He
made this nephew his travelling companion in the Western journey of
1784, and at other times not merely sent him money, but wrote him
letters of advice, dwelling on the dangers that beset young men, though
confessing that he was himself “not such a Stoic” as to expect too much
of youthful blood. To Bushrod, also, he appealed on legal matters,
adding, “You may think me an unprofitable applicant in asking opinions
and requiring services of you without dousing my money, but pay day may
come,” and in this he was as good as his word, for in his will
Washington left Bushrod, “partly in consideration of an intimation to
his deceased father, while we were bachelors and he had kindly
undertaken to superintend my Estates, during my military services in
the former war between Great Britain and France, that if I should fall
therein, Mt. Vernon … should become his property,” the home and
“mansion-house farm,” one share of the residuary estate, his private
papers, and his library, and named him an executor of the instrument.
Of Washington’s relations with his youngest brother, Charles, little
can be learned. He was the last of his brothers to die, and Washington
outlived him so short a time that he was named in his will, though only
for a mere token of remembrance. “I add nothing to it because of the
ample provision I have made for his issue.” Of the children so
mentioned, Washington was particularly fond of George Augustine
Washington. As a mere lad he used his influence to procure for him an
ensigncy in a Virginia regiment, and an appointment on Lafayette’s
staff. When in 1784 the young fellow was threatened with consumption,
his uncle’s purse supplied him with the funds by which he was enabled
to travel, even while Washington wrote, “Poor fellow! his pursuit after
health is, I fear, altogether fruitless.” When better health came, and
with it a renewal of a troth with a niece of Mrs. Washington’s, the
marriage was made possible by Washington appointing the young fellow
his manager, and not merely did it take place at Mount Vernon, but the
young couple took up their home there. More than this, that their
outlook might be “more stable and pleasing,” Washington promised them
that on his death they should not be forgotten. When the disease again
developed, Washington wrote his nephew in genuine anxiety, and ended
his letter, “At all times and under all circumstances you and yours
will possess my affectionate regards.” Only a few days later the news
of his nephew’s death reached him, and he wrote his widow, “To you who
so well know the affectionate regard I had for our departed friend, it
is unnecessary to describe the sorrow with which I was afflicted at the
news of his death.” He asked her and her children “to return to your
old habitation at Mount Vernon. You can go to no place where you can be
more welcome, nor to any where you can live at less expence and
trouble,” an offer, he adds, “made to you with my whole heart.”
Furthermore, Washington served as executor, assumed the expense of
educating one of the sons, and in his will left the two children part
of the Mount Vernon estate, as well as other bequests, “on account of
the affection I had for, and the obligation I was under to their father
when living, who from his youth attached himself to my person, and
followed my fortunes through the vicissitudes of the late Revolution,
afterwards devoting his time for many years whilst my public
employments rendered it impracticable for me to do it myself, thereby
affording me essential services and always performing them in a manner
the most filial and respectful.”
Of his wife’s kith and kin Washington was equally fond. Both alone and
with Mrs. Washington he often visited her mother, Mrs. Dandridge, and
in 1773 he wrote to a brother-in-law that he wished “I was master of
Arguments powerful enough to prevail upon Mrs. Dandridge to make this
place her entire and absolute home. I should think as she lives a
lonesome life (Betsey being married) it might suit her well, & be
agreeable, both to herself & my Wife, to me most assuredly it would.”
Washington was also a frequent visitor at “Eltham,” the home of Colonel
Bassett, who had married his wife’s sister, and constantly corresponded
with these relatives. He asked this whole family to be his guests at
the Warm Springs, and, as this meant camping out in tents, he wrote,
“You will have occasion to provide nothing, if I can be advised of your
intentions, so that I may provide accordingly.” To another
brother-in-law, Bartholomew Dandridge, he lent money, and forgave the
debt to the widow in his will, also giving her the use during her life
of the thirty-three negroes he had bid in at the bankruptcy sale of her
husband’s property.
The pleasantest glimpses of family feeling are gained, however, in his
relations with his wife’s children and grandchildren. John Parke and
Martha Parke Custis—or “Jack” and “Patsey,” as he called them—were at
the date of his marriage respectively six and four years of age, and in
the first invoice of goods to be shipped to him from London after he
had become their step-father, Washington ordered “10 shillings worth of
Toys,” “6 little books for children beginning to read,” and “1
fashionable-dressed baby to cost 10 shillings.” When this latter shared
the usual fate, he further wrote for “1 fashionable dress Doll to cost
a guinea,” and for “A box of Gingerbread Toys & Sugar Images or
Comfits.” A little later he ordered a Bible and Prayer-Book for each,
“neatly bound in Turkey,” with names “in gilt letters on the inside of
the cover,” followed ere long by an order for “1 very good Spinet” As
Patsy grew to girlhood she developed fits, and “solely on her account
to try (by the advice of her Physician) the effect of the waters on her
Complaint,” Washington took the family over the mountains and camped at
the “Warm Springs” in 1769, with “little benefit,” for, after ailing
four years longer, “she was seized with one of her usual Fits & expired
in it, in less than two minutes, without uttering a word, or groan, or
scarce a sigh.” “The Sweet Innocent Girl,” Washington wrote, “entered
into a more happy & peaceful abode than she has met with in the
afflicted Path she has hitherto trod,” but none the less “it is an
easier matter to conceive than to describe the distress of this family”
at the loss of “dear Patsy Custis.”
[Illustration: JOHN AND MARTHA PARKE CUSTIS]
The care of Jack Custis was a worry to Washington in quite another way.
As a lad, Custis signed his letters to him as “your most affectionate
and dutiful son,” “yet I conceive,” Washington wrote, “there is much
greater circumspection to be observed by a guardian than a natural
parent.” Soon after assuming charge of the boy, a tutor was secured,
who lived at Mount Vernon, but the boy showed little inclination to
study, and when fourteen, Washington wrote that “his mind [is] … more
turned … to Dogs, Horses and Guns, indeed upon Dress and equipage.”
“Having his well being much at heart,” Washington wished to make him
“fit for more useful purposes than [a] horse racer,” and so Jack was
placed with a clergyman, who agreed to instruct him, and with him he
lived, except for some home visits, for three years. Unfortunately, the
lad, like the true Virginian planter of his day, had no taste for
study, and had “a propensity for the [fair] sex.” After two or three
flirtations, he engaged himself, without the knowledge of his mother or
guardian, to Nellie Calvert, a match to which no objection could be
made, except that, owing to his “youth and fickleness,” “he may either
change and therefore injure the young lady; or that it may precipitate
him into a marriage before, I am certain, he has ever bestowed a
serious thought of the consequences; by which means his education is
interrupted.” To avoid this danger, Washington took his ward to New
York and entered him in King’s College, but the death of Patsy Custis
put a termination to study, for Mrs. Washington could not bear to have
the lad at such a distance, and Washington “did not care, as he is the
last of the family, to push my opposition too far.” Accordingly, Jack
returned to Virginia and promptly married.
The young couple were much at Mount Vernon from this time on, and
Washington wrote to “Dear Jack,” “I am always pleased with yours and
Nelly’s abidance at Mount Vernon.” When the winter snows made the siege
of Boston purely passive, the couple journeyed with Mrs. Washington to
Cambridge, and visited at head-quarters for some months. The arrival of
children prevented the repetition of such visits, but frequent letters,
which rarely failed to send love to “Nelly and the little girls,” were
exchanged. The acceptance of command compelled Washington to resign the
care of Custis’s estate, for which service “I have never charged him or
his sister, from the day of my connexion with them to this hour, one
farthing for all the trouble I have had in managing their estates, nor
for any expense they have been to me, notwithstanding some hundreds of
pounds would not reimburse the moneys I have actually paid in attending
the public meetings in Williamsburg to collect their debts, and
transact these several matters appertaining to the respective estates.”
Washington, however, continued his advice as to its management, and in
other letters advised him concerning his conduct when Custis was
elected a member of the Virginia House of Delegates. In the siege of
Yorktown Jack served as an officer of militia, and the exposure proved
too much for him. Immediately after the surrender, news reached
Washington of his serious illness, and by riding thirty miles in one
day he succeeded in reaching Eltham in “time enough to see poor Mr.
Custis breath his last,” leaving behind him “four lovely children,
three girls and a boy.”
Owing to his public employment, Washington refused to be guardian for
these “little ones,” writing “that it would be injurious to the
children and madness in me, to undertake, _as a principle_, a trust
which I could not discharge. Such aid, however, as it ever may be with
me to give to the children especially the boy, I will afford with all
my heart, and on this assurance you may rely.” Yet “from their earliest
infancy” two of Jack’s children, George Washington Parke and Eleanor
Parke Custis, lived at Mount Vernon, for, as Washington wrote in his
will, “it has always been my intention, since my expectation of having
issue has ceased, to consider the grandchildren of my wife in the same
light as my own relations, and to act a friendly part by them.” Though
the cares of war prevented his watching their property interests, his
eight years’ absence could not make him forget them, and on his way to
Annapolis, in 1783, to tender Congress his resignation, he spent sundry
hours of his time in the purchase of gifts obviously intended to
increase the joy of his homecoming to the family circle at Mount
Vernon; set forth in his note-book as follows:
“By Sundries bot. in Phila. A Locket £5 5 3 Small Pockt. Books 1
10 3 Sashes 1 5 0 Dress Cap 2 8 Hatt 3 10
Handkerchief 1 Childrens Books 4 6 Whirligig 1 6 Fiddle 2
6 Quadrille Boxes 1 17 6.”
Indeed, in every way Washington showed how entirely he considered
himself as a father, not merely speaking of them frequently as “the
children,” but even alluding to himself in a letter to the boy as “your
papa.” Both were much his companions during the Presidency. A frequent
sight in New York and Philadelphia was Washington taking “exercise in
the coach with Mrs. Washington and the two children,” and several times
they were taken to the theatre and on picnics.
For Eleanor, or “Nelly,” who grew into a great beauty, Washington
showed the utmost tenderness, and on occasion interfered to save her
from her grandmother, who at moments was inclined to be severe, in one
case to bring the storm upon himself. For her was bought a “Forte
piano,” and later, at the cost of a thousand dollars, a very fine
imported harpsichord, and one of Washington’s great pleasures was to
have her play and sing to him. His ledger constantly shows gifts to her
ranging from “The Wayworn traveller, a song for Miss Custis,” to “a pr.
of gold eardrops” and a watch. The two corresponded. One letter from
Washington merits quotation:
[Illustration: ELLANOR (NELLY) CUSTIS]
“Let me touch a little now on your Georgetown ball, and happy, thrice
happy, for the fair who assembled on the occasion, that there was a man
to spare; for had there been 79 ladies and only 78 gentlemen, there
might, in the course of the evening have been some disorder among the
caps; notwithstanding the apathy which _one_ of the company entertains
for the ‘_youth_’ of the present day, and her determination ‘Never to
give herself a moment’s uneasiness on account of any of them.’ A hint
here; men and women feel the same inclinations towards each other _now_
that they always have done, and which they will continue to do until
there is a new order of things, and _you_, as others have done, may
find, perhaps, that the passions of your sex are easier raised than
allayed. Do not therefore boast too soon or too strongly of your
insensibility to, or resistance of, its powers. In the composition of
the human frame there is a good deal of inflammable matter, however
dormant it may lie for a time, and like an intimate acquaintance of
yours, when the torch is put to it, _that_ which is _within you_ may
burst into a blaze; for which reason and especially too, as I have
entered upon the chapter of advices, I will read you a lecture from
this text.”
Not long after this was written, Nelly, as already mentioned, was
married at Mount Vernon to Washington’s nephew, Lawrence Lewis, and in
time became joint-owner with her husband of part of that place.
As early as 1785 a tutor was wanted for “little Washington,” as the lad
was called, and Washington wrote to England to ask if some “worthy man
of the cloth could not be obtained,” “for the boy is a remarkably fine
one, and my intention is to give him a liberal education.” His training
became part of the private secretary’s duty, both at Mount Vernon and
New York and Philadelphia, but the lad inherited his father’s traits,
and “from his infancy … discovered an almost unconquerable disposition
to indolence.” This led to failures which gave Washington “extreme
disquietude,” and in vain he “exhorted him in the most parental and
friendly manner.” Custis would express “sorrow and repentance” and do
no better. Successively he was sent to the College of Philadelphia, the
College of New Jersey, and that at Annapolis, but from each he was
expelled, or had to be withdrawn. Irritating as it must have been, his
guardian never in his letters expressed anything but affection,
shielded the lad from the anger of his step-father, and saw that he was
properly supplied with money, of which he asked him to keep a careful
account,—though this, as Washington wrote, was “not because I want to
know how you spend your money.” After the last college failure a
private tutor was once more engaged, but a very few weeks served to
give Washington “a thorough conviction that it was in vain to keep
Washington Custis to any literary pursuits, either in a public Seminary
or at home,” and, as the next best thing, he procured him a cornetcy in
the provisional army. Even here, balance was shown; for, out of
compliment and friendship to Washington, “the Major Generals were
desirous of placing him as lieutenant in the first instance; but his
age considered, I thought it more eligible that he should enter into
the lowest grade.”
In this connection one side of Washington’s course with his relations
deserves especial notice. As early as 1756 he applied for a commission
in the Virginia forces for his brother, and, as already shown, he
placed several of his nephews and other connections in the
Revolutionary or provisional armies. But he made clear distinction
between military and civil appointments, and was very scrupulous about
the latter. When his favorite nephew asked for a Federal appointment,
Washington answered,—
“You cannot doubt my wishes to see you appointed to any office of honor
or emolument in the new government, to the duties of which you are
competent; but however deserving you may be of the one you have
suggested, your standing at the bar would not justify my nomination of
you as attorney to the Federal District Court in preference to some of
the oldest and most esteemed general court lawyers in your State, who
are desirous of this appointment. My political conduct in nominations,
even if I were uninfluenced by principle, must be exceedingly
circumspect and proof against just criticism; for the eyes of Argus are
upon me, and no slip will pass unnoticed, that can be improved into a
supposed partiality for friends or relations.”
And that in this policy he was consistent is shown by a letter of
Jefferson, who wrote to an office-seeking relative, “The public will
never be made to believe that an appointment of a relative is made on
the ground of merit alone, uninfluenced by family views; nor can they
ever see with approbation offices, the disposal of which they entrust
to their Presidents for public purposes, divided out as family
property. Mr. Adams degraded himself infinitely by his conduct on this
subject, as Genl. Washington had done himself the greatest honor. With
two such examples to proceed by, I should be doubly inexcusable to
err.”
There were many other more distant relatives with whom pleasant
relations were maintained, but enough has been said to indicate the
intercourse. Frequent were the house-parties at Mount Vernon, and how
unstinted hospitality was to kith and kin is shown by many entries in
Washington’s diary, a single one of which will indicate the rest: “I
set out for my return home—at which I arrived a little after noon—And
found my Brother Jon Augustine his Wife; Daughter Milly, & Sons Bushrod
& Corbin, & the Wife of the first. Mr. Willm Washington & his Wife and
4 Children.”
His will left bequests to forty-one of his own and his wife’s
relations. “God left him childless that he might be the father of his
country.”
II
PHYSIQUE
Writing to his London tailor for clothes, in 1763, Washington directed
him to “take measure of a gentleman who wares well-made cloaths of the
following size: to wit, 6 feet high and proportionably made—if anything
rather slender than thick, for a person of that highth, with pretty
long arms and thighs. You will take care to make the breeches longer
than those you sent me last, and I would have you keep the measure of
the cloaths you now make, by you, and if any alteration is required in
my next it shall be pointed out.” About this time, too, he ordered “6
pr. Man’s riding Gloves—rather large than the middle size,”… and
several dozen pairs of stockings, “to be long, and tolerably large.”
The earliest known description of Washington was written in 1760 by his
companion-in-arms and friend George Mercer, who attempted a
“portraiture” in the following words: “He may be described as being as
straight as an Indian, measuring six feet two inches in his stockings,
and weighing 175 pounds when he took his seat in the House of Burgesses
in 1759. His frame is padded with well-developed muscles, indicating
great strength. His bones and joints are large, as are his feet and
hands. He is wide shouldered, but has not a deep or round chest; is
neat waisted, but is broad across the hips, and has rather long legs
and arms. His head is well shaped though not large, but is gracefully
poised on a superb neck. A large and straight rather than prominent
nose; blue-gray penetrating eyes, which are widely separated and
overhung by a heavy brow. His face is long rather than broad, with high
round cheek bones, and terminates in a good firm chin. He has a clear
though rather a colorless pale skin, which burns with the sun. A
pleasing, benevolent, though a commanding countenance, dark brown hair,
which he wears in a cue. His mouth is large and generally firmly
closed, but which from time to time discloses some defective teeth. His
features are regular and placid, with all the muscles of his face under
perfect control, though flexible and expressive of deep feeling when
moved by emotion. In conversation he looks you full in the face, is
deliberate, deferential and engaging. His voice is agreeable rather
than strong. His demeanor at all times composed and dignified. His
movements and gestures are graceful, his walk majestic, and he is a
splendid horseman.”
Dr. James Thacher, writing in 1778, depicted him as “remarkably tall,
full six feet, erect and well proportioned. The strength and proportion
of his joints and muscles, appear to be commensurate with the
pre-eminent powers of his mind. The serenity of his countenance, and
majestic gracefulness of his deportment, impart a strong impression of
that dignity and grandeur, which are his peculiar characteristics, and
no one can stand in his presence without feeling the ascendancy of his
mind, and associating with his countenance the idea of wisdom,
philanthropy, magnanimity and patriotism. There is a fine symmetry in
the features of his face, indicative of a benign and dignified spirit.
His nose is straight, and his eye inclined to blue. He wears his hair
in a becoming cue, and from his forehead it is turned back and powdered
in a manner which adds to the military air of his appearance. He
displays a native gravity, but devoid of all appearance of
ostentation.” In this same year a friend wrote, “General Washington is
now in the forty-seventh year of his age; he is a well-made man, rather
large boned, and has a tolerably genteel address; his features are
manly and bold, his eyes of a bluish cast and very lively; his hair a
deep brown, his face rather long and marked with the small-pox; his
complexion sunburnt and without much color, and his countenance
sensible, composed and thoughtful; there is a remarkable air of dignity
about him, with a striking degree of gracefulness.”
In 1789 Senator Maclay saw “him as he really is. In stature about six
feet, with an unexceptionable make, but lax appearance. His frame would
seem to want filling up. His motions rather slow than lively, though he
showed no signs of having suffered by gout or rheumatism. His
complexion pale, nay, almost cadaverous. His voice hollow and
indistinct, owing, as I believe, to artificial teeth before his upper
jaw, which occasions a flatness.”
From frequent opportunity of seeing Washington between 1794 and 1797,
William Sullivan described him as “over six feet in stature; of strong,
bony, muscular frame, without fullness of covering, well-formed and
straight. He was a man of most extraordinary strength. In his own
house, his action was calm, deliberate, and dignified, without
pretension to gracefulness, or peculiar manner, but merely natural, and
such as one would think it should be in such a man. When walking in the
street, his movement had not the soldierly air which might be expected.
His habitual motions had been formed, long before he took command of
the American Armies, in the wars of the interior and in the surveying
of wilderness lands, employments in which grace and elegance were not
likely to be acquired. At the age of sixty-five, time had done nothing
towards bending him out of his natural erectness. His deportment was
invariably grave; it was sobriety that stopped short of sadness.”
The French officers and travellers supply other descriptions. The Abbé
Robin found him of “tall and noble stature, well proportioned, a fine,
cheerful, open countenance, a simple and modest carriage; and his whole
mien has something in it that interests the French, the Americans, and
even enemies themselves in his favor.”
The Marquis de Chastellux wrote enthusiastically, “In speaking of this
perfect whole of which General Washington furnishes the idea, I have
not excluded exterior form. His stature is noble and lofty, he is well
made, and exactly proportionate; his physiognomy mild and agreeable,
but such as to render it impossible to speak particularly of any of his
features, so that in quitting him you have only the recollection of a
fine face. He has neither a grave nor a familiar face, his brow is
sometimes marked with thought, but never with inquietude; in inspiring
respect he inspires confidence, and his smile is always the smile of
benevolence.”
To this description, however, Brissot de Warville took exception, and
supplied his own picture by writing in 1791, “You have often heard me
blame M. Chastellux for putting too much sprightliness in the character
he has drawn of this general. To give pretensions to the portrait of a
man who has none is truly absurd. The General’s goodness appears in his
looks. They have nothing of that brilliancy which his officers found in
them when he was at the head of his army; but in conversation they
become animated. He has no characteristic traits in his figure, and
this has rendered it always so difficult to describe it: there are few
portraits which resemble him. All his answers are pertinent; he shows
the utmost reserve, and is very diffident; but, at the same time, he is
firm and unchangeable in whatever he undertakes. His modesty must be
very astonishing, especially to a Frenchman.”
British travellers have left a number of pen-portraits. An anonymous
writer in 1790 declared that in meeting him “it was not necessary to
announce his name, for his peculiar appearance, his firm forehead,
Roman nose, and a projection of the lower jaw, his height and figure,
could not be mistaken by any one who had seen a full-length picture of
him, and yet no picture accurately resembled him in the minute traits
of his person. His features, however, were so marked by prominent
characteristics, which appear in all likenesses of him, that a stranger
could not be mistaken in the man; he was remarkably dignified in his
manners, and had an air of benignity over his features which his
visitant did not expect, being rather prepared for sternness of
countenance…. his smile was extraordinarily attractive. It was observed
to me that there was an expression in Washington’s face that no painter
had succeeded in taking. It struck me no man could be better formed for
command. A stature of six feet, a robust, but well-proportioned frame,
calculated to sustain fatigue, without that heaviness which generally
attends great muscular strength, and abates active exertion, displayed
bodily power of no mean standard. A light eye and full—the very eye of
genius and reflection rather than of blind passionate impulse. His nose
appeared thick, and though it befitted his other features, was too
coarsely and strongly formed to be the handsomest of its class. His
mouth was like no other that I ever saw; the lips firm and the under
jaw seeming to grasp the upper with force, as if its muscles were in
full action when he sat still.”
Two years later, an English diplomat wrote of him, “His person is tall
and sufficiently graceful; his face well formed, his complexion rather
pale, with a mild philosophic gravity in the expression of it In his
air and manner he displays much natural dignity; in his address he is
cold, reserved, and even phlegmatic, though without the least
appearance of haughtiness or ill-nature; it is the effect, I imagine,
of constitutional diffidence. That caution and circumspection which
form so striking and well known a feature in his military, and, indeed,
in his political character, is very strongly marked in his countenance,
for his eyes retire inward (do you understand me?) and have nothing of
fire of animation or openness in their expression.”
Wansey, who visited Mount Vernon in 1795, portrayed “The President in
his person” as “tall and thin, but erect; rather of an engaging than a
dignified presence. He appears very thoughtful, is slow in delivering
himself, which occasions some to conclude him reserved, but it is
rather, I apprehend, the effect of much thinking and reflection, for
there is great appearance to me of affability and accommodation. He was
at this time in his sixty-third year … but he has very little the
appearance of age, having been all his life long so exceeding
temperate.”
In 1797, Weld wrote, “his chest is full; and his limbs, though rather
slender, well shaped and muscular. His head is small, in which respect
he resembles the make of a great number of his countrymen. His eyes are
of a light grey colour; and in proportion to the length of his face,
his nose is long. Mr. Stewart, the eminent portrait painter, told me,
that there were features in his face totally different from what he
ever observed in that of any other human being; the sockets for the
eyes, for instance, are larger than what he ever met with before, and
the upper part of the nose broader. All his features, he observed, were
indicative of the strongest and most ungovernable passions, and had he
been born in the forests, it was his opinion that he would have been
the fiercest man among the savage tribes.”
Other and briefer descriptions contain a few phrases worth quoting.
Samuel Sterns said, “His countenance commonly carries the impression of
a serious cast;” Maclay, that “the President seemed to bear in his
countenance a settled aspect of melancholy;” and the Prince de Broglie
wrote, “His pensive eyes seem more attentive than sparkling, but their
expression is benevolent, noble and self-possessed.” Silas Deane in
1775 said he had “a very young look and an easy soldier-like air and
gesture,” and in the same year Curwen mentioned his “fine figure” and
“easy and agreeable address.” Nathaniel Lawrence noted in 1783 that
“the General weighs commonly about 210 pounds.” After death, Lear
reports that “Doctor Dick measured the body, which was as follows—In
length 6 ft. 3-1/2 inches exact. Across the shoulders 1.9. Across the
elbows 2.1.” The pleasantest description is Jefferson’s: “His person,
you know, was fine, his stature exactly what one would wish, his
deportment easy, erect and noble.”
How far the portraits of Washington conveyed his expression is open to
question. The quotation already given which said that no picture
accurately resembled him in the minute traits of his person is worth
noting. Furthermore, his expression varied much according to
circumstances, and the painter saw it only in repose. The first time he
was drawn, he wrote a friend, “Inclination having yielded to
Importunity, I am now contrary to all expectation under the hands of
Mr. Peale; but in so grave—so sullen a mood—and now and then under the
influence of Morpheus, when some critical strokes are making, that I
fancy the skill of this Gentleman’s Pencil will be put to it, in
describing to the World what manner of man I am.” This passiveness
seems to have seized him at other sittings, for in 1785 he wrote to a
friend who asked him to be painted, “_In for a penny, in for a Pound_,
is an old adage. I am so hackneyed to the touches of the painter’s
pencil that I am now altogether at their beck; and sit ‘like Patience
on a monument,’ whilst they are delineating the lines of my face. It is
a proof, among many others, of what habit and custom can accomplish. At
first I was as impatient at the request, and as restive under the
operation, as a colt is of the saddle. The next time I submitted very
reluctantly, but with less flouncing. Now, no dray-horse moves more
readily to his thills than I to the painter’s chair.” His aide,
Laurens, bears this out by writing of a miniature, “The defects of this
portrait are, that the visage is too long, and old age is too strongly
marked in it. He is not altogether mistaken, with respect to the
languor of the general’s eye; for altho’ his countenance when affected
either by joy or anger, is full of expression, yet when the muscles are
in a state of repose, his eye certainly wants animation.”
[Illustration: FIRST (FICTITIOUS) ENGRAVED PORTRAIT OF WASHINGTON]
One portrait which furnished Washington not a little amusement was an
engraving issued in London in 1775, when interest in the “rebel
General” was great. This likeness, it is needless to say, was entirely
spurious, and when Reed sent a copy to head-quarters, Washington wrote
to him, “Mrs. Washington desires I will thank you for the picture sent
her. Mr. Campbell, whom I never saw, to my knowledge, has made a very
formidable figure of the Commander-in-chief, giving him a sufficient
portion of terror in his countenance.”
The physical strength mentioned by nearly every one who described
Washington is so undoubted that the traditions of his climbing the
walls of the Natural Bridge, throwing a stone across the Rappahannock
at Fredericksburg, and another into the Hudson from the top of the
Palisades, pass current more from the supposed muscular power of the
man than from any direct evidence. In addition to this, Washington in
1755 claimed to have “one of the best of constitutions,” and again he
wrote, “for my own part I can answer, I have a constitution hardy
enough to encounter and undergo the most severe trials.”
This vigor was not the least reason of Washington’s success. In the
retreat from Brooklyn, “for forty-eight hours preceeding that I had
hardly been off my horse,” and between the 13th and the 19th of June of
1777 “I was almost constantly on horseback.” After the battle of
Monmouth, as told elsewhere, he passed the night on a blanket; the
first night of the siege of York “he slept under a mulberry tree, the
root serving for a pillow,” and another time he lay “all night in my
Great Coat & Boots, in a birth not long enough for me by the head, &
much cramped.” Besides the physical strain there was a mental one.
During the siege of Boston he wrote that “The reflection on my
situation and that of this army, produces many an uneasy hour when all
around me are wrapped in sleep.” Humphreys relates that at Newburg in
1783 a revolt of the whole army seemed imminent, and “when General
Washington rose from bed on the morning of the meeting, he told the
writer his anxiety had prevented him from sleeping one moment the
preceeding night.” Washington observed, in a letter written after the
Revolution, “strange as it may seem, it is nevertheless true, that it
was not until lately I could get the better of my usual custom of
ruminating as soon as I awoke 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, or had any thing to do
with public transactions.”
Despite his strength and constitution, Washington was frequently the
victim of illness. What diseases of childhood he suffered are not
known, but presumably measles was among them, for when his wife within
the first year of married life had an attack he cared for her without
catching the complaint. The first of his known illnesses was “Ague and
Feaver, which I had to an extremity” about 1748, or when he was
sixteen.
In the sea voyage to Barbadoes in 1751, the seamen told Washington that
“they had never seen such weather before,” and he says in his diary
that the sea “made the Ship rowl much and me very sick.” While in the
island, he went to dine with a friend “with great reluctance, as the
small-pox was in his family.” A fortnight later Washington “was
strongly attacked with the small Pox,” which confined him for nearly a
month, and, as already noted, marked his face for life. Shortly after
the return voyage he was “taken with a violent pleurise, which …
reduced me very low.”
During the Braddock march, “immediately upon our leaving the camp at
George’s Creek, on the 14th, … I was seized with violent fevers and
pains in my head, which continued without intermission ’till the 23d
following, when I was relieved, by the General’s [Braddock] absolutely
ordering the physicians to give me Dr. James’ powders (one of the most
excellent medicines in the world), for it gave me immediate ease, and
removed my fevers and other complaints in four days’ time. My illness
was too violent to suffer me to ride; therefore I was indebted to a
covered wagon for some part of my transportation; but even in this I
could not continue far, for the jolting was so great, I was left upon
the road with a guard, and necessaries, to wait the arrival of Colonel
Dunbar’s detachment which was two days’ march behind us, the General
giving me his word of honor, that I should be brought up, before he
reached the French fort. This _promise_, and the doctor’s _threats_,
that, if I persevered in my attempts to get on, in the condition I was,
my life would be endangered, determined me to halt for the above
detachment.” Immediately upon his return from that campaign, he told a
brother, “I am not able, were I ever so willing, to meet you in town,
for I assure you it is with some difficulty, and with much fatigue,
that I visit my plantations in the Neck; so much has a sickness of five
weeks’ continuance reduced me.”
On the frontier, towards the end of 1757, he was seized with a violent
attack of dysentery and fever, which compelled him to leave the army
and retire to Mount Vernon. Three months later he said, “I have never
been able to return to my command, … my disorder at times returning
obstinately upon me, in spite of the efforts of all the sons of
Aesculapius, whom I have hitherto consulted. At certain periods I have
been reduced to great extremity, and have too much reason to apprehend
an approaching decay, being visited with several symptoms of such a
disease…. I am now under a strict regimen, and shall set out to-morrow
for Williamsburg to receive the advice of the best physician there. My
constitution is certainly greatly impaired, and … nothing can retrieve
it, but the greatest care and the most circumspect conduct.” It was in
this journey that he met his future wife, and either she or the doctor
cured him, for nothing more is heard of his approaching “decay.”
In 1761 he was attacked with a disease which seems incidental to new
settlements, known in Virginia at that time as the “river fever,” and a
hundred years later, farther west, as the “break-bone fever,” and
which, in a far milder form, is to-day known as malaria. Hoping to cure
it, he went over the mountains to the Warm Springs, being “much
overcome with the fatigue of the ride and weather together. However, I
think my fevers are a good deal abated, although my pains grow rather
worse, and my sleep equally disturbed. What effect the waters may have
upon me I can’t say at present, but I expect nothing from the air—this
certainly must be unwholesome. I purpose staying here a fortnight and
longer if benefitted.” After writing this, a relapse brought him “very
near my last gasp. The indisposition … increased upon me, and I fell
into a very low and dangerous state. I once thought the grim king would
certainly master my utmost efforts, and that I must sink, in spite of a
noble struggle; but thank God, I have now got the better of the
disorder, and shall soon be restored, I hope, to perfect health again.”
During the Revolution, fortunately, he seems to have been wonderfully
exempt from illness, and not till his retirement to Mount Vernon did an
old enemy, the ague, reappear. In 1786 he said, in a letter, “I write
to you with a very aching head and disordered frame…. Saturday last, by
an imprudent act, I brought on an ague and fever on Sunday, which
returned with violence Tuesday and Thursday; and, if Dr. Craik’s
efforts are ineffectual I shall have them again this day.” His diary
gives the treatment: “Seized with an ague before 6 o’clock this morning
after having laboured under a fever all night—Sent for Dr. Craik who
arrived just as we were setting down to dinner; who, when he thought my
fever sufficiently abated gave me cathartick and directed the Bark to
be applied in the Morning. September 2. Kept close to the House to day,
being my fit day in course least any exposure might bring it
on,—happily missed it September 14. At home all day repeating dozes of
Bark of which I took 4 with an interval of 2 hours between.”
With 1787 a new foe appeared in the form of “a rheumatic complaint
which has followed me more than six months, is frequently so bad that
it is sometimes with difficulty I can raise my hand to my head or turn
myself in bed.”
During the Presidency Washington had several dangerous illnesses, but
the earliest one had a comic side. In his tour through New England in
1789, so Sullivan states, “owing to some mismanagement in the reception
ceremonials at Cambridge, Washington was detained a long time, and the
weather being inclement, he took cold. For several days afterward a
severe influenza prevailed at Boston and its vicinity, and was called
the _Washington Influenza_.” He himself writes of this attack: “Myself
much disordered by a cold, and inflammation in the left eye.”
Six months later, in New York, he was “indisposed with a bad cold, and
at home all day writing letters on private business,” and this was the
beginning of “a severe illness,” which, according to McVickar, was “a
case of anthrax, so malignant as for several days to threaten
mortification. During this period Dr. Bard never quitted him. On one
occasion, being left alone with him, General Washington, looking
steadily in his face, desired his candid opinion as to the probable
termination of his disease, adding, with that placid firmness which
marked his address, ‘Do not flatter me with vain hopes; I am not afraid
to die, and therefore can bear the worst!’ Dr. Bard’s answer, though it
expressed hope, acknowledged his apprehensions. The President replied,
‘Whether to-night or twenty years hence, makes no difference.’” It was
of this that Maclay wrote, “Called to see the President. Every eye full
of tears. His life despaired of. Dr. MacKnight told me he would trifle
neither with his own character nor the public expectation; his danger
was imminent, and every reason to expect that the event of his disorder
would be unfortunate.”
During his convalescence the President wrote to a correspondent, “I
have the pleasure to inform you, that my health is restored, but a
feebleness still hangs upon me, and I am much incommoded by the
incision, which was made in a very large and painful tumor on the
protuberance of my thigh. This prevents me from walking or sitting.
However, the physicians assure me that it has had a happy effect in
removing my fever, and will tend very much to the establishment of my
general health; it is in a fair way of healing, and time and patience
only are wanting to remove this evil. I am able to take exercise in my
coach, by having it so contrived as to extend myself the full length of
it.” He himself seems to have thought this succession of illness due to
the fatigues of office, for he said,—
“Public meetings, and a dinner once a week to as many as my table will
hold, with the references _to and from_ the different department of
state and _other_ communications with _all_ parts of the Union, are as
much, if not more, than I am able to undergo; for I have already had
within less than a year, two severe attacks, the last worst than the
first. A third, more than probable, will put me to sleep with my
fathers. At what distance this may be I know not. Within the last
twelve months I have undergone more and severer sickness, than thirty
preceding years afflicted me with. Put it all together I have abundant
reason, however, to be thankful that I am so well recovered; though I
still feel the remains of the violent affection of my lungs; the cough,
pain in my breast, and shortness in breathing not having entirely left
me.”
While at Mount Vernon in 1794, “an exertion to save myself and horse
from falling among the rocks at the Lower Falls of the Potomac (whither
I went on Sunday morning to see the canal and locks),… wrenched my back
in such a manner as to prevent my riding;” the “hurt” “confined me
whilst I was at Mount Vernon,” and it was some time before he could
“again ride with ease and safety.” In this same year Washington was
operated on by Dr. Tate for cancer,—the same disorder from which his
mother had suffered.
After his retirement from office, in 1798, he “was seized with a fever,
of which I took little notice until I was obliged to call for the aid
of medicine; and with difficulty a remission thereof was so far
effected as to dose me all night on thursday with Bark—which having
stopped it, and weakness only remaining, will soon wear off as my
appetite is returning;” and to a correspondent he apologized for not
sooner replying, and pleaded “debilitated health, occasioned by the
fever wch. deprived me of 20 lbs. of the weight I had when you and I
were at Troy Mills Scales, and rendered writing irksome.”
A glance at Washington’s medical knowledge and opinions may not lack
interest. In the “Rules of civility” he had taken so to heart, the boy
had been taught that “In visiting the Sick, do not Presently play the
Physician if you be not Knowing therein,” but plantation life trained
every man to a certain extent in physicking, and the yearly invoice
sent to London always ordered such drugs as were needed,—ipecacuanha,
jalap, Venice treacle, rhubarb, diacordium, etc., as well as medicines
for horses and dogs. In 1755 Washington received great benefit from one
quack medicine, “Dr. James’s Powders;” he once bought a quantity of
another, “Godfrey’s Cordial;” and at a later time Mrs. Washington tried
a third, “Annatipic Pills.” More unenlightened still was a treatment
prescribed for Patsy Custis, when “Joshua Evans who came here last
night, put a [metal] ring on Patsey (for Fits).” A not much higher
order of treatment was Washington sending for Dr. Laurie to bleed his
wife, and, as his diary notes, the doctor “came here, I may add,
drunk,” so that a night’s sleep was necessary before the service could
be rendered. When the small-pox was raging in the Continental Army,
even Washington’s earnest request could not get the Virginia Assembly
to repeal a law which forbade inoculation, and he had to urge his wife
for over four years before he could bring her to the point of
submitting to the operation. One quality which implies greatness is
told by a visitor, who states that in his call “an allusion was made to
a serious fit of illness he had recently suffered; but he took no
notice of it” Custis notes that “his aversion to the use of medicine
was extreme; and, even when in great suffering, it was only by the
entreaties of his lady, and the respectful, yet beseeching look of his
oldest friend and companion in arms (Dr. James Craik) that he could be
prevailed upon to take the slightest preparation of medicine.” In line
with this was his refusal to take anything for a cold, saying, “Let it
go as it came,” though this good sense was apparently restricted to his
own colds, for Watson relates that in a visit to Mount Vernon “I was
extremely oppressed by a severe cold and excessive coughing, contracted
by the exposure of a harsh journey. He pressed me to use some remedies,
but I declined doing so. As usual, after retiring my coughing
increased. When some time had elapsed, the door of my room was gently
opened, and, on drawing my bed-curtains, to my utter astonishment, I
beheld Washington himself, standing at my bedside, with a bowl of hot
tea in his hand.”
The acute attacks of illness already touched upon by no means represent
all the physical debility and suffering of Washington’s life. During
the Revolution his sight became poor, so that in 1778 he first put on
glasses for reading, and Cobb relates that in the officers’ meeting in
1783, which Washington attended In order to check an appeal to arms,
“When the General took his station at the desk or pulpit, which, you
may recollect, was in the Temple, he took out his written address from
his coat pocket and then addressed the officers in the following
manner: ‘Gentlemen, you will permit me to put on my spectacles, for I
have not only grown gray, but almost blind, in the service of my
country.’ This little address, with the mode and manner of delivering
it, drew tears from [many] of the officers.”
Nor did his hearing remain entirely good. Maclay noted, at one of the
President’s dinners in 1789, that “he seemed in more good humor than I
ever saw him, though he was so deaf that I believe he heard little of
the conversation,” and three years later the President is reported as
saying to Jefferson that he was “sensible, too, of a decay of his
hearing, perhaps his other faculties might fall off and he not be
sensible of it.”
Washington’s teeth were even more troublesome. Mercer in 1760 alluded
to his showing, when his mouth was open, “some defective teeth,” and as
early as 1754 one of his teeth was extracted. From this time toothache,
usually followed by the extraction of the guilty member, became almost
of yearly recurrence, and his diary reiterates, with verbal variations,
“indisposed with an aching tooth, and swelled and inflamed gum,” while
his ledger contains many items typified by “To Dr. Watson drawing a
tooth 5/.” By 1789 he was using false teeth, and he lost his last tooth
in 1795. At first these substitutes were very badly fitted, and when
Stuart painted his famous picture he tried to remedy the malformation
they gave the mouth by padding under the lips with cotton. The result
was to make bad worse, and to give, in that otherwise fine portrait, a
feature at once poor and unlike Washington, and for this reason alone
the Sharpless miniature, which in all else approximates so closely to
Stuart’s masterpiece, is preferable. In 1796 Washington was furnished
with two sets of “sea-horse” (_i.e._, hippopotamus) ivory teeth, and
they were so much better fitted that the distortion of the mouth ceased
to be noticeable.
Washington’s final illness began December 12, 1799, in a severe cold
taken by riding about his plantation while “rain, hail and snow” were
“falling alternately, with a cold wind.” When he came in late in the
afternoon, Lear “observed to him that I was afraid that he had got wet,
he said no his great coat had kept him dry; but his neck appeared to be
wet and the snow was hanging on his hair.” The next day he had a cold,
“and complained of having a sore throat,” yet, though it was snowing,
none the less he “went out in the afternoon … to mark some trees which
were to be cut down.” “He had a hoarseness which increased in the
evening; but he made light of it as he would never take anything to
carry off a cold, always observing, ‘let it go as it came.’” At two
o’clock the following morning he was seized with a severe ague, and as
soon as the house was stirring he sent for an overseer and ordered the
man to bleed him, and about half a pint of blood was taken from him. At
this time he could “swallow nothing,” “appeared to be distressed,
convulsed and almost suffocated.”
There can be scarcely a doubt that the treatment of his last illness by
the doctors was little short of murder. Although he had been bled once
already, after they took charge of the case they prescribed “two pretty
copious bleedings,” and finally a third, “when about 32 ounces of blood
were drawn,” or the equivalent of a quart. Of the three doctors, one
disapproved of this treatment, and a second wrote, only a few days
after Washington’s death, to the third, “you must remember” Dr. Dick
“was averse to bleeding the General, and I have often thought that if
we had acted according to his suggestion when he said, ‘he needs all
his strength— bleeding will diminish it,’ and taken no more blood from
him, our good friend might have been alive now. But we were governed by
the best light we had; we thought we were right, and so we are
justified.”
Shortly after this last bleeding Washington seemed to have resigned
himself, for he gave some directions concerning his will, and said, “I
find I am going,” and, “smiling,” added, that, “as it was the debt
which we must all pay, he looked to the event with perfect
resignation.” From this time on “he appeared to be in great pain and
distress,” and said, “Doctor, I die hard, but I am not afraid to go. I
believed from my first attack that I should not survive it.” A little
later he said, “I feel myself going. I thank you for your attention,
you had better not take any more trouble about me; but let me go off
quietly.” The last words he said were, “’Tis well.” “About ten minutes
before he expired, his breathing became much easier—he lay quietly—…
and felt his own pulse…. The general’s hand fell from his wrist,… and
he expired without a struggle or a Sigh.”
III
EDUCATION
The father of Washington received his education at Appleby School in
England, and, true to his alma mater, he sent his two elder sons to the
same school. His death when George was eleven prevented this son from
having the same advantage, and such education as he had was obtained in
Virginia. His old friend, and later enemy, Rev. Jonathan Boucher, said
that “George, like most people thereabouts at that time, had no
education than reading, writing and accounts which he was taught by a
convict servant whom his father bought for a schoolmaster;” but Boucher
managed to include so many inaccuracies in his account of Washington,
that even if this statement were not certainly untruthful in several
respects, it could be dismissed as valueless.
Born at Wakefield, in Washington parish, Westmoreland, which had been
the home of the Washingtons from their earliest arrival in Virginia,
George was too young while the family continued there to attend the
school which had been founded in that parish by the gift of four
hundred and forty acres from some early patron of knowledge. When the
boy was about three years old, the family removed to “Washington,” as
Mount Vernon was called before it was renamed, and dwelt there from
1735 till 1739, when, owing to the burning of the homestead, another
remove was made to an estate on the Rappahannock, nearly opposite
Fredericksburg.
Here it was that the earliest education of George was received, for in
an old volume of the Bishop of Exeter’s Sermons his name is written,
and on a flyleaf a note in the handwriting of a relative who inherited
the library states that this “autograph of George Washington’s name is
believed to be the earliest specimen of his handwriting, when he was
probably not more than eight or nine years old.” During this period,
too, there came into his possession the “Young Man’s Companion,” an
English _vade-mecum_ of then enormous popularity, written “in a plain
and easy stile,” the title states, “that a young Man may attain the
same, without a Tutor.” It would be easier to say what this little book
did not teach than to catalogue what it did. How to read, write, and
figure is but the introduction to the larger part of the work, which
taught one to write letters, wills, deeds, and all legal forms, to
measure, survey, and navigate, to build houses, to make ink and cider,
and to plant and graft, how to address letters to people of quality,
how to doctor the sick, and, finally, how to conduct one’s self in
company. The evidence still exists of how carefully Washington studied
this book, in the form of copybooks, in which are transcribed problem
after problem and rule after rule, not to exclude the famous Rules of
civility, which biographers of Washington have asserted were written by
the boy himself. School-mates thought fit, after Washington became
famous, to remember his “industry and assiduity at school as very
remarkable,” and the copies certainly bear out the statement, but even
these prove that the lad was as human as the man, for scattered here
and there among the logarithms, geometrical problems, and legal forms
are crude drawings of birds, faces, and other typical school-boy
attempts.
From this book, too, came two qualities which clung to him through
life. His handwriting, so easy, flowing, and legible, was modelled from
the engraved “copy” sheet, and certain forms of spelling were acquired
here that were never corrected, though not the common usage of his
time. To the end of his life, Washington wrote lie, lye; liar, lyar;
ceiling, cieling; oil, oyl; and blue, blew, as in his boyhood he had
learned to do from this book. Even in his carefully prepared will,
“lye” was the form in which he wrote the word. It must be acknowledged
that, aside from these errors which he had been taught, through his
whole life Washington was a non-conformist as regarded the King’s
English: struggle as he undoubtedly did, the instinct of correct
spelling was absent, and thus every now and then a verbal slip
appeared: extravagence, lettely (for lately), glew, riffle (for rifle),
latten (for Latin), immagine, winder, rief (for rife), oppertunity,
spirma citi, yellow oaker,—such are types of his lapses late in life,
while his earlier letters and journals are far more inaccurate. It must
be borne in mind, however, that of these latter we have only the
draughts, which were undoubtedly written carelessly, and the two
letters actually sent which are now known, and the text of his surveys
before he was twenty, are quite as well written as his later epistles.
[Illustration: _Easy Copies to Write by_.
COPY OF PENMANSHIP BY WHICH WASHINGTON’S HANDWRITING WAS FORMED]
On the death of his father, Washington went to live with his brother
Augustine, in order, it is presumed, that he might take advantage of a
good school near Wakefield, kept by one Williams; but after a time he
returned to his mother’s, and attended the school kept by the Rev.
James Marye, in Fredericksburg. It has been universally asserted by his
biographers that he studied no foreign language, but direct proof to
the contrary exists in a copy of Patrick’s Latin translation of Homer,
printed in 1742, the fly-leaf of a copy of which bears, in a school-boy
hand, the inscription:
“Hunc mihi quaeso (bone Vir) Libellum
Redde, si forsan tenues repertum
Ut Scias qui sum sine fraude Scriptum.
Est mihi nomen,
Georgio Washington,
George Washington,
Fredericksburg,
Virginia.”
It is thus evident that the reverend teacher gave Washington at least
the first elements of Latin, but it is equally clear that the boy, like
most others, forgot it with the greatest facility as soon as he ceased
studying.
The end of Washington’s school-days left him, if a good “cipherer,” a
bad speller, and a still worse grammarian, but, fortunately, the
termination of instruction did not by any means end his education. From
that time there is to be noted a steady improvement in both these
failings. Pickering stated that “when I first became acquainted with
the General (in 1777) his writing was defective in grammar, and even
spelling, owing to the insufficiency of his early education; of which,
however, he gradually got the better in the subsequent years of his
life, by the official perusal of some excellent models, particularly
those of Hamilton; by writing with care and patient attention; and
reading numerous, indeed multitudes of letters to and from his friends
and correspondents. This obvious improvement was begun during the war.”
In 1785 a contemporary noted that “the General is remarked for writing
a most elegant letter,” adding that, “like the famous Addison, his
writing excells his speaking,” and Jefferson said that “he wrote
readily, rather diffusely, in an easy and correct style. This he had
acquired by conversation with the world, for his education was merely
reading, writing and common arithmetic, to which he added surveying at
a later day.”
There can be no doubt that Washington felt his lack of education very
keenly as he came to act upon a larger sphere than as a Virginia
planter. “I am sensible,” he wrote a friend, of his letters, “that the
narrations are just, and that truth and honesty will appear in my
writings; of which, therefore, I shall not be ashamed, though criticism
may censure my style.” When his secretary suggested to him that he
should write his own life, he replied, “In a former letter I informed
you, my dear Humphreys, that if I had _talents_ for it, I have not
leisure to turn my thoughts to Commentaries. A consciousness of a
defective education, and a certainty of the want of time, unfit me for
such an undertaking.” On being pressed by a French comrade-in-arms to
pay France a visit, he declined, saying, “Remember, my good friend,
that I am unacquainted with your language, that I am too far advanced
in years to acquire a knowledge of it, and that, to converse through
the medium of an interpreter upon common occasions, especially with the
Ladies, must appear so extremely awkward, insipid, and uncouth, that I
can scarce bear it in idea.”
In 1788, without previous warning, he was elected chancellor of William
and Mary College, a distinction by which he felt “honored and greatly
affected;” but “not knowing particularly what duties, or whether any
active services are immediately expected from the person holding the
office of chancellor, I have been greatly embarrassed in deciding upon
the public answer proper to be given…. My difficulties are briefly
these. On the one hand, nothing in this world could be farther from my
heart, than … a refusal of the appointment … provided its duties are
not incompatible with the mode of life to which I have entirely
addicted myself; and, on the other hand, I would not for any
consideration disappoint the just expectations of the convocation by
accepting an office, whose functions I previously knew … I should be
absolutely unable to perform.”
Perhaps the most touching proof of his own self-depreciation was
something he did when he had become conscious that his career would be
written about. Still in his possession were the letter-books in which
he had kept copies of his correspondence while in command of the
Virginia regiment between 1754 and 1759, and late in life he went
through these volumes, and, by interlining corrections, carefully built
them into better literary form. How this was done is shown here by a
single facsimile.
With the appointment to command the Continental Army, a secretary was
secured, and in an absence of this assistant he complained to him that
“my business increases very fast, and my distresses for want of you
along with it. Mr. Harrison is the only gentleman of my family, that
can afford me the least assistance in writing. He and Mr. Moylan,… have
heretofore afforded me their aid; and … they have really had a great
deal of trouble.”
Most of Washington’s correspondence during the Revolution was written
by his aides. Pickering said,—
“As to the public letters bearing his signature, it is certain that he
could not have maintained so extensive a correspondence with his own
pen, even if he had possessed the ability and promptness of Hamilton.
That he would, sometimes with propriety, observe upon, correct, and add
to any draught submitted for his examination and signature, I have no
doubt. And yet I doubt whether many, if any, of the letters … are his
own draught…. I have even reason to believe that not only the
_composition_, the _clothing of the ideas_, but the _ideas themselves_,
originated generally with the writers; that Hamilton and Harrison, in
particular, were scarcely in any degree his amanuenses. I remember,
when at head-quarters one day, at Valley Forge, Colonel Harrison came
down from the General’s chamber, with his brows knit, and thus accosted
me, ‘I wish to the Lord the General would give me the heads or some
idea, of what he would have me write.’”
[Illustration: CORRECTED LETTER OF WASHINGTON SHOWING LATER CHANGES]
After the Revolution, a visitor at Mount Vernon said, “It’s astonishing
the packet of letters that daily comes for him from all parts of the
world, which employ him most of the morning to answer.” A secretary was
employed, but not so much to do the actual writing as the copying and
filing, and at this time Washington complained “that my numerous
correspondencies are daily becoming irksome to me.” Yet there can be
little question that he richly enjoyed writing when it was not for the
public eye. “It is not the letters of my friends which give me
trouble,” he wrote to one correspondent; to another he said, “I began
with telling you that I should not write a lengthy letter but the
result has been to contradict it;” and to a third, “when I look back to
the length of this letter, I am so much astonished and frightened at it
myself that I have not the courage to give it a careful reading for the
purpose of correction. You must, therefore, receive it with all its
imperfections, accompanied with this assurance, that, though there may
be inaccuracies in the letter, there is not a single defect in the
friendship.” Occasionally there was, as here, an apology: “I am
persuaded you will excuse this scratch’d scrawl, when I assure you it
is with difficulty I write at all,” he ended a letter in 1777, and in
1792 of another said, “You must receive it blotted and scratched as you
find it for I have not time to copy it. It is now ten o’clock at night,
after my usual hour for retiring to rest, and the mail will be closed
early to-morrow morning.”
To his overseer, who neglected to reply to some of his questions, he
told his method of writing, which is worth quoting:
“Whenever I set down to write you, I read your letter, or letters
carefully over, and as soon as I come to a part that requires to be
noticed, I make a short note on the cover of a letter or piece of waste
paper;—then read on the next, noting that in like manner;—and so on
until I have got through the whole letter and reports. Then in writing
my letter to you, as soon as I have finished what I have to say on one
of these notes I draw my pen through it and proceed to another and
another until the whole is done—crossing each as I go on, by which
means if I am called off twenty times whilst I am writing, I can never
with these notes before me finished or unfinished, omit anything I
wanted to say; and they serve me also, as I keep no copies of letters I
wrote to you, as Memorandums of what has been written if I should have
occasion at any time to refer to them.”
Another indication of his own knowledge of defects is shown by his fear
about his public papers. When his Journal to the Ohio was printed by
order of the governor, in 1754, in the preface the young author said,
“I think I can do no less than apologize, in some Measure, for the
numberless imperfections of it. There intervened but one Day between my
Arrival in Williamsburg, and the Time for the Council’s Meeting, for me
to prepare and transcribe, from the rough Minutes I had taken in my
Travels, this Journal; the writing of which only was sufficient to
employ me closely the whole Time, consequently admitted of no Leisure
to consult of a new and proper Form to offer it in, or to correct or
amend the Diction of the old.” Boucher states that the publication, “in
Virginia at least, drew on him some ridicule.”
This anxiety about his writings was shown all through life, and led
Washington to rely greatly on such of his friends as would assist him,
even to the point, so Reed thought, that he “sometimes adopted draughts
of writing when his own would have been better … from an extreme
diffidence in himself,” and Pickering said, in writing to an aide,—
“Although the General’s private correspondence was doubtless, for the
most part, his own, and extremely acceptable to the persons addressed;
yet, in regard to whatever was destined to meet the public eye, he
seems to have been fearful to exhibit his own compositions, relying too
much on the judgment of his friends, and sometimes adopted draughts
that were exceptionable. Some parts of his private correspondence must
have essentially differed from other parts in the style of composition.
You mention your own aids to the General in this line. Now, if I had
your draughts before me, mingled with the General’s to the same
persons, nothing would be more easy than to assign to each his own
proper offspring. You could neither restrain your _courser_, nor
conceal your imagery, nor express your ideas otherwise than in the
language of a scholar. The General’s compositions would be perfectly
plain and didactic, and not always correct.”
During the Presidency, scarcely anything of a public nature was penned
by Washington,—Hamilton, Jefferson, Madison, and Randolph acting as his
draughtsmen. “We are approaching the first Monday in December by hasty
strides,” he wrote to Jefferson. “I pray you, therefore, to revolve in
your mind such matters as may be proper for me to lay before Congress,
not only in your own department, (if any there be,) but such others of
a general nature, as may happen to occur to you, that I may be prepared
to open the session with such communication, as shall appear to merit
attention.” Two years later he said to the same, “I pray you to note
down or rather to frame into paragraphs or sections, such matters as
may occur to you as fit and proper for general communication at the
opening of the next session of Congress, not only in the department of
state, but on any other subject applicable to the occasion, that I may
in due time have everything before me.” To Hamilton he wrote in 1795,
“Having desired the late Secretary of State to note down every matter
as it occurred, proper either for the speech at the opening of the
session, or for messages afterwards, the inclosed paper contains
everything I could extract from that office. Aid me, I pray you, with
your sentiments on these points, and such others as may have occurred
to you relative to my communications to Congress.”
The best instance is furnished in the preparation of the Farewell
Address. First Madison was asked to prepare a draft, and from this
Washington drew up a paper, which he submitted to Hamilton and Jay,
with the request that “even if you should think it best to throw the
whole into a different form, let me request, notwithstanding, that my
draught may be returned to me (along with yours) with such amendments
and corrections as to render it as perfect as the formation is
susceptible of; curtailed if too verbose; and relieved of all tautology
not necessary to enforce the ideas in the original or quoted part. My
wish is that the whole may appear in a plain style, and be handed to
the public in an honest, unaffected, simple part.” Accordingly,
Hamilton prepared what was almost a new instrument in form, though not
in substance, which, after “several serious and attentive readings,”
Washington wrote that he preferred “greatly to the other draughts,
being more copious on material points, more dignified on the whole, and
with less egotism; of course, less exposed to criticism, and better
calculated to meet the eye of discerning readers (foreigners
particularly, whose curiosity I have little doubt will lead them to
inspect it attentively, and to pronounce their opinions on the
performance).” The paper was then, according to Pickering, “put into
the hands of Wolcott, McHenry, and myself … with a request that we
would examine it, and note any alterations and corrections which we
should think best. We did so; but our notes, as well as I recollect,
were very few, and regarded chiefly the grammar and composition.”
Finally, Washington revised the whole, and it was then made public.
Confirmatory of this sense of imperfect cultivation are the pains he
took that his adopted son and grandson should be well educated. As
already noted, tutors for both were secured at the proper ages, and
when Jack was placed with the Rev. Mr. Boucher, Washington wrote: “In
respect to the kinds, & manner of his Studying I leave it wholely to
your better Judgment—had he begun, or rather pursued his study of the
Greek Language, I should have thought it no bad acquisition; but
whether if he acquire this now, he may not forego some useful branches
of learning, is a matter worthy of consideration. To be acquainted with
the French Tongue is become part of polite Education; and to a man who
has the prospect of mixing in a large Circle absolutely necessary.
Without Arithmetick, the common affairs of Life are not to be managed
with success. The study of Geometry, and the Mathematics (with due
regard to the limites of it) is equally advantageous. The principles of
Philosophy Moral, Natural, &c. I should think a very desirable
knowledge for a Gentleman.” So, too, he wrote to Washington Custis, “I
do not hear you mention anything of geography or mathematics as parts
of your study; both these are necessary branches of useful knowledge.
Nor ought you to let your knowledge of the Latin language and
grammatical rules escape you. And the French language is now so
universal, and so necessary with foreigners, or in a foreign country,
that I think you would be injudicious not to make yourself master of
it.” It is worth noting in connection with this last sentence that
Washington used only a single French expression with any frequency, and
that he always wrote “faupas.”
Quite as indicative of the value he put on education was the aid he
gave towards sending his young relatives and others to college, his
annual contribution to an orphan school, his subscriptions to
academies, and his wish for a national university. In 1795 he said,—
“It has always been a source of serious reflection and sincere regret
with me, that the youth of the United States should be sent to foreign
countries for the purpose of education…. For this reason I have greatly
wished to see a plan adopted, by which the arts, sciences, and
belles-lettres could be taught in their _fullest_ extent, thereby
embracing _all_ the advantages of European tuition, with the means of
acquiring the liberal knowledge, which is necessary to qualify our
citizens for the exigencies of public as well as private life; and
(which with me is a consideration of great magnitude) by assembling the
youth from the different parts of this rising republic, contributing
from their intercourse and interchange of information to the removal of
prejudices, which might perhaps sometimes arise from local
circumstances.”
In framing his Farewell Address, “revolving … on the various matters it
contained and on the first expression of the advice or recommendation
which was given in it, I have regretted that another subject (which in
my estimation is of interesting concern to the well-being of this
country) was not touched upon also; I mean education generally, as one
of the surest means of enlightening and giving just ways of thinking to
our citizens, but particularly the establishment of a university; where
the youth from all parts of the United States might receive the polish
of erudition in the arts, sciences and belles-lettres.” Eventually he
reduced this idea to a plea for the people to “promote, then, as an
object of primary importance, institutions for the general diffusion of
knowledge,” because “in proportion as the structure of a government
gives force to public opinion, it is essential that public opinion
should be enlightened.” By his will he left to the endowment of a
university in the District of Columbia the shares in the Potomac
Company which had been given him by the State of Virginia, but the
clause was never carried into effect.
It was in 1745 that Washington’s school-days came to an end. His share
of his father’s property being his mother’s till he was twenty-one, a
livelihood had to be found, and so at about fourteen years of age the
work of life began. Like a true boy, the lad wanted to go to sea,
despite his uncle’s warning “that I think he had better be put
apprentice to a tinker; for a common sailor before the mast has by no
means the liberty of the subject; for they will press him from a ship
where he has fifty shillings a month; and make him take twenty-three,
and cut and slash, and use him like a negro, or rather like a dog.” His
mother, however, would not consent, and to this was due his becoming a
surveyor.
From his “Young Man’s Companion” Washington had already learned the use
of Gunter’s rule and how it should be used in surveying, and to
complete his knowledge he seems to have taken lessons of the licensed
surveyor of Westmoreland County, James Genn, for transcripts of some of
the surveys drawn by Genn still exist in the handwriting of his pupil.
This implied a distinct and very valuable addition to his knowledge,
and a large number of his surveys still extant are marvels of neatness
and careful drawing. As a profession it was followed for only four
years (1747-1751), but all through life he often used his knowledge in
measuring or platting his own property. Far more important is the
service it was to him in public life. In 1755 he sent to Braddock’s
secretary a map of the “back country,” and to the governor of Virginia
plans of two forts. During the Revolution it helped him not merely in
the study of maps, but also in the facility it gave him to take in the
topographical features of the country. Very largely, too, was the
selection of the admirable site for the capital due to his supervising:
all the plans for the city were submitted to him, and nowhere do the
good sense and balance of the man appear to better advantage than in
his correspondence with the Federal city commissioners.
In Washington’s earliest account-book there is an item when he was
sixteen years old, “To cash pd ye Musick Master for my Entrance 3/9.”
It is commonly said that he played the flute, but this is as great a
libel on him as any Tom Paine wrote, and though he often went to
concerts, and though fond of hearing his granddaughter Nelly play and
sing, he never was himself a performer, and the above entry probably
refers to the singing-master whom the boys and girls of that day made
the excuse for evening frolics.