“There are times when favors conferred make a greater impression than

at others, for, though I have received many, I hope I have not been

unmindful of them; yet that, at a time your popularity was at the

highest and mine at the lowest, and when it is so common for men’s

resentments to run up high against those, who differ from them in

opinion, you should act with your wonted kindness towards me, has

affected me more than any favor I have received; and could not be

believed by some in New York, it being above the run of common minds.”

In behalf of another member of the family, threatened with

confiscation, he wrote to a member of the House of Delegates, “I hope,

I trust, that no act of Legislation in the State of Virginia has

affected, or can affect, the properly of this gentleman, otherwise than

in common with that of every good and well disposed citizen of

America,” and this was sufficient to put an end to the project At the

close of the war he wrote to this absentee, “There was nothing wanting

in [your] Letter to give compleat satisfaction to Mrs. Washington and

myself but some expression to induce us to believe you would once more

become our neighbors. Your house at Belvoir I am sorry to add is no

more, but mine (which is enlarged since you saw it), is most sincerely

and heartily at your service till you could rebuild it. As the path,

after being closed by a long, arduous, and painful contest, is to use

an Indian metaphor, now opened and made smooth, I shall please myself

with the hope of hearing from you frequently; and till you forbid me to

indulge the wish, I shall not despair of seeing you and Mrs. Fairfax

once more the inhabitants of Belvoir, and greeting you both there the

intimate companions of our old age, as you have been of our younger

years.” And to another he left a token of remembrance in his will.

One of the most curious circle of friends was that composed of Indians.

After his mission among them in 1753, Washington wrote to a tribe and

signed himself “your friend and brother.” In a less general sense he

requested an Indian agent to “recommend me kindly to Mononcatoocha and

others; tell them how happy it would make Conotocarius to have an

opportunity of taking them by the hand.” A little later he had this

pleasure, and he wrote the governor, “the Indians are all around

teasing and perplexing me for one thing or another, so that I scarce

know what I write.” When Washington left the frontier this intercourse

ceased, but he was not forgotten, for in descending the Ohio in his

Western trip of 1770 a hunting party was met, and “in the person of

Kiashuto I found an old acquaintance, he being one of the Indians that

went [with me] to the French in 1753. He expressed satisfaction at

seeing me, and treated us with great kindness, giving us a quarter of

very fine buffalo. He insisted upon our spending that night with him,

and, in order to retard us as little as possible moved his camp down

the river.”

With his appointment to the Virginia regiment came military friends.

From the earliest of these—Van Braam, who had served under Lawrence

Washington in the Carthagena expedition of 1742, and who had come to

live at Mount Vernon—Washington had previously taken lessons in

fencing, and when appointed the bearer of a letter to the French

commander on the Ohio he took Van Braam with him as interpreter. A

little later, on receiving his majority, Washington appointed Van Braam

his recruiting lieutenant, and recommended him to the governor for a

captain’s commission on the grounds that he was “an experienced good

officer.” To Van Braam fell the duty of translating the capitulation to

the French at Fort Necessity, and to his reading was laid the blunder

by which Washington signed a statement acknowledging himself as an

“assassin.” Inconsequence he became the scapegoat of the expedition,

was charged by the governor with being a “poltroon” and traitor, and

was omitted from the Assembly’s vote of thanks and extra pay to the

regiment. But Washington stood by him, and when himself burgess

succeeded in getting this latter vote rescinded.

Another friend of the same period was the Chevalier Peyroney, whom

Washington first made an ensign, and then urged the governor to advance

him, promising that if the governor “should be pleased to indulge me in

this request, I shall look upon it in a very particular light.”

Peyroney was badly wounded at Fort Necessity and was furloughed, during

which he wrote his commander, “I have made my particular Business to

tray if any had some Bad intention against you here Below; But thank

God I meet allowais with a good wish for you from evry Mouth each one

entertining such Caracter of you as I have the honour to do myself.” He

served again in the Braddock march, and in that fiasco, Washington

wrote, “Captain Peyroney and all his officers down to a corporal, was

killed.”

With Captain Stewart—“a gentleman whose assiduity and military capacity

are second to none in our Service”—Washington was intimate enough to

have Stewart apply in 1763 for four hundred pounds to aid him to

purchase a commission, a sum Washington did not have at his disposal.

But because of “a regard of that high nature that I could never see you

uneasy without feeling a part and wishing to remove the cause,”

Washington lent him three hundred pounds towards it, apparently without

much return, for some years later he wrote to a friend that he was

“very glad to learn that my friend Stewart was well when you left

London. I have not had a letter from him these five years.” At the

close of the Revolution he received a letter from Stewart containing

“affectionate and flattering expressions,” which gave Washington “much

pleasure,” as it “removed an apprehension I had long labored under, of

your having taken your departure for the land of Spirits. How else

could I account for a silence of 15 years. I shall always be happy to

see you at Mt. Vernon.”

His friend William Ramsay—“well known, well-esteemed, and of

unblemished character”—he appointed commissary, and long after, in

1769, wrote,—

“Having once or twice of late heard you speak highly in praise of the

Jersey College, as if you had a desire of sending your son William

there … I should be glad, if you have no other objection to it than

what may arise from the expense, if you would send him there as soon as

it is convenient, and depend on me for twenty-five pounds this currency

a year for his support, so long as it may be necessary for the

completion of his education. If I live to see the accomplishment of

this term, the sum here stipulated shall he annually paid; and if I die

in the mean while, this letter shall be obligatory upon my heirs, or

executors, to do it according to the true intent and meaning hereof. No

other return is expected, or wished, for this offer, than that you will

accept it with the same freedom and good will, with which it is made,

and that you may not even consider it in the light of an obligation or

mention it as such; for, be assured, that from me it will never be

known.”

The dearest friendship formed in these years was with the doctor of the

regiment, James Craik, who in the course of his duties attended

Washington in two serious illnesses, and when the war was ended settled

near Mount Vernon. He was frequently a visitor there, and soon became

the family medical attendant. When appointed General, Washington wrote,

“tell Doctor Craik that I should be very glad to see him here if there

was anything worth his acceptance; but the Massachusetts people suffer

nothing to go by them that they lay hands upon.” In 1777 the General

secured his appointment as deputy surgeon-general of the Middle

Department, and three years later, when the hospital service was being

reformed, he used his influence to have him retained. Craik was one of

those instrumental in warning the commander-in-chief of the existence

of the Conway Cabal, because “my attachment to your person is such, my

friendship is so sincere, that every hint which has a tendency to hurt

your honor, wounds me most sensibly.” The doctor was Washington’s

companion, by invitation, in both his later trips to the Ohio, and his

trust in him was so strong that he put under his care the two nephews

whose charge he had assumed. In Washington’s ledger an entry tells of

another piece of friendliness, to the effect, “Dr. James Craik, paid

him, being a donation to his son, Geo. Washington Craik for his

education £30,” and after graduating the young man for a time served as

one of his private secretaries. After a serious illness in 1789,

Washington wrote to the doctor, “persuaded as I am, that the case has

been treated with skill, and with as much tenderness as the nature of

the complaint would admit, yet I confess I often wished for your

inspection of it,” and later he wrote, “if I should ever have occasion

for a Physician or Surgeon, I should prefer my old Surgeon, Dr. Craik,

who, from 40 years’ experience, is better qualified than a Dozen of

them put together.” Craik was the first of the doctors to reach

Washington’s bedside in his last illness, and when the dying man

predicted his own death, “the Doctor pressed his hand but could not

utter a word. He retired from the bedside and sat by the fire absorbed

in grief.” In Washington’s will he left “to my compatriot in arms and

old and intimate friend, Doctor Craik I give my Bureau (or as the

Cabinet makers called it, Tambour Secretary) and the circular chair, an

appendage of my study.”

The arrival of Braddock and his army at Alexandria brought a new circle

of military friends. Washington “was very particularly noticed by that

General, was taken into his family as an extra aid, offered a Captain’s

commission by _brevet_ (which was the highest grade he had it in his

power to bestow) and had the compliment of several blank Ensigncies

given him to dispose of to the Young Gentlemen of his acquaintance.” In

this position he was treated “with much complaisance … especially from

the General,” which meant much, as Braddock seems to have had nothing

but curses for nearly every one else, and the more as Washington and he

“had frequent disputes,” which were “maintained with warmth on both

sides, especially on his.” But the general, “though his enmities were

strong,” in “his attachments” was “warm,” and grew to like and trust

the young volunteer, and had he “survived his unfortunate defeat, I

should have met with preferment,” having “his promise to that effect.”

Washington was by the general when he was wounded in the lungs, lifted

him into a covered cart, and “brought him over the _first_ ford of the

Monongahela,” into temporary safety. Three days later Braddock died of

his wounds, bequeathing to Washington his favorite horse and his

body-servant as tokens of his gratitude. Over him Washington read the

funeral service, and it was left to him to see that “the poor general”

was interred “with the honors of war.”

Even before public service had made him known, Washington was a friend

and guest of many of the leading Virginians. Between 1747 and 1754 he

visited the Carters of Shirley, Nomony, and Sabine Hall, the Lewises of

Warner Hall, the Lees of Stratford, and the Byrds of Westover, and

there was acquaintance at least with the Spotswoods, Fauntleroys,

Corbins, Randolphs, Harrisons, Robinsons, Nicholases, and other

prominent families. In fact, one friend wrote him, “your health and

good fortune are the toast of every table,” and another that “the

Council and Burgesses are mostly your friends,” and those two bodies

included every Virginian of real influence. It was Richard Corbin who

enclosed him his first commission, in a brief note, beginning “Dear

George” and ending “your friend,” but in time relations became more or

less strained, and Washington suspected him “of representing my

character … with ungentlemanly freedom.” With John Robinson, “Speaker”

and Treasurer of Virginia, who wrote Washington in 1756, “our hopes,

dear George, are all fixed on you,” a close correspondence was

maintained, and when Washington complained of the governor’s course

towards him Robinson replied, “I beg dear friend, that you will bear,

so far as a man of honor ought, the discouragements and slights you

have too often met with.” The son, Beverly Robinson, was a

fellow-soldier, and, as already mentioned, was Washington’s host on his

visit to New York in 1756. The Revolution interrupted the friendship,

but it is alleged that Robinson (who was deep in the Arnold plot) made

an appeal to the old-time relation in an endeavor to save André. The

appeal was in vain, but auld lang syne had its influence, for the sons

of Beverly, British officers taken prisoners in 1779, were promptly

exchanged, so one of them asserted, “in consequence of the embers of

friendship that still remained unextinguished in the breasts of my

father and General Washington.”

Outside of his own colony, too, Washington made friends of many

prominent families, with whom there was more or less interchange of

hospitality. Before the Revolution there had been visiting or breaking

of bread with the Galloways, Dulaneys, Carrolls, Calverts, Jenifers,

Edens, Ringgolds, and Tilghmans of Maryland, the Penns, Cadwaladers,

Morrises, Shippens, Aliens, Dickinsons, Chews, and Willings of

Pennsylvania, and the De Lanceys and Bayards of New York.

Election to the Continental Congress strengthened some friendships and

added new ones. With Benjamin Harrison he was already on terms of

intimacy, and as long as the latter was in Congress he was the member

most in the confidence of the General. Later they differed in politics,

but Washington assured Harrison that “my friendship is not in the least

lessened by the difference, which has taken place in our political

sentiments, nor is my regard for you diminished by the part you have

acted.” Joseph Jones and Patrick Henry both took his part against the

Cabal, and the latter did him especial service in forwarding to him the

famous anonymous letter, an act for which Washington felt “most

grateful obligations.” Henry and Washington differed later in politics,

and it was reported that the latter spoke disparagingly of the former,

but this Washington denied, and not long after offered Henry the

Secretaryship of State. Still later he made a personal appeal to him to

come forward and combat the Virginia resolutions of 1798, an appeal to

which Henry responded. The intimacy with Robert Morris was close, and,

as already noted, Washington and his family were several times inmates

of his home. Gouverneur Morris was one of his most trusted advisers,

and, it is claimed, gave the casting vote which saved Washington from

being arrested in 1778, when the Cabal was fiercest. While President,

Washington sent him on a most important mission to Great Britain, and

on its completion made him Minister to France. From that post the

President was, at the request of France, compelled to recall him; but

in doing so Washington wrote him a private letter assuring Morris that

he “held the same place in my estimation” as ever, and signed himself

“yours affectionately.” Charles Carroll of Carrollton was a partisan of

the General, and very much disgusted a member of the Cabal by telling

him “almost literally that anybody who displeased or did not admire the

Commander-in-chief, ought not to be kept in the army.” And to Edward

Rutledge Washington wrote, “I can but love and thank you, and I do it

sincerely for your polite and friendly letter…. The sentiments

contained in it are such as have uniformly flowed from your pen, and

they are not the less flattering than pleasing to me.”

The command of the Continental army brought a new kind of friend, in

the young aides of his staff. One of his earliest appointments was

Joseph Reed, and, though he remained but five months in the service, a

close friendship was formed. Almost weekly Washington wrote him in the

most confidential and affectionate manner, and twice he appealed to

Reed to take the position once more, in one instance adding that if

“you are disposed to continue with me, I shall think myself too

fortunate and happy to wish for a change.” Yet Washington none the less

sent Reed congratulations on his election to the Pennsylvania Assembly,

“although I consider it the coup-de-grace to my ever seeing you” again

a “member of my family,” to help him he asked a friend to endeavor to

get Reed legal business, and when all law business ceased and the

would-be lawyer was without occupation or means of support, he used his

influence to secure him the appointment of adjutant.

Reed kept him informed as to the news of Philadelphia, and wrote even

such adverse criticism of the General as he heard, which Washington

“gratefully” acknowledged. But one criticism Reed did not write was

what he himself was saying of his general after the fall of Fort

Washington, for which he blamed the commander-in-chief in a letter to

Lee, and probably to others, for when later Reed and Arnold quarrelled,

the latter boasted that “I can say I never basked in the sunshine of my

general’s favor, and courted him to his face, when I was at the same

time treating him with the greatest disrespect and villifying his

character when absent. This is more than a ruling member of the Council

of Pennsylvania can say.” Washington learned of this criticism in a

letter from Lee to Reed, which was opened at head-quarters on the

supposition that it was on army matters, and “with no idea of its being

a private letter, much less the tendency of the correspondence,” as

Washington explained in a letter to Reed, which had not a word of

reproach for the double-dealing that must have cut the General keenly,

coming as it did at a moment of misfortune and discouragement. Reed

wrote a lame explanation and apology, and later sought to “regain” the

“lost friendship” by an earnest appeal to Washington’s generosity. Nor

did he appeal in vain, for the General replied that though “I felt

myself hurt by a certain letter … I was hurt … because the same

sentiments were not communicated immediately to myself.” The old-time

intimacy was renewed, and how little his personal feeling had

influenced Washington is shown in the fact that even previous to this

peace-making he had secured for Reed the appointment to command one of

the choicest brigades in the army. Perhaps the friendship was never

quite as close, but in writing him Washington still signed himself

“yours affectionately.”

John Laurens, appointed an aide in 1777, quickly endeared himself to

Washington, and conceived the most ardent affection for his chief. The

young officer of twenty-four used all his influence with his father

(then President of Congress) against the Cabal, and in 1778, when

Charles Lee was abusing the commander-in-chief, Laurens thought himself

bound to resent it, “as well on account of the relation he bore to

General Washington, as from motives of personal friendship and respect

for his character,” and he challenged the defamer and put a bullet into

him. To his commander he signed himself “with the greatest veneration

and attachment your Excellency’s Faithful Aid,” and Washington in his

letters always addressed him as “my dear Laurens.” After his death in

battle, Washington wrote, in reply to an inquiry,—

“You ask if the character of Colonel John Laurens, as drawn in the

_Independent Chronicle_ of 2d of December last, is just. I answer, that

such parts of the drawing as have fallen under my observation, is

literally so; and that it is my firm belief his merits and worth richly

entitle him to the whole picture. No man possessed more of the _amor

patriae_. In a word, he had not a fault, that I could discover, unless

intrepidity bordering upon rashness could come under that denomination;

and to this he was excited by the purest motives.”

Of another aide, Tench Tilghman, Washington said, “he has been a

zealous servant and slave to the public, and a faithful assistant to me

for near five years, great part of which time he refused to receive

pay. Honor and gratitude interest me in his favor.” As an instance of

this, the commander-in-chief gave to him the distinction of bearing to

Congress the news of the surrender of Cornwallis, with the request to

that body that Tilghman should be honored in some manner. And in

acknowledging a letter Washington said, “I receive with great

sensibility and pleasure your assurances of affection and regard. It

would be but a renewal of what I have often repeated to you, that there

are few men in the world to whom I am more attached by inclination than

I am to you. With the Cause, I hope—most devoutly hope—there will be an

end to my Military Service, when as our places of residence will not be

far apart, I shall never be more happy than in your Company at Mt.

Vernon. I shall always be glad to hear from, and keep up a

correspondence with you.” When Tilghman died, Washington asserted that

“He had left as fair a reputation as ever belonged to a human

character,” and to his father he wrote, “Of all the numerous

acquaintances of your lately deceased son, & midst all the sorrowings

that are mingled on that melancholy occasion, I may venture to assert

that (excepting those of his nearest relatives) none could have felt

his death with more regret than I did, because no one entertained a

higher opinion of his worth, or had imbibed sentiments of greater

friendship for him than I had done…. Midst all your grief, there is

this consolation to be drawn;—that while living, no man could be more

esteemed, and since dead, none more lamented than Colo. Tilghman.”

To David Humphreys, a member of the staff, Washington gave the honor of

carrying to Congress the standards captured at Yorktown, recommending

him to the notice of that body for his “attention, fidelity, and good

services.” This aide escorted Washington to Mount Vernon at the close

of the Revolution, and was “the last officer belonging to the army” who

parted from “the Commander-in-chief.” Shortly after, Humphreys returned

to Mount Vernon, half as secretary and half as visitor and companion,

and he alluded to this time in his poem of “Mount Vernon,” when he

said,—

“Twas mine, return’d from Europe’s courts

To share his thoughts, partake his sports.”

When Washington was accused of cruelty in the Asgill case, Humphreys

published an account of the affair, completely vindicating his friend,

for which he was warmly thanked. He was frequently urged to come to

Mount Vernon, and Washington on one occasion lamented “the cause which

has deprived us of your aid in the attack of Christmas pies,” and on

another assured Humphreys of his “great pleasure [when] I received the

intimation of your spending the winter under this Roof. The invitation

was not less sincere, than the reception will be cordial. The only

stipulations I shall contend for are, that in all things you shall do

as you please—I will do the same; and that no ceremony may be used or

any restraint be imposed on any one.” Humphreys was visiting him when

the notification of his election as President was received, and was the

only person, except servants, who accompanied Washington to New York.

Here he continued for a time to give his assistance, and was

successively appointed Indian commissioner, informal agent to Spain,

and finally Minister to Portugal. While holding this latter position

Washington wrote to him, “When you shall think with the poet that ‘the

post of honor is a private station’—& may be inclined to enjoy yourself

in my shades … I can only tell you that you will meet with the same

cordial reception at Mount Vernon that you have always experienced at

that place,” and when Humphreys answered that his coming marriage made

the visit impossible, Washington replied, “The desire of a companion in

my latter days, in whom I could confide … induced me to express too

strongly … the hope of having you as an inmate.” On the death of

Washington, Humphreys published a poem expressing the deepest affection

and admiration for “my friend.”

[Illustration: WASHINGTON FAMILY RECORD]

The longest and closest connection was that with Hamilton. This very

young and obscure officer attracted Washington’s attention in the

campaign of 1776, early in the next year was appointed to the staff,

and quickly became so much a favorite that Washington spoke of him as

“my boy.” Whatever friendliness this implied was not, however,

reciprocated by Hamilton. After four years of service, he resigned,

under circumstances to which he pledged Washington to secrecy, and then

himself, in evident irritation, wrote as follows:

“Two days ago, the General and I passed each other on the stairs. He

told me he wanted to speak to me. I answered that I would wait upon him

immediately. I went below, and delivered Mr. Tilghman a letter to be

sent to the commissary, containing an order of a pressing and

interesting nature. Returning to the General, I was stopped on the way

by the Marquis de Lafayette, and we conversed together about a minute

on a matter of business. He can testify how impatient I was to get

back, and that I left him in a manner which, but for our intimacy would

have been more than abrupt. Instead of finding the General, as is

usual, in his room, I met him at the head of the stairs, where,

accosting me in an angry tone, ‘Colonel Hamilton,’ said he ‘you have

kept me waiting at the head of the stairs these ten minutes. I must

tell you, sir, you treat me with disrespect.’ I replied without

petulancy, but with decision: ‘I am not conscious of it, sir; but since

you have thought it necessary to tell me so, we part.’ ‘Very well,

sir,’ said he, ‘if it be your choice,’ or something to this effect, and

we separated. I sincerely believe my absence, which gave so much

umbrage, did not last two minutes. In less than an hour after, Tilghman

came to me in the General’s name, assuring me of his great confidence

in my abilities, integrity, usefulness, etc, and of his desire, in a

candid conversation, to heal a difference which could not have happened

but in a moment of passion. I requested Mr Tilghman to tell him—1st.

That I had taken my resolution in a manner not to be revoked … Thus we

stand … Perhaps you may think I was precipitate in rejecting the

overture made by the General to an accomodation. I assure you, my dear

sir, it was not the effect of resentment; it was the deliberate result

of maxims I had long formed for the government of my own conduct…. I

believe you know the place I held in the General’s confidence and

counsels, which will make more extraordinary to you to learn that for

three years past I have felt no friendship for him and have professed

none. The truth is, our dispositions are the opposites of each other,

and the pride of my temper would not suffer me to profess what I did

not feel. Indeed, when advances of this kind have been made to me on

his part, they were received in a manner that showed at least that I

had no desire to court them, and that I desired to stand rather upon a

footing of military confidence than of private attachment.”

Had Washington been the man this letter described he would never have

forgiven this treatment. On the contrary, only two months later, when

compelled to refuse for military reasons a favor Hamilton asked, he

said that “my principal concern arises from an apprehension that you

will impute my refusal to your request to other motives.” On this

refusal Hamilton enclosed his commission to Washington, but “Tilghman

came to me in his name, pressed me to retain my commission, with an

assurance that he would endeavor, by all means, to give me a command.”

Later Washington did more than Hamilton himself had asked, when he gave

him the leading of the storming party at Yorktown, a post envied by

every officer in the army.

Apparently this generosity lessened Hamilton’s resentment, for a

correspondence on public affairs was maintained from this time on,

though Madison stated long after “that Hamilton often spoke

disparagingly of Washington’s talents, particularly after the

Revolution and at the first part of the presidentcy,” and Benjamin Rush

confirms this by a note to the effect that “Hamilton often spoke with

contempt of General Washington. He said that … his heart was a stone.”

The rumor of the ill feeling was turned to advantage by Hamilton’s

political opponents in 1787, and compelled the former to appeal to

Washington to save him from the injury the story was doing. In response

Washington wrote a letter intended for public use, in which he said,—

“As you say it is insinuated by some of your political adversaries, and

may obtain credit, ‘that you _palmed_ yourself upon me, and was

_dismissed_ from my family,’ and call upon me to do you justice by a

recital of the facts, I do therefore explicitly declare, that both

charges are entirely unfounded. With respect to the first, I have no

cause to believe, that you took a single step to accomplish, or had the

most distant idea of receiving an appointment in my family till you

were invited in it; and, with respect to the second, that your quitting

it was altogether the effect of your own choice.”

With the appointment as Secretary of the Treasury warmer feelings were

developed. Hamilton became the President’s most trusted official, and

was tireless in the aid he gave his superior. Even after he left office

he performed many services equivalent to official ones, for which

Washington did “not know how to thank” him “sufficiently,” and the

President leaned on his judgment to an otherwise unexampled extent.

This service produced affection and respect, and in 1792 Washington

wrote from Mount Vernon, “We have learnt … that you have some thoughts

of taking a trip this way. I felt pleasure at hearing it, and hope it

is unnecessary to add, that it would be considerably increased by

seeing you under this roof; for you may be assured of the sincere and

affectionate regard of yours, &c.” and signed other letters “always and

affectionately yours,” or “very affectionately,” while Hamilton

reciprocated by sending “affectionate attachment.”

On being appointed lieutenant-general in 1798, Washington at once

sought the aid of Hamilton for the highest position under him, assuring

the Secretary of War that “of the abilities and fitness of the

gentleman you have named for a high command in the _provisional army_,

I think as you do, and that his services ought to be secured at almost

any price.” To this the President, who hated Hamilton, objected, but

Washington refused to take the command unless this wish was granted,

and Adams had to give way. They stood in this relation when Washington

died, and almost the last letter he penned was to this friend. On

learning of the death, Hamilton wrote of “our beloved

Commander-in-chief,”—

“The very painful event … filled my heart with bitterness. Perhaps no

man in this community has equal cause with myself to deplore the loss.

I have been much indebted to the kindness of the General, and he was an

_Ægis very essential to me_. But regrets are unavailing. For great

misfortunes it is the business of reason to seek consolation. The

friends of General Washington have very noble ones. If virtue can

secure happiness in another world, he is happy.”

Knox was the earliest army friend of those who rose to the rank of

general, and was honored by Washington with absolute trust. After the

war the two corresponded, and Knox expressed “unalterable affection”

for the “thousand evidences of your friendship.” He was appointed

Secretary of War in the first administration, and in taking command of

the provisional army Washington secured his appointment as a

major-general, and at this time asserted that, “with respect to General

Knox I can say with truth there is no man in the United States with

whom I have been in habits of greater intimacy, no one whom I have

loved more sincerely nor any for whom I have had a greater friendship.”

Greene was perhaps the closest to Washington of all the generals, and

their relations might be dwelt upon at much length. But the best

evidence of friendship is in Washington’s treatment of a story

involving his financial honesty, of which he said, “persuaded as I

always have been of Genl Greene’s integrity and worth, I spurned those

reports which tended to calumniate his conduct … being perfectly

convinced that whenever the matter should be investigated, his motives

… would appear pure and unimpeachable.” When on Greene’s death

Washington heard that his family was left in embarrassed circumstances,

he offered, if Mrs. Greene would “entrust my namesake G. Washington

Greene to my care, I will give him as good an education as this country

(I mean the United States) will afford, and will bring him up to either

of the genteel professions that his frds. may chuse, or his own

inclination shall lead him to pursue, at my own cost & expence.”

For “Light-horse Harry” Lee an affection more like that given to the

youngsters of the staff was felt Long after the war was over, Lee began

a letter to him “Dear General,” and then continued,—

“Although the exalted station, which your love of us and our love of

you has placed you in, calls for change in mode of address, yet I

cannot so quickly relinquish the old manner. Your military rank holds

its place in my mind, notwithstanding your civic glory; and, whenever I

do abandon the title which used to distinguish you, I shall do it with

awkwardness…. My reluctance to trespass a moment on your time would

have operated to a further procrastination of my wishes, had I not been

roused above every feeling of ceremony by the heart rending

intelligence, received yesterday, that your life was despaired of. Had

I had wings in the moment, I should have wafted myself to your bedside,

only again to see the first of men; but alas! despairing as I was, from

the account received, after the affliction of one day and night, I was

made most happy by receiving a letter, now before me from New York,

announcing the restoration of your health. May heaven preserve it!”

It was Lee who first warned Washington that Jefferson was slandering

him in secret, and who kept him closely informed as to the political

manuvres in Virginia. Washington intrusted to him the command of the

army in the Whiskey Insurrection, and gave him an appointment in the

provisional army. Lee was in Congress when the death of the great

American was announced to that body, and it was he who coined the

famous “First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his

countrymen.”

As need hardly be said, however, the strongest affection among the

general officers was that between Washington and Lafayette. In the

advent of this young Frenchman the commander saw only “embarassment,”

but he received “the young volunteer,” so Lafayette said, “in the most

friendly manner,” invited him to reside in his house as a member of his

military family, and as soon as he came to know him he recommended

Congress to give him a command. As Lafayette became popular with the

army, an endeavor was made by the Cabal to win him to their faction by

bribing him with an appointment to lead an expedition against Canada,

independent of control by Washington. Lafayette promptly declined the

command, unless subject to the General, and furthermore he “braved the

whole party (Cabal) and threw them into confusion by making them drink

the health of their general.” At the battle of Monmouth Washington gave

the command of the attacking party to Lafayette, and after the conflict

the two, according to the latter, “passed the night lying on the same

mantle, talking.” In the same way Washington distinguished him by

giving him the command of the expedition to rescue Virginia from

Cornwallis, and to his division was given the most honorable position

at Yorktown. When the siege of that place was completed, Lafayette

applied for leave of absence to spend the winter in France, and as he

was on the point of sailing he received a personal letter from

Washington, for “I owe it to friendship and to my affectionate regard

for you my dear Marquis, not to let you leave this country without

carrying fresh marks of my attachment to you,” and in his absence

Washington wrote that a mutual friend who bore a letter “can tell you

more forcibly, than I can express how much we all love and wish to

embrace you.”

A reunion came in 1784, looked forward to by Lafayette with an

eagerness of which he wrote, “by Sunday or Monday, I hope at last to be

blessed with a sight of my dear General. There is no rest for me till I

go to Mount Vernon. I long for the pleasure to embrace you, my dear

General; and the happiness of being once more with you will be so

great, that no words can ever express it. Adieu, my dear General; in a

few days I shall be at Mount Vernon, and I do already feel delighted

with so charming a prospect.” After this visit was over Washington

wrote, “In the moment of our separation, upon the road as I travelled,

and every hour since, I have felt all that love, respect and attachment

for you, with which length of years, close connexion, and your merits

have inspired me. I often asked myself, as our carriages separated,

whether that was the last sight I ever should have of you?” And to this

letter Lafayette replied,—

“No my beloved General, our late parting was not by any means a last

interview. My whole soul revolts at the idea; and could I harbour it an

instant, indeed, my dear General, it would make me miserable. I well

see you will never go to France. The inexpressible pleasure of

embracing you in my own house, of welcoming you in a family where your

name is adored, I do not much expect to experience; but to you I shall

return, and, within the walls of Mount Vernon, we shall yet speak of

olden times. My firm plan is to visit now and then my friend on this

side of the Atlantic; and the most beloved of all friends I ever had,

or ever shall have anywhere, is too strong an inducement for me to

return to him, not to think that whenever it is possible I shall renew

my so pleasing visits to Mount Vernon…. Adieu, adieu, my dear General.

It is with inexpressible pain that I feel I am going to be severed from

you by the Atlantic. Everything, that admiration, respect, gratitude,

friendship, and fillial love, can inspire, is combined in my

affectionate heart to devote me most tenderly to you. In your

friendship I find a delight which words cannot express. Adieu, my dear

General. It is not without emotion that I write this word, although I

know I shall soon visit you again. Be attentive to your health. Let me

hear from you every month. Adieu, adieu.”

The correspondence begged was maintained, but Lafayette complained that

“To one who so tenderly loves you, who so happily enjoyed the times we

have passed together, and who never, on any part of the globe, even in

his own house, could feel himself so perfectly at home as in your

family, it must be confessed that an irregular, lengthy correspondence

is quite insufficient I beseech you, in the name of our friendship, of

that paternal concern of yours for my happiness, not to miss any

opportunity to let me hear from my dear General.”

One letter from Washington told Lafayette of his recovery from a

serious illness, and Lafayette responded, “What could have been my

feelings, had the news of your illness reached me before I knew my

beloved General, my adopted father, was out of danger? I was struck at

the idea of the situation you have been in, while I, uninformed and so

distant from you, was anticipating the long-waited-for pleasure to hear

from you, and the still more endearing prospect of visiting you and

presenting you the tribute of a revolution, one of your first

offsprings. For God’s sake, my dear General, take care of your health!”

Presently, as the French Revolution gathered force, the anxiety was

reversed, Washington writing that “The lively interest which I take in

your welfare, my dear Sir, keeps my mind in constant anxiety for your

personal safety.” This fear was only too well founded, for shortly

after Lafayette was a captive in an Austrian prison and his wife was

appealing to her husband’s friend for help. Our ministers were told to

do all they could to secure his liberty, and Washington wrote a

personal letter to the Emperor of Austria. Before receiving her letter,

on the first news of the “truly affecting” condition of “poor Madame

Lafayette,” he had written to her his sympathy, and, supposing that

money was needed, had deposited at Amsterdam two hundred guineas

“subject to your orders.”

When she and her daughters joined her husband in prison, Lafayette’s

son, and Washington’s godson, came to America; an arrival of which the

godfather wrote that, “to express all the sensibility, which has been

excited in my breast by the receipt of young Lafayette’s letter, from

the recollection of his father’s merits, services, and sufferings, from

my friendship for him, and from my wishes to become a friend and father

to his son is unnecessary.” The lad became a member of the family, and

a visitor at this time records that “I was particularly struck with the

marks of affection which the General showed his pupil, his adopted son

of Marquis de Lafayette. Seated opposite to him, he looked at him with

pleasure, and listened to him with manifest interest.” With Washington

he continued till the final release of his father, and a simple

business note in Washington’s ledger serves to show both his delicacy

and his generosity to the boy: “By Geo. W. Fayette, gave for the

purpose of his getting himself such small articles of Clothing as he

might not choose to ask for $100.” Another item in the accounts was

three hundred dollars “to defray his exps. to France,” and by him

Washington sent a line to his old friend, saying, “this letter I hope

and expect will be presented to you by your son, who is highly

deserving of such parents as you and your amiable lady.”

Long previous to this, too, a letter had been sent to Virginia

Lafayette, couched in the following terms:

“Permit me to thank my dear little correspondent for the favor of her

letter of the 18 of June last, and to impress her with the idea of the

pleasure I shall derive from a continuance of them. Her papa is

restored to her with all the good health, paternal affection, and

honors, which her tender heart could wish. He will carry a kiss to her

from me (which might be more agreeable from a pretty boy), and give her

assurances of the affectionate regard with which I have the pleasure of

being her well-wisher,

George Washington.”

In this connection it is worth glancing at Washington’s relations with

children, the more that it has been frequently asserted that he had no

liking for them. As already shown, at different times he adopted or

assumed the expenses and charge of not less than nine of the children

of his kith and kin, and to his relations with children he seldom wrote

a letter without a line about the “little ones.” His kindnesses to the

sons of Ramsay, Craik, Greene, and Lafayette have already been noticed.

Furthermore, whenever death or illness came among the children of his

friends there was sympathy expressed. Dumas relates of his visit to

Providence with Washington, that “we arrived there at night; the whole

of the population had assembled from the suburbs; we were surrounded by

a crowd of children carrying torches, reiterating the acclamations of

the citizens; all were eager to approach the person of him whom they

called their father, and pressed so closely around us that they

hindered us from proceeding. General Washington was much affected,

stopped a few moments, and, pressing my hand, said, ‘We may be beaten

by the English; it is the chance of war; but behold an army which they

can never conquer,’”

In his journey through New England, not being able to get lodgings at

an inn, Washington spent a night in a private house, and when all

payment was refused, he wrote his host from his next stopping-place,—

“Being informed that you have given my name to one of your sons, and

called another after Mrs. Washington’s family, and being moreover very

much pleased with the modest and innocent looks of your two daughters,

Patty and Polly, I do for these reasons send each of these girls a

piece of chintz; and to Patty, who bears the name of Mrs. Washington,

and who waited upon us more than Polly did, I send five guineas, with

which she may buy herself any little ornaments she may want, or she may

dispose of them in any other manner more agreeable to herself. As I do

not give these things with a view to have it talked of, or even of its

being known, the less there is said about the matter the better you

will please me; but, that I may be sure the chintz and money have got

safe to hand, let Patty, who I dare say is equal to it, write me a line

informing me thereof, directed to ‘The President of the United States

at New York.’”

Miss Stuart relates that “One morning while Mr. Washington was sitting

for his picture, a little brother of mine ran into the room, when my

father thinking it would annoy the General, told him he must leave; but

the General took him upon his knee, held him for some time, and had

quite a little chat with him, and, in fact, they seemed to be pleased

with each other. My brother remembered with pride, as long as he lived,

that Washington had talked with him.”

For the son of his secretary, Lear, there seems to have been great

fondness, and in one instance the father was told that “It gave Mrs.

Washington, myself and all who know him, sincere pleasure to hear that

our little favorite had arrived safe, and was in good health at

Portsmouth. We sincerely wish him a long continuance of the latter—that

he may always be as charming and promising as he now is—and that he may

live to be a comfort and blessing to you, and an ornament to his

country. As a testimony of my affection for him I send him a ticket in

the lottery which is now drawing in the Federal City; and if it should

be his fortune to draw the hotel it will add to the pleasure I have in

giving it.” A second letter condoled with “little Lincoln,” because

owing to the collapse of the lottery the “poor little fellow” will not

even get enough to “build him a baby house.”

For the father, Tobias Lear, who came into his employment in 1786 and

remained with him till his death, Washington felt the greatest

affection and trust. It was he who sent for the doctor in the beginning

of the last illness, and he was in the sickroom most of the time.

Holding Washington’s hand, he received from him his last orders, and

later when Washington “appeared to be in great pain and distress from

the difficulty of breathing … I lay upon the bed and endeavored to

raise him, and turn him with as much ease as possible. He appeared

penetrated with gratitude for my attentions, and often said ‘I am

afraid I shall fatigue you too much.’” Still later Lear “aided him all

in my power, and was gratified in believing he felt it; for he would

look upon me with eyes speaking gratitude, but unable to utter a word

without great distress.” At the final moment Lear took his hand “and

laid it upon his breast.” When all was over, “I kissed the cold hand,

laid it down, and was … lost in profound grief.”

X

ENEMIES

Any man of force is to be known quite as much by the character of his

enemies as by that of his friends, and this is true of Washington. The

subject offers some difficulties, for most of his enemies later in life

went out of their way to deny all antagonism, and took pains to destroy

such proof as they could come at of ill-feeling towards him. Yet enough

remains to show who were in opposition to him, and on what grounds.

The first of those now known to be opposed to him was George Muse,

lieutenant-colonel in 1754 under Washington. At Fort Necessity he was

guilty of cowardice, he was discharged in disgrace, and his name was

omitted from the Assembly’s vote of thanks to the regiment. Stung by

this action, he took his revenge in a manner related by Peyroney, who

wrote Washington,—

“Many enquired to me about Muse’s Braveries, poor Body I had pity him

ha’nt he had the weakness to Confes his Coardise himself, & the

impudence to taxe all the reste of the oficers without exception of the

same imperfection for he said to many of the Consulars and Burgeses

that he was Bad But th’ the reste was as Bad as he—To speak francly,

had I been in town at that time I cou’nt help’d to make use of my

horses [whip] whereas for to vindicate the injury of that vilain. He

Contrived his Business so that several ask me if it was true that he

had Challeng’d you to fight: My Answer was no other But that he should

rather chuse to go to hell than doing of it—for he had Such thing

declar’d: that was his Sure Road.”

Washington seems to have cherished no personal ill-will for Muse’s

conduct, and when the division of the “bounty lands” was being pushed,

he used his influence that the broken officer should receive a quotum.

Not knowing this, or else being ungrateful, Muse seems to have written

a letter to Washington which angered him, for he replied,—

“Sir, Your impertinent letter was delivered to me yesterday. As I am

not accustomed to receive such from any man, nor would have taken the

same language from you personally, without letting you feel some marks

of my resentment, I would advise you to be cautious in writing me a

second of the same tenor. But for your stupidity and sottishness you

might have known, by attending to the public gazette, that you had your

full quantity of ten thousand acres of land allowed you, that is, nine

thousand and seventy-three acres in the great tract, and the remainder

in the small tract. But suppose you had really fallen short, do you

think your superlative merit entitles you to greater indulgence than

others? Or, if it did, that I was to make it good to you, when it was

at the option of the Governor and Council to allow but five hundred

acres in the whole, if they had been so inclined? If either of these

should happen to be your opinion, I am very well convinced that you

will be singular in it; and all my concern is, that I ever engaged in

behalf of so ungrateful a fellow as you are. But you may still be in

need of my assistance, as I can inform you, that your affairs, in

respect to these lands, do not stand upon so solid a basis as you

imagine, and this you may take by way of hint. I wrote to you a few

days ago concerning the other distribution, proposing an easy method of

dividing our lands; but since I find in what temper you are, I am sorry

I took the trouble of mentioning the land or your name in a letter, as

I do not think you merit the least assistance from me.”

The Braddock campaign brought acquaintance with one which did not end

in friendship, however amicable the beginning. There can be little

doubt that there was cameraderie with the then Lieutenant-Colonel Gage,

for in 1773, when in New York for four days, Washington “Dined with

Gen. Gage,” and also “dined at the entertainment given by the citizens

of New York to Genl. Gage.” When next intercourse was resumed, it was

by formal correspondence between the commanders-in-chief of two hostile

armies, Washington inquiring as to the treatment of prisoners, and as a

satisfactory reply was not obtained, he wrote again, threatening

retaliation, and “closing my correspondence with you, perhaps forever,”

—a letter which Charles Lee thought “a very good one, but Gage

certainly deserved a stronger one, such as it was before it was

softened.” One cannot but wonder what part the old friendship played in

this “softening.”

Relations with the Howes began badly by a letter from Lord Howe

addressed “George Washington, Esq.,” which Washington declined to

receive as not recognizing his official position. A second one to

“George Washington, Esq. &c. &c. &c.” met with the same fate, and

brought the British officer “to change my superscription.” A little

after this brief war of forms, a letter from Washington to his wife was

intercepted with others by the enemy, and General Howe enclosed it,

“happy to return it without the least attempt being made to discover

any part of the contents.” This courtesy the American commander

presently was able to reciprocate by sending “General Washington’s

compliments to General Howe,—does himself the pleasure to return to him

a dog, which accidentally fell into his hands, and, by the inscription

on the collar, appears to belong to General Howe.” Even politeness had

its objections, however, at moments, and Washington once had to write

Sir William,—

“There is one passage of your letter, which I cannot forbear taking

particular notice of. No expression of personal politeness to me can be

acceptable, accompanied by reflections on the representatives of a free

people, under whose authority I have the honor to act. The delicacy I

have observed, in refraining from everything offensive in this way,

entitles me to expect a similar treatment from you. I have not indulged

myself in invective against the present rulers of Great Britain, in the

course of our correspondence, nor will I even now avail myself of so

fruitful a theme.”

Apparently when Sir Henry Clinton succeeded to the command of the

British army the same old device to insult the General was again tried,

for Dumas states that Washington “received a despatch from Sir Henry

Clinton, addressed to ‘Mr. Washington.’ Taking it from the hands of the

flag of truce, and seeing the direction, ‘This letter,’ said he, ‘is

directed to a planter of the state of Virginia. I shall have it

delivered to him after the end of the war; till that time it shall not

be opened.’ A second despatch was addressed to his Excellency General

Washington.” A better lesson in courtesy was contained in a letter from

Washington to him, complaining of “wanton, unprecedented and inhuman

murder,” which closed with the following: “I beg your Excellency to be

persuaded, that it cannot be more disagreeable to you to be addressed

in this language, than it is to me to offer it; but the subject

requires frankness and decision.”

Quite as firm was one addressed to Cornwallis, which read,—

“It is with infinite regret, I am again compelled to remonstrate

against that spirit of wanton cruelty, that has in several instances

influenced the conduct of your soldiery. A recent exercise of it

towards an unhappy officer of ours, Lieutenant Harris, convinces me,

that my former representations on this subject have been unavailing.

That Gentleman by the fortunes of war, on Saturday last was thrown into

the hands of a party of your horse, and unnecessarily murdered with the

most aggravated circumstances of barbarity. I wish not to wound your

Lordship’s feelings, by commenting on this event; but I think it my

duty to send his mangled body to your lines as an undeniable testimony

of the fact, should it be doubted, and as the best appeal to your

humanity for the justice of our complaint.”

A pleasanter intercourse came with the surrender of Yorktown, after

which not merely were Cornwallis and his officers saved the

mortification of surrendering their swords, but the chief among them

were entertained at dinner by Washington. At this meal, so a

contemporary account states, “Rochhambeau, being asked for a toast,

gave _‘The United States’_. Washington gave _‘The King of France’_.

Lord Cornwallis, simply _‘The King’_; but Washington, putting that

toast, added, _‘of England’_, and facetiously, _‘confine him there,

I’ll drink him a full bumper’_, filling his glass till it ran over.

Rochambeau, with great politeness, was still so French, that he would

every now and then be touching on points that were improper, and a

breach of real politeness. Washington often checked him, and showed in

a more saturnine manner, the infinite esteem he had for his gallant

prisoner, whose private qualities the Americans admired even in a foe,

that had so often filled them with the most cruel alarms.” Many years

later, when Cornwallis was governor-general of India, he sent a verbal

message to his old foe, wishing “General Washington a long enjoyment of

tranquility and happiness,” adding that for himself he “continued in

troubled waters.”

[Illustration: MRS WASHINGTON]

Turning from these public rather than personal foes, a very different

type of enemies is encountered in those inimical to Washington in his

own army. Chief of these was Horatio Gates, with whom Washington had

become acquainted in the Braddock campaign, and with whom there was

friendly intercourse from that time until the Revolution. In 1775, at

Washington’s express solicitation, Gates was appointed adjutant- and

brigadier-general, and in a letter thanking Washington for the favor he

professed to have “the greatest respect for your character and the

sincerest attachment to your person.” Nevertheless, he very early in

the war suggested that a committee of Congress be sent to camp to keep

watch on Washington, and as soon as he was in a separate command he

began to curry favor with Congress and scheme against his commander.

This was not unknown to Washington, who afterwards wrote, “I discovered

very early in the war symptoms of coldness & constraint in General

Gates’ behavior to me. These increased as he rose into greater

consequence.”

When Burgoyne capitulated to Gates, he sent the news to Congress and

not to Washington, and though he had no further need for troops the

commander-in-chief had sent him, he endeavored to prevent their return

at a moment when every man was needed in the main army. His attitude

towards Washington was so notorious that his friends curried favor with

him by letters criticising the commander, and when, by chance, the

General learned of the contents of one of these letters, and news to

that effect reached the ears of Gates, he practically charged

Washington with having obtained his knowledge by dishonorable means;

but Washington more than repaid the insult, in telling Gates how he had

learned of the affair, by adding that he had “considered the

information as coming from yourself, and given with a friendly view to

forewarn and consequently forearm me, against a secret enemy … but in

this, as in other matters of late, I have found myself mistaken.”

Driven to the wall, Gates wrote to Washington a denial that the letter

contained the passage in question, which was an absolute lie, and this

untruth typifies his character. Without expressing either belief or

disbelief in this denial, Washington replied,—

“I am as averse to controversy as any man, and had I not been forced

into it, you never would have had occasion to impute to me, even the

shadow of disposition towards it. Your repeatedly and solemnly

disclaiming any offensive views in those matters, which have been the

subject of our past correspondence makes me willing to close with the

desire, you express, of burying them hereafter in silence, and, as far

as future events will permit, oblivion. My temper leads me to peace and

harmony with all men; and it is peculiarly my wish to avoid any

personal feuds or dissentions with those who are embarked in the same

great national interest with, myself; as every difference of this kind

must in its consequence be very injurious.”

After this affair subsided, Washington said,—

“I made a point of treating Gen. Gates with all the attention and

cordiality in my power, as well from a sincere desire of harmony, as

from an unwillingness to give any cause of triumph among ourselves. I

can appeal to the world, and to the whole army, whether I have not

cautiously avoided offending Gen. Gates in any way. I am sorry his

conduct to me has not been equally generous, and that he is continually

giving me fresh proofs of malevolence and opposition. It will not be

doing him injustice to say, that, besides the little underhand

intrigues which he is frequently practising, there has hardly been any

great military question, in which his advice has been asked, that it

has not been given in an equivocal and designing manner, apparently

calculated to afford him an opportunity of censuring me, on the failure

of whatever measures might be adopted.”

After the defeat of Gates at Camden, the Prince de Broglie wrote that

“I saw General Gates at the house of General Washington, with whom he

had had a misunderstanding…. This interview excited the curiosity of

both armies. It passed with a most perfect propriety on the part of

both gentlemen. Mr. Washington treated Mr. Gates with a politeness

which had a frank and easy air, while the other responded with that

shade of respect which was proper towards his general.” And how

fair-minded Washington was is shown by his refusal to interfere in an

army matter, because, “considering the delicate situation in which I

stand with respect to General Gates, I feel an unwillingness to give

any opinion (even in a confidential way) in a matter in which he is

concerned, lest my sentiments (being known) should have unfavorable

interpretations ascribed to them by illiberal Minds.” Yet the

friendship was never restored, and when the two after the war were

associated in the Potomac company, Washington’s sense of the old

treachery was still so keen that he alluded to the appointment of “my

bosom friend Genl G-tes, who being at Richmond, contrived to edge

himself in to the commission.”

Thomas Conway was Washington’s traducer to Gates. He was an

Irish-French soldier of fortune who unfortunately had been made a

brigadier-general in the Continental army. Having made friends of the

New England delegates in Congress, it was then proposed by them to

advance him to the rank of major-general, which Washington opposed, on

the grounds that “his merit and importance exist more in his

imagination than in reality.” For the moment this was sufficient to

prevent Conway’s promotion, and even if he had not before been opposed

to his commander, he now became his bitter enemy. To more than Gates he

said or wrote, “A great & good God has decreed that America shall be

free, or Washington and weak counsellors would have ruined her long

ago.” Upon word of this reaching Washington, so Laurens tells, “The

genl immediately copied the contents of the paper, introducing them

with ‘sir,’ and concluding with, ‘I am your humble servt,’ and sent

this copy in the form of a letter to Genl Conway. This drew an answer,

in which he first attempts to deny the fact, and then in a most

shameless manner, to explain away the matter. The perplexity of his

style, and evident insincerity of his compliments, betray his weak

sentiments, and expose his guilt.”

Yet, though detected, Conway complained to the Continental Congress

that Washington was not treating him properly, and in reply to an

inquiry from a member the General acknowledged that,—

“If General Conway means by cool receptions mentioned in the last

paragraph of his letter of the 31st ultimo, that I did not receive him

in the language of a warm and cordial friend, I readily confess the

charge. I did not, nor shall I ever, till I am capable of the arts of

dissimulation. These I despise, and my feelings will not permit me to

make professions of friendship to the man I deem my enemy, and whose

system of conduct forbids it. At the same time, truth authorizes me to

say, that he was received and treated with proper respect to his

official character, and that he has had no cause to justify the

assertion, that he could not expect any support for fulfilling the

duties of his appointment.”

In spite of Washington’s opposition, Conway’s friends were numerous

enough in the Congress finally to elect him major-general, at the same

time appointing him inspector-general. Elated with this evident

partiality of the majority of that body for him, he went even further,

and Laurens states that he was guilty of a “base insult” to Washington,

which “affects the General very sensibly,” and he continues,—

“It is such an affront as Conway would never have dared to offer, if

the General’s situation had not assured him of the impossibility of its

being revenged in a private way. The Genl, therefore, has determined to

return him no answer at all, but to lay the whole matter before

Congress; they will determine whether Genl W. is to be sacrificed to

Genl. C., for the former can never consent to be concern’d in any

transaction with the latter, from whom he has received such

unpardonable insults.”

Fortunately, Conway did not limit his “insulting letters” to the

commander-in-chief alone, and presently he sent one to Congress

threatening to resign, which so angered that body that they took him at

his word. Moreover, his open abuse of Washington led an old-time friend

of the latter to challenge him, and to lodge a ball, with almost poetic

justice, in Conway’s mouth. Thinking himself on the point of death, he

wrote a farewell line to Washington “expressing my sincere grief for

having done, written or said anything disagreeable to your Excellency….

You are in my eyes a great and good man.” And with this recantation he

disappeared from the army. A third officer in this “cabal” was Thomas

Mifflin. He was the first man appointed on Washington’s staff at the

beginning of the war, but did not long remain in that position, being

promoted by Washington to be quartermaster-general. In this position

the rumor reached the General that Mifflin was “concerned in trade,”

and Washington took “occasion to hint” the suspicion to him, only to

get a denial from the officer. Whether this inquiry was a cause for

ill-feeling or not, Mifflin was one of the most outspoken against the

commander-in-chief as his opponents gathered force, and Washington

informed Henry that he “bore the second part in the cabal.” Mifflin

resigned from the army and took a position on the board of war, but

when the influence of that body broke down with the collapse of the

Cabal, he applied for a reappointment,—a course described by Washington

in plain English as follows:

“I was not a little surprised to find a certain gentleman, who, some

time ago (when a cloud of darkness hung heavy over us, and our affairs

looked gloomy,) was desirous of resigning, now stepping forward in the

line of the army. But if he can reconcile such conduct to his own,

feelings, as an officer and a man of honor, and Congress hath no

objections to his leaving his seat in another department, I have

nothing personally to oppose it. Yet I must think, that gentleman’s

stepping in and out, as the sun happens to beam forth or obscure, is

not _quite_ the thing, nor _quite_ just, with respect to those

officers, who take ye bitter with the sweet.”

Not long after Greene wrote that “I learn that General Mifflin has

publicly declared that he looked upon his Excellency as the best friend

he ever had in his life, so that is a plain sign that the Junto has

given up all ideas of supplanting our excellent general from a

confidence of the impracticability of such an attempt.”

A very minor but most malignant enemy was Dr. Benjamin Rush. In 1774

Washington dined with him in Philadelphia, which implied friendship.

Very early in the war, however, an attempt was made to remove the

director-general of hospitals, in which, so John Armstrong claimed,

“Morgan was the ostensible—Rush the real prosecutor of Shippen—the

former acting from revenge,… the latter from a desire to obtain the

directorship. In approving the sentence of the court, Washington

stigmatized the prosecution as one originating in bad motives, which

made Rush his enemy and defamer as long as he lived.” Certain it is he

wrote savage letters of criticism about his commander-in-chief of which

the following extract is a sample:

“I have heard several officers who have served under General Gates

compare his army to a well regulated family. The same gentlemen have

compared Gen’l Washington’s imitation of an army to an unformed mob.

Look at the characters of both! The one on the pinnacle of military

glory—exulting in the success of schemes planned with wisdom, &

executed with vigor and bravery—and above all see a country saved by

his exertions. See the other outgeneral’d and twice heated—obliged to

witness the march of a body of men only half their number thro’ 140

Miles of a thick settled country— forced to give up a city the capitol

of a state & after all outwitted by the same army in a retreat.”

Had Rush written only this, there would be no grounds for questioning

his methods; but, not content with spreading his opinions among his

friends, he took to anonymous letter-writing, and sent an unsigned

letter abusing Washington to the governor of Virginia (and probably to

others), with the request that the letter should be burned. Instead of

this, Henry sent it to Washington, who recognized at once the

handwriting, and wrote to Henry that Rush “has been elaborate and

studied in his professions of regard to me, and long since the letter

to you.” An amusing sequel to this incident is to be found in Rush

moving heaven and earth on the publication of Marshall’s “Life of

Washington” to prevent his name from appearing as one of the

commander-in-chief’s enemies.

After the collapse of the attempt Washington wrote to a friend, “I

thank you sincerely for the part you acted at York respecting C—-y, and

believe with you that matters have and will turn out very different to

what that party expected. G—-s has involved himself in his letters to

me in the most absurd contradictions. M—- has brought himself into a

scrape that he does not know how to get out of with a gentleman of this

State, and C—-, as you know is sent upon an expedition which all the

world knew, and the event has proved, was not practicable. In a word, I

have a good deal of reason to believe that the machination of this

junta will recoil upon their own heads, and be a means of bringing some

matters to light which, by getting me out of the way, some of them

thought to conceal.”

Undoubtedly the most serious army antagonist was General Charles Lee,

and, but for what seem almost fatalistic chances, he would have been a

dangerous rival. He was second in command very early in the war, and at

this time he asserted that “no man loves, respects and reverences

another more than I do General Washington. I esteem his virtues,

private and public. I know him to be a man of sense, courage and

firmness.” But four months later he was lamenting Washington’s “fatal

indecision,” and by inference was calling him “a blunderer.” In another

month he wrote, “_entre nous_ a certain great man is most damnably

deficient.” At this point, fortunately, Lee was captured by the

British, so that his influence for the time being was destroyed. While

a prisoner he drew up a plan for the English general, showing how

America could be conquered.

When he had been exchanged, and led the American advance at the battle

of Monmouth, he seems to have endeavored to aid the British in another

way, for after barely engaging, he ordered a retreat, which quickly

developed into a rout, and would have ended in a serious defeat had

not, as Laurens wrote, “fortunately for the honor of the army, and the

welfare of America, Genl Washington met the troops retreating in

disorder, and without any plan to make an opposition. He ordered some

pieces of artillery to be brought up to defend the pass, and some

troops to form and defend the pieces. The artillery was too distant to

be brought up readily, so that there was but little opposition given

here. A few shot though, and a little skirmishing in the wood checked

the enemy’s career. The Genl expressed his astonishment at this

unaccountable retreat Mr. Lee indecently replied that the attack was

contrary to his advice and opinion in council.”

In a fit of temper Lee wrote Washington two imprudent letters,

expressed “in terms [so] highly improper” that he was ordered under

arrest and tried by a court-martial, which promptly found him guilty of

disobedience and disrespect, as well as of making a “disorderly and

unnecessary retreat.” To this Lee retorted, “I aver that his

Excellencies letter was from beginning to the end a most abominable

lie—I aver that my conduct will stand the strictest scrutiny of every

military judge—I aver that my Court Martial was a Court of

Inquisition—that there was not a single member with a military idea—at

least if I may pronounce from the different questions they put to the

evidences.”

In this connection it is of interest to note a letter from Washington’s

friend Mason, which said, “You express a fear that General Lee will

challenge our friend. Indulge in no such apprehensions, for he too well

knows the sentiments of General Washington on the subject of duelling.

From his earliest manhood I have heard him express his contempt of the

man who sends and the man who accepts a challenge, for he regards such

acts as no proof of moral courage; and the practice he abhors as a

relic of old barbarisms, repugnant alike to sound morality and

Christian enlightenment.”

A little later, still smarting from this court-martial, Lee wrote to a

newspaper a savage attack on his late commander, apparently in the

belief, as he said in a private letter, that “there is … a visible

revolution … in the minds of men, I mean that our Great Gargantua, or

Lama Babak (for I know not which Title is the properest) begins to be

no longer consider’d as an infallible Divinity—and that those who have

been sacrificed or near sacrific’d on his altar, begin to be esteem’d

as wantonly and foolishly offer’d up.” Lee very quickly found his

mistake, for the editor of the paper which contained his attack was

compelled by a committee of citizens to publish an acknowledgment that

in printing it “I have transgressed against truth, justice and my duty

as a good citizen,” and, as Washington wrote to a friend, “the author

of the Queries, ‘Political and Military,’ has had no cause to exult in

the favorable reception of them by the public.” With Lee’s

disappearance the last army rival dropped from the ranks, and from that

time there was no question as to who should command the armies of

America. Long after, a would-be editor of Lee’s papers wrote to

Washington to ask if he had any wishes in regard to the publication,

and was told in the reply that,—

“I never had a difference with that gentleman, but on public ground,

and my conduct towards him upon this occasion was such only, as I

conceived myself indispensably bound to adopt in discharge of the

public trust reposed in me. If this produced in him unfavorable

sentiments of me, I yet can never consider the conduct I pursued, with

respect to him, either wrong or improper, however I may regret that it

may have been differently viewed by him and that it excited his censure

and animadversions. Should there appear in General Lee’s writings any

thing injurious or unfriendly to me, the impartial and dispassionate

world must decide how far I deserved it from the general tenor of my

conduct.”

These attempts to undermine Washington owed their real vitality to the

Continental Congress, and it is safe to say that but for Washington’s

political enemies no army rival would have ventured to push forward. In

what the opposition in that body consisted, and to what length it went,

are discussed elsewhere, but a glance at the reasons of hostility to

him is proper here.

John Adams declared himself “sick of the Fabian systems,” and in

writing of the thanksgiving for the Saratoga Convention, he said that

“one cause of it ought to be that the glory of turning the tide of arms

is not immediately due to the commander-in-chief…. If it had, idolatry

and adulation would have been unbounded.” James Lovell asserted that

“Our affairs are Fabiused into a very disagreeable posture,” and wrote

that “depend upon it for every ten soldiers placed under the command of

our Fabius, five recruits will be wanted annually during the war.”

William Williams agreed with Jonathan Trumbull that the time had come

when “a much exalted character should make way for a _general_” and

suggested if this was not done “voluntarily,” those to whom the public

looked should “see to it.” Abraham Clark thought “we may talk of the

Enemy’s Cruelty as we will, but we have no greater Cruelty to complain

of than the Management of our Army.” Jonathan D. Sargent asserted that

“we want a general—thousands of Lives & Millions of Property are yearly

sacrificed to the Insufficiency of our Commander-in-Chief—Two Battles

he has lost for us by two such Blunders as might have disgraced a

Soldier of three months standing, and yet we are so attached to this

Man that I fear we shall rather sink with him than throw him off our

Shoulders. And sink we must under his Management. Such Feebleness, &

Want of Authority, such Confusion & Want of Discipline, such Waste,

such destruction would exhaust the Wealth of both the Indies &

annihilate the armies of all Europe and Asia.” Richard Henry Lee agreed

with Mifflin that Gates was needed to “procure the indispensable

changes in our Army.” Other Congressmen who were inimical to

Washington, either by openly expressed opinion or by vote, were

Elbridge Gerry, Samuel Adams, William Ellery, Eliphalet Dyer, Roger

Sherman, Samuel Chase, and F.L. Lee. Later, when Washington’s position

was more secure, Gerry and R.H. Lee wrote to him affirming their

friendship, and to both the General replied without a suggestion of

ill-feeling, nor does he seem, in later life, to have felt a trace of

personal animosity towards any one of the men who had been in

opposition to him in Congress. Of this enmity in the army and Congress

Washington wrote,—

“It is easy to bear the first, and even the devices of private enemies

whose ill will only arises from their common hatred to the cause we are

engaged in, are to me tolerable; yet, I confess, I cannot help feeling

the most painful sensations, whenever I have reason to believe I am the

object of persecution to men, who are embarked in the same general

interest, and whose friendship my heart does not reproach me with, ever

having done any thing to forfeit. But with many, it is a sufficient

cause to hate and wish the ruin of a man, because he has been happy

enough, to be the object of _his country’s_ favor.”

The political course of Washington while President produced the

alienation of the two Virginians whom he most closely associated with

himself in the early part of his administration. With Madison the break

does not seem to have come from any positive ill-feeling, but was

rather an abandonment of intercourse as the differences of opinion

became more pronounced. The disagreement with Jefferson was more acute,

though probably never forced to an open rupture. To his political

friends Jefferson in 1796 wrote that the measures pursued by the

administration were carried out “under the sanction of a name which has

done too much good not to be sufficient to cover harm also,” and that

he hoped the President’s “honesty and his political errors may not

furnish a second occasion to exclaim, ‘curse on his virtues, they’ve

undone his country.’” Henry Lee warned Washington of the undercurrent

of criticism, and when Jefferson heard indirectly of this he wrote his

former chief that “I learn that [Lee] has thought it worth his while to

try to sow tares between you and me, by representing me as still

engaged in the bustle of politics & in turbulence & intrigue against

the government. I never believed for a moment that this could make any

impression on you, or that your knowledge of me would not overweigh the

slander of an intriguer dirtily employed in sifting the conversations

of my table.” To this Washington replied,—

“As you have mentioned the subject yourself, it would not be frank,

candid or friendly to conceal, that your conduct has been represented

as derogating from that opinion _I_ had conceived you entertained of

me; that, to your particular friends and connexions you have described,

and they have denounced me as a person under a dangerous influence; and

that, if I would listen more to some _other_ opinions, all would be

well. My answer invariably has been, that I had never discovered any

thing in the conduct of Mr. Jefferson to raise suspicions in my mind of

his insincerity; that, if he would retrace my public conduct while he

was in the administration, abundant proofs would occur to him, that

truth and right decisions were the _sole_ objects of my pursuit; that

there was as many instances within his own knowledge of my having

decided _against_ as in _favor_ of the opinions of the person evidently

alluded to; and, I was no believer in the infallibility of the politics

or measures of _any man living_. In short that I was no party man

myself and the first wish of my heart was, if parties did exist, to

reconcile them.”

As proof upon proof of Jefferson’s secret enmity accumulated,

Washington ceased to trust his disclaimers, and finally wrote to one of

his informants, “Nothing short of the evidence you have adduced,

corroborative of intimations which I had received long before through

another channel, could have shaken my belief in the sincerity of a

friendship, which I had conceived as possessed for me by the person to

whom you allude. But attempts to injure those, who are supposed to

stand well in the estimation of the people, and are stumbling blocks in

the way, by misrepresenting their political tenets, thereby to destroy

all confidence in them, are among the means by which the government is

to be assailed, and the constitution destroyed.”

Once convinced, all relations with Jefferson were terminated. It is

interesting in this connection to note something repeated by Madison,

to the effect that “General Lafayette related to me the following

anecdote, which I shall repeat as nearly as I can in his own words.

‘When I last saw Mr. Jefferson,’ he observed, ‘we conversed a good deal

about General Washington, and Mr. Jefferson expressed high admiration

of his character. He remarked particularly that he and Hamilton often

disagreed when they were members of the Cabinet, and that General

Washington would sometimes favor the opinion of one and sometimes the

other, with an apparent strict impartiality. And Mr. Jefferson added

that, so sound was Washington’s judgment, that he was commonly

convinced afterwards of the accuracy of his decision, whether it

accorded with the opinion he had himself first advanced or not.’”

[Illustration: EARLIEST SIGNATURE OF WASHINGTON]

A third Virginian who was almost as closely associated was Edmund

Randolph. There had been a friendship with his father, until he turned

Tory and went to England, when, according to Washington’s belief, he

wrote the “forged letters” which gave Washington so much trouble. For

the sake of the old friendship, however, he gave the son a position on

his staff, and from that time was his friend and correspondent. In the

first administration he was made Attorney-General, and when Jefferson

retired from office he became Secretary of State. In this position he

was charged with political dishonesty. Washington gave him a chance to

explain, but instead he resigned from office and published what he

called “a vindication,” in which he charged the President with

“prejudging,” “concealment,” and “want of generosity.” Continuing, he

said, “never … could I have believed that in addressing you … I should

use any other language than that of a friend. From my early period of

life, I was taught to esteem you—as I advanced in years, I was

habituated to revere you:—you strengthened my prepossessions by marks

of attention.” And in another place he acknowledged the weakness of his

attack by saying, “still however, those very objections, the very

reputation which you have acquired, will cause it to be asked, why you

should be suspected of acting towards me, in any other manner, than

deliberately, justly and even kindly?”

In the preparation of this pamphlet Randolph wrote the President a

letter which the latter asserted was “full of innuendoes,” and one

statement in the pamphlet he denounced as being “as impudent and

insolent an assertion as it is false.” And his irritation at this

treatment from one he had always befriended gave rise to an incident,

narrated by James Ross, at a breakfast at the President’s, when “after

a little while the Secretary of War came in, and said to Washington,

‘Have you seen Mr. Randolph’s pamphlet?’ ‘I have,’ said Washington,

‘and, by the eternal God, he is the damnedest liar on the face of the

earth!’ and as he spoke he brought his fist down upon the table with

all his strength, and with a violence which made the cups and plates

start from their places.” Fortunately, the attack was ineffective;

indeed, Hamilton wrote that “I consider it as amounting to a confession

of guilt; and I am persuaded this will be the universal opinion. His

attempts against you are viewed by all whom I have seen, as base. They

will certainly fail of their aim, and will do good rather than harm, to

the public cause and to yourself. It appears to me that, by you, no

notice can be, or ought to be, taken of the publication. It contains

its own antidote.”

Not content with this double giving up of what to any man of honor was

confidential, Randolph, a little later, rested under Washington’s

suspicions of a third time breaking the seal of official secrecy by

sending a Cabinet paper to the newspapers for no other purpose than to

stir up feeling against Washington. But after his former patron’s death

regret came, and Randolph wrote to Bushrod Washington, “If I could now

present myself before your venerated uncle it would be my pride to

confess my contrition that I suffered my irritation, be the cause what

it might, to use some of those expressions respecting him which, at

this moment … I wish to recall as being inconsistent with my subsequent

convictions.”

Another type of enemy, more or less the result of this differing with

Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, and Randolph, was sundry editors and

writers who gathered under their patronage and received aids of money

or of secret information. One who prospered for a time by abusing

Washington was Philip Freneau. He was a college friend of Madison’s,

and was induced to undertake the task by his and Jefferson’s urging,

though the latter denied this later. As aid to the undertaking,

Jefferson, then Secretary of State, gave Freneau an office, and thus

produced the curious condition of a clerk in the government writing and

printing savage attacks on the President. Washington was much irritated

at the abuse, and Jefferson in his “Anas” said that he “was evidently

sore & warm and I took his intention to be that I should interpose in

some way with Freneau, perhaps withdraw his appointment of translating

clerk to my office. But I will not do it.” According to the French

minister, some of the worst of these articles were written by Jefferson

himself, and Freneau is reported to have said, late in life, that many

of them were written by the Secretary of State.

Far more indecent was the paper conducted by Benjamin Franklin Bache,

who, early in the Presidency, applied for a place in the government,

which for some reason not now known was refused. According to Cobbett,

who hated him, “this … scoundrel … spent several years in hunting

offices under the Federal Government, and being constantly rejected, he

at last became its most bitter foe. Hence his abuse of General

Washington, whom at the time he was soliciting a place he panegyrized

up to the third heaven.” Certain it is that under his editorship the

_General Advertiser_ and _Aurora_ took the lead in all criticisms of

Washington, and not content with these opportunities for daily and

weekly abuse, Bache (though the fact that they were forgeries was

notorious) reprinted the “spurious letters which issued from a certain

press in New York during the war, with a view to destroy the confidence

which the army and community might have had in my political

principles,—and which have lately been republished with greater avidity

and perseverance than ever, by Mr. Bache to answer the same nefarious

purpose with the latter,” and Washington added that “immense pains has

been taken by this said Mr. Bache, who is no more than the agent or

tool of those who are endeavoring to destroy the confidence of the

people, in the officers of Government (chosen by themselves) to

disseminate these counterfeit letters.” In addition Bache wrote a

pamphlet, with the avowal that “the design of these remarks is to prove

the want of claim in Mr. Washington either to the gratitude or

confidence of his country…. Our chief object … is to _destroy undue

impressions in favor of Mr. Washington_.” Accordingly it charged that

Washington was “treacherous,” “mischievous,” “inefficient;” dwelt upon

his “farce of disinterestedness,” his “stately journeyings through the

American continent in search of personal incense,” his “ostentatious

professions of piety,” his “pusillanimous neglect,” his “little

passions,” his “ingratitude,” his “want of merit,” his

“insignificance,” and his “spurious fame.”

The successor of Bache as editor of these two journals, William Duane,

came to the office with an equal hatred of Washington, having already

written a savage pamphlet against him. In this the President was

charged with “treacherous mazes of passion,” and with having

“discharged the loathings of a sick mind.” Furthermore it asserted

“that had you obtained promotion … after Braddock’s defeat, your sword

would have been drawn against your country,” that Washington “retained

the barbarous usages of the feudal system and kept men in Livery,” and

that “posterity will in vain search for the monuments of wisdom in your

administration;” the purpose of the pamphlet, by the author’s own

statement, being “to expose the _Personal Idolatry_ into which we have

been heedlessly running,” and to show the people the “fallibility of

the most favored of men.”

A fourth in this quartet of editors was the notorious James Thomson

Callender, whose publications were numerous, as were also his

impeachments against Washington. By his own account, this writer

maintained, “Mr. Washington has been twice a traitor,” has “authorized

the robbery and ruin of the remnants of his own army,” has “broke the

constitution,” and Callender fumes over “the vileness of the adulation

which has been paid” to him, claiming that “the extravagant popularity

possessed by this citizen reflects the utmost ridicule on the

discernment of America.”

The bitterest attack, however, was penned by Thomas Paine. For many

years there was good feeling between the two, and in 1782, when Paine

was in financial distress, Washington used his influence to secure him

a position “out of friendship for me,” as Paine acknowledged.

Furthermore, Washington tried to get the Virginia Legislature to

pension Paine or give him a grant of land, an endeavor for which the

latter was “exceedingly obliged.” When Paine published his “Rights of

Man” he dedicated it to Washington, with an inscription dwelling on his

“exemplary virtue” and his “benevolence;” while in the body of the work

he asserted that no monarch of Europe had a character to compare with

Washington’s, which was such as to “put all those men called kings to

shame.” Shortly after this, however, Washington refused to appoint him

Postmaster-General; and still later, when Paine had involved himself

with the French, the President, after consideration, decided that

governmental interference was not proper. Enraged by these two acts,

Paine published a pamphlet in which he charged Washington with

“encouraging and swallowing the greatest adulation,” with being “the

patron of fraud,” with a “mean and servile submission to the insults of

one nation, treachery and ingratitude to another,” with “falsehood,”

“ingratitude,” and “pusillanimity;” and finally, after alleging that

the General had not “served America with more disinterestedness or

greater zeal, than myself, and I know not if with better effect,” Paine

closed his attack by the assertion, “and as to you, sir, _treacherous

in private friendship_, and a _hypocrite_ in public life, the world

will be puzzled to decide, whether you are an _apostate_ or an

_impostor_; whether you have _abandoned good principles_, or whether

_you ever had any?_”

Washington never, in any situation, took public notice of these

attacks, and he wrote of a possible one, “I am gliding down the stream

of life, and wish, as is natural, that my remaining days may be

undisturbed and tranquil; and, conscious of my integrity, I would

willingly hope, that nothing would occur tending to give me anxiety;

but should anything present itself in this or any other publication, I

shall never undertake the painful task of recrimination, nor do I know

that I should even enter upon my justification.” To a friend he said,

“my temper leads me to peace and harmony with all men; and it is

peculiarly my wish to avoid any feuds or dissentions with those who are

embarked in the same great national interest with myself; as every

difference of this kind must in its consequence be very injurious.”

XI

SOLDIER

“My inclinations,” wrote Washington at twenty-three, “are strongly bent

to arms,” and the tendency was a natural one, coming not merely from

his Indian-fighting great-grandfather, but from his elder brother

Lawrence, who had held a king’s commission in the Carthagena

expedition, and was one of the few officers who gained repute in that

ill-fated attempt. At Mount Vernon George must have heard much of

fighting as a lad, and when the ill health of Lawrence compelled

resignation of command of the district militia, the younger brother

succeeded to the adjutancy. This quickly led to the command of the

first Virginia regiment when the French and Indian War was brewing.

Twice Washington resigned in disgust during the course of the war, but

each time his natural bent, or “glowing zeal,” as he phrased it, drew

him back into the service. The moment the news of Lexington reached

Virginia he took the lead in organizing an armed force, and in the

Virginia Convention of 1775, according to Lynch, he “made the most

eloquent speech … that ever was made. Says he, ‘I will raise one

thousand men, enlist them at my own expense, and march myself at their

head for the relief of Boston.’” At fifty-three, in speaking of war,

Washington said, “my first wish is to see this plague to mankind

banished from off the earth;” but during his whole life, when there was

fighting to be done, he was among those who volunteered for the

service.

The personal courage of the man was very great. Jefferson, indeed, said

“he was incapable of fear, meeting personal dangers with the calmest

unconcern.” Before he had ever been in action, he noted of a certain

position that it was “a charming field for an encounter,” and his first

engagement he described as follows: “I fortunately escaped without any

wound, for the right wing, where I stood, was exposed to and received

all the enemy’s fire, and it was the part where the man was killed, and

the rest wounded. I heard the bullets whistle, and, believe me, there

is something charming in the sound.” In his second battle, though he

knew that he was “to be attacked and by unequal numbers,” he promised

beforehand to “withstand” them “if there are five to one,” adding, “I

doubt not, but if you hear I am beaten, but you will, at the same

[time,] hear that we have done our duty, in fighting as long [as] there

was a possibility of hope,” and in this he was as good as his word.

When sickness detained him in the Braddock march, he halted only on

condition that he should receive timely notice of when the fighting was

to begin, and in that engagement he exposed himself so that “I had four

bullets through my coat, and two horses shot under me, yet escaped

unhurt, altho’ death was levelling my companions on every side of me!”

Not content with such an experience, in the second march on Fort

Duquesne he “prayed” the interest of a friend to have his regiment part

of the “light troops” that were to push forward in advance of the main

army.

The same carelessness of personal danger was shown all through the

Revolution. At the battle of Brooklyn, on New York Island, at Trenton,

Germantown, and Monmouth, he exposed himself to the enemy’s fire, and

at the siege of Yorktown an eyewitness relates that “during the

assault, the British kept up an incessant firing of cannon and musketry

from their whole line. His Excellency General Washington, Generals

Lincoln and Knox with their aids, having dismounted, were standing in

an exposed situation waiting the result. Colonel Cobb, one of General

Washington’s aids, solicitous for his safety, said to his Excellency,

‘Sir, you are too much exposed here, had you not better step back a

little?’ ‘Colonel Cobb,’ replied his Excellency, ‘if you are afraid,

you have liberty to step back.’” It is no cause for wonder that an

officer wrote, “our army love their General very much, but they have

one thing against him, which is the little care he takes of himself in

any action. His personal bravery, and the desire he has of animating

his troops by example, make him fearless of danger. This occasions us

much uneasiness.”

[Illustration: WASHINGTON’S TRANSCRIPT OF THE RULES OF CIVILITY,

CIRCA 1744]

This fearlessness was equally shown by his hatred and, indeed,

non-comprehension of cowardice. In his first battle, upon the French

surrendering, he wrote to the governor, “if the whole Detach’t of the

French behave with no more Resolution than this chosen Party did, I

flatter myself we shall have no g’t trouble in driving them to the

d—-.” At Braddock’s defeat, though the regiment he had commanded

“behaved like men and died like soldiers,” he could hardly find words

to express his contempt for the conduct of the British “cowardly

regulars,” writing of their “dastardly behavior” when they “broke and

ran as sheep before hounds,” and raging over being “most scandalously”

and “shamefully beaten.” When the British first landed on New York

Island, and two New England brigades ran away from “a small party of

the enemy,” numbering about fifty, without firing a shot, he completely

lost his self-control at their “dastardly behavior,” and riding in

among them, it is related, he laid his cane over the officers’ backs,

“damned them for cowardly rascals,” and, drawing his sword, struck the

soldiers right and left with the flat of it, while snapping his pistols

at them. Greene states that the fugitives “left his Excellency on the

ground within eighty yards of the enemy, so vexed at the infamous

conduct of the troops, that he sought death rather than life,” and

Gordon adds that the General was only saved from his “hazardous

position” by his aides, who “caught the bridle of his horse and gave

him a different direction.” At Monmouth an aide stated that when he met

a man running away he was “exasperated … and threatened the man … he

would have him whipped,” and General Scott says that on finding Lee

retreating, “he swore like an angel from heaven.” Wherever in his

letters he alludes to cowardice it is nearly always coupled with the

adjectives “infamous,” “scandalous,” or others equally indicative of

loss of temper.

There can be no doubt that Washington had a high temper. Hamilton’s

allusion to his not being remarkable for “good temper” has already been

quoted, as has also Stuart’s remark that “all his features were

indicative of the strongest and most ungovernable passions, and had he

been born in the forests, he would have been the fiercest man among the

savage tribes.” Again Stuart is quoted by his daughter as follows:

“While talking one day with General Lee, my father happened to remark

that Washington had a tremendous temper, but held it under wonderful

control. General Lee breakfasted with the President and Mrs. Washington

a few days afterwards.

“‘I saw your portrait the other day,’ said the General, ‘but Stuart

says you have a tremendous temper.’

“‘Upon my word,’ said Mrs. Washington, coloring, ‘Mr. Stuart takes a

great deal upon himself to make such a remark.’

“‘But stay, my dear lady,’ said General Lee, ‘he added that the

president had it under wonderful control.’

“With something like a smile, General Washington remarked, ‘He is

right.’”

Lear, too, mentions an outburst of temper when he heard of the defeat

of St. Clair, and elsewhere records that in reading politics aloud to

Washington “he appeared much affected, and spoke with some degree of

asperity on the subject, which I endeavored to moderate, as I always

did on such occasions.” How he swore at Randolph and at Freneau is

mentioned elsewhere. Jefferson is evidence that “his temper was

naturally irritable and high-toned, but reflection and resolution had

obtained a firm and habitual ascendency over it. If however it broke

its bonds, he was most tremendous in his wrath.”

Strikingly at variance with these personal qualities of courage and hot

blood is the “Fabian” policy for which he is so generally credited, and

a study of his military career goes far to dispel the conception that

Washington was the cautious commander that he is usually pictured.

In the first campaign, though near a vastly superior French force,

Washington precipitated the conflict by attacking and capturing an

advance party, though the delay of a few days would have brought him

large reinforcements. As a consequence he was very quickly surrounded,

and after a day’s fighting was compelled to surrender. In what light

his conduct was viewed at the time is shown in two letters, Dr. William

Smith writing, “the British cause,… has received a fatal Blow by the

entire defeat of Washington, whom I cannot but accuse of Foolhardiness

to have ventured so near a vigilant enemy without being certain of

their numbers, or waiting for Junction of some hundreds of our best

Forces, who are within a few Days’ March of him,” and Ann Willing

echoed this by saying, “the melancholy news has just arrived of the

loss of sixty men belonging to Col. Washington’s Company, who were

killed on the spot, and of the Colonel and Half-King being taken

prisoners, all owing to the obstinacy of Washington, who would not wait

for the arrival of reinforcements.”

Hardly less venturesome was he in the Braddock campaign, for “the

General (before they met in council,) asked my opinion concerning the

expedition. I urged it, in the warmest terms I was able, to push

forward, if we even did it with a small but chosen band, with such

artillery and light stores as were absolutely necessary; leaving the

heavy artillery, baggage, &c. with the rear division of the army, to

follow by slow and easy marches, which they might do safely, while we

were advanced in front.” How far the defeat of that force was due to

the division thus urged it is not possible to say, but it undoubtedly

made the French bolder and the English more subject to panic.

The same spirit was manifested in the Revolution. During the siege of

Boston he wrote to Reed, “I proposed [an assault] in council; but

behold, though we had been waiting all the year for this favorable

event the enterprise was thought too dangerous. Perhaps it was; perhaps

the irksomeness of my situation led me to undertake more than could be

warranted by prudence. I did not think so, and I am sure yet, that the

enterprise, if it had been undertaken with resolution, must have

succeeded.” He added that “the enclosed council of war:… being almost

unanimous, I must suppose it to be right; although, from a thorough

conviction of the necessity of attempting something against the

ministerial troops before a reinforcement should arrive, and while we

were favored with the ice, I was not only ready but willing, and

desirous of making the assault,” and a little later he said that had he

but foreseen certain contingencies “all the generals upon earth should

not have convinced me of the propriety of delaying an attack upon

Boston.”

In the defence of New York there was no chance to attack, but even when

our lines at Brooklyn had been broken and the best brigades in the army

captured, Washington hurried troops across the river, and intended to

contest the ground, ordering a retreat only when it was voted in the

affirmative by a council of war. At Harlem plains he was the attacking

party.

How with a handful of troops he turned the tide of defeat by attacking

at Trenton and Princeton is too well known to need recital. At

Germantown, too, though having but a few days before suffered defeat,

he attacked and well-nigh won a brilliant victory, because the British

officers did not dream that his vanquished army could possibly take the

initiative. When the foe settled down into winter quarters in

Philadelphia Laurens wrote, “our Commander-in-chief wishing ardently to

gratify the public expectation by making an attack upon the enemy …

went yesterday to view the works.” On submitting the project to a

council, however, they stood eleven to four against the attempt.

The most marked instance of Washington’s un-Fabian preferences, and

proof of the old saying that “councils of war never fight,” is

furnished in the occurrences connected with the battle of Monmouth.

When the British began their retreat across New Jersey, according to

Hamilton “the General unluckily called a council of war, the result of

which would have done honor to the most honorable society of mid-wives

and to them only. The purport was, that we should keep at a comfortable

distance from the enemy, and keep up a vain parade of annoying them by

detachment … The General, on mature reconsideration of what had been

resolved on, determined to pursue a different line of conduct at all

hazards.” Concerning this decision Pickering wrote,—

“His great caution in respect to the enemy, acquired him the name of

the American Fabius. From this _governing_ policy he is said to have

departed, when” at Monmouth he “indulged the most anxious desire to

close with his antagonist in general action. Opposed to his wishes was

the advice of his general officers. To this he for a time yielded; but

as soon as he discovered that the enemy had reached Monmouth Court

House, not more than twelve miles from the heights of Middletown, he

determined that he should not escape without a blow.”

Pickering considered this a “departure” from Washington’s “usual

practice and policy,” and cites Wadsworth, who said, in reference to

the battle of Monmouth, that the General appeared, on that occasion,

“to act from the impulses of his own mind.”

Thrice during the next three years plans for an attack on the enemy’s

lines at New York were matured, one of which had to be abandoned

because the British had timely notice of it by the treachery of an

American general, a second because the other generals disapproved the

attempt, and, on the authority of Humphreys, “the accidental

intervention of some vessels prevented [another] attempt, which was

more than once resumed afterwards. Notwithstanding this favorite

project was not ultimately effected, it was evidently not less bold in

conception or feasible in accomplishment, than that attempted so

successfully at Trenton, or than that which was brought to so glorious

an issue in the successful siege of Yorktown.”

As this _résumé_ indicates, the most noticeable trait of Washington’s

military career was a tendency to surrender his own opinions and wishes

to those over whom he had been placed, and this resulted in a general

agreement not merely that he was disposed to avoid action, but that he

lacked decision. Thus his own aide, Reed, in obvious contrast to

Washington, praised Lee because “you have decision, a quality often

wanted in minds otherwise valuable,” continuing, “Oh! General, an

indecisive mind is one of the greatest misfortunes that can befall an

army; how often have I lamented it this campaign,” and Lee in reply

alluded to “that fatal indecision of mind.” Pickering relates meeting

General Greene and saying to him, “‘I had once conceived an exalted

opinion of General Washington’s military talents; but since I have been

with the army, I have seen nothing to increase that opinion.’ Greene

answered, ‘Why, the General does want decision: for my part, I decide

in a moment.’ I used the word ‘increase,’ though I meant ‘support,’ but

did not dare speak it.” Wayne exclaimed “if our worthy general will but

follow his own good judgment without listening too much to some

counsel!” Edward Thornton, probably repeating the prevailing public

estimate of the time rather than his own conclusion, said, “a certain

degree of indecision, however, a want of vigor and energy, may be

observed in some of his actions, and are indeed the obvious result of

too refined caution.”

Undoubtedly this leaning on others and the want of decision were not

merely due to a constitutional mistrust of his own ability, but also in

a measure to real lack of knowledge. The French and Indian War, being

almost wholly “bush-fighting,” was not of a kind to teach strategic

warfare, and in his speech accepting the command Washington requested

that “it may be remembered by every gentleman in the room, that I this

day declare with the utmost sincerity I do not think myself equal to

the command I am honored with.” Indeed, he very well described himself

and his generals when he wrote of one officer, “his wants are common to

us all—the want of experience to move upon a large scale, for the

limited and contracted knowledge, which any of us have in military

matters, stands in very little stead.” There can be no question that in

most of the “field” engagements of the Revolution Washington was

out-generalled by the British, and Jefferson made a just distinction

when he spoke of his having often “failed in the field, and rarely

against an enemy in station, as at Boston and York.”

The lack of great military genius in the commander-in-chief has led

British writers to ascribe the results of the war to the want of

ability in their own generals, their view being well summed up by a

writer in 1778, who said, “in short, I am of the opinion … that any

other General in the world than General Howe would have beaten General

Washington; and any other General in the world than General Washington

would have beaten General Howe.”

This is, in effect, to overlook the true nature of the contest, for it

was their very victories that defeated the British. They conquered New

Jersey, to meet defeat; they captured Philadelphia, only to find it a

danger; they established posts in North Carolina, only to abandon them;

they overran Virginia, to lay down their arms at Yorktown. As

Washington early in the war divined, the Revolution was “a war of

posts,” and he urged the danger of “dividing and subdividing our Force

too much [so that] we shall have no one post sufficiently guarded,”

saying, “it is a military observation strongly supported by experience,

‘that a superior army may fall a sacrifice to an inferior, by an

injudicious division.’” It was exactly this which defeated the British;

every conquest they made weakened their force, and the war was not a

third through when Washington said, “I am well convinced myself, that

the enemy, long ere this, are perfectly well satisfied, that the

possession of our towns, while we have an army in the field, will avail

them little.” As Franklin said, when the news was announced that Howe

had captured Philadelphia, “No, Philadelphia has captured Howe.”