Part 39

Mr. Adams proceeded to the conscientious and independent discharge of his presidential duties, prompted by the best motives for the glory of his country. His administration, however, became unpopular, and at the expiration of his term the democratic party triumphed, and he retired to Quincy, to once more enjoy the long lost comforts of retirement. Much has been written upon the causes that produced the political overthrow of Mr. Adams. To my mind the solution is brief and plain. His cabinet was not of his own choosing—he was too independent to bend to party management—he opposed the humiliating demands of the then self-styled democratic France—he advocated, most earnestly, the augmentation of the navy of the United States, and recommended the law for suppressing the venality of the press. In the two first points he was impolitic as the head of a _party_—in the two next, he did what all now acknowledge to be right—and in the last, he took the wrong method to correct one of the most alarming evils of that day—an evil that still hangs over our country like an incubus. The three last were the strong points seized upon by partisans, and were rendered extremely unpopular, and enabled his opponents to defeat his re-election. He retired with a good grace, and remained the personal friend of his rival until the day of his death. He supported the policy of Mr. Jefferson towards England, and approved of the declaration of war in 1812. In writing to a friend, in July of that year, he remarked:

“To your allusion to the war, I have nothing to say—but that it is with surprise that I hear it pronounced, not only in the newspapers, but by persons in authority, ecclesiastical and civil, and political and military—that the declaration of it was altogether unexpected * * * How it is possible that a rational, a social or a moral creature can say the war is unjust, is to me utterly incomprehensible. How it can be said to be unnecessary, is very mysterious. I have thought it necessary for five or six years. How it can be said to be unexpected, is another wonder. I have expected it more than five-and-twenty years, and have great reason to be thankful that it has been postponed so long.”

He attributed the opposition of the eastern states to the war to the impolicy of the government in not cherishing the navy, and compared them to Achilles, who, in consequence of his being deprived of Briseis, withdrew from the Grecian confederacy. The augmentation of the navy was the _ne plus ultra_ of his national policy, and had his views upon this point been carried out by our government, our nation would now have been mistress of the seas, instead of having scarcely armed vessels enough to protect the expanding commerce of our enterprising merchants—a fact that has become a by-word among other nations, and has often crimsoned the cheeks of liberal minded Americans.

Soon after his retirement he was offered the gubernatorial chair of his native state, but declined the honour on account of his advanced age—but continued to take a deep interest in the welfare of his country, and wrote many essays and letters in favour of liberal principles and American rights. After the retirement of Mr. Jefferson, a most happy and interesting correspondence was continued between these two great apostles of liberty. In 1815, Mr. Adams had the gratifying pleasure of seeing his son at the head of the diplomatic commission to conclude a second treaty with Great Britain, which carried his mind back, with all the enthusiastic force of an old man’s memory, to the scenes of 1782–3, when he had performed and executed a similar mission. In 1817, he was placed at the head of the list of presidential electors, and three years after was elected president of the convention that revised the constitution he had written forty years previous. The compliment was duly appreciated by him, but his infirmities did not permit him to preside over the deliberations of that body, although he imparted his counsels and aided greatly in the revision. This was the last public act of this great man—the curtain of the political drama then closed upon him for ever. Two years previous the partner of his bosom had gone to her final rest, which was an affliction most keenly felt by him. For more than half a century she had shared with him the pains and pleasures of their eventful career, and had always met the events of life with christian fortitude. Surrounded by friends who delighted to honour him, his country prosperous and happy, enjoying the full fruition of divine grace, which had produced the fruits of unsophisticated piety through a long life, political animosities buried in oblivion, his now frail bark glided smoothly down the stream of time until the fiftieth anniversary of independence dawned upon his beloved country. On the morning of the fourth of July, 1826, an unexpected debility seized him, and he was unable to leave his bed, but no one imagined he was standing on the last inch of his time. He was asked for a sentiment, to be given for him at the celebration on that day—“INDEPENDENCE FOR EVER,” burst from his dying lips, which were the last words that he ever uttered, with a loud and animated voice. About four o’clock in the afternoon he expired—without an apparent pain, a groan, a murmur or a sigh, with a full assurance of a happy reception in that brighter world, where sin and sorrow never cross the peaceful path of the angelic throng. On the same day, and but a few hours previous, the immortal spirit of the illustrious Jefferson had left its prison of clay, thrown off its mortal coil, and perhaps took its kindred in its flight, and they together “ascended in essence to an ecstatic meeting with the friends they had loved and lost, and whom they should still love and never lose,” there to enjoy, through the rolling ages of eternity, the blissful scenes of angelic purity—the smiles and favours of their Saviour and their God.

This unparalleled combination of extraordinary circumstances produced a deep and unusual sensation in the United States and in Europe. The simultaneous departure of two of the noblest spirits that ever graced the great theatre of human life, illuminating the world around them with freedom—whose actions had resounded through the universe—whose mighty deeds had been and will continue to be a theme of wonder and admiration to the end of time—was an incident that seemed designed by the great Jehovah, to impress their precepts, their examples and their names upon the minds of men with all the force of god-like divinity.

Mr. Adams was a plain man; low in stature, not graceful in his movements, and was sometimes abrupt and repulsive. His manners were rather austere and unbending in public, but in the social circle, with his relatives and friends, he was familiar, pleasing and entertaining. He was not partial to ceremonious etiquette, and was averse to pedantry. Plain strong common sense he practised and admired. He spoke his sentiments freely, and could never have been transformed into a _technical_ politican, even had he enjoyed the magic advantages of modern schools. His open frankness was proverbial, and he often alluded to it as one of his failings. When once in Stewart’s room of paintings, he fixed his eyes upon the portrait of Washington, and then upon his own, and observing the compressed mouth of the former and the open lips of the latter, facetiously remarked as he pointed to it—“Ah! that fellow never could keep his mouth shut.” This circumstance alone did much to enhance his unpopularity as a party politician.

In the brilliant career of this great and good man the reader must discover a higher and holier eulogy than language can express. For more than fifty years he served his country ably and faithfully in a public capacity, and continued to impart his counsels until the curtain of death shut him from the world. In all the relations of private life he stood upon a lofty eminence—beyond the reach of slander. The escutcheon of his social name was too pure for the approach of the foulest of all pestiferous atmospheres—that of party spirit. And now, as his ashes rest in the peaceful grave, that hydra monster dare not impute to his actions in life a spark of political dishonesty or impurity of motive, however much he differed from other great men in his views, lest the voice of Jefferson should proclaim to them from the tomb—AN HONESTER MAN THAN JOHN ADAMS NEVER ISSUED FROM THE HANDS OF THE CREATOR.

GEORGE WASHINGTON.

This revered name stands associated with every amiable and noble quality to which mortal man can attain on this dim revolving ball of human action. A sacred halo encircles it, that renders it dear to every philanthropist and respected by the whole civilized world. I am aware that his merits cannot be enhanced by eulogy, nor could detraction ever tarnish the glory of his fame. I am aware that the whole magazine of language has been exhausted in his praise. I am aware that talents of the highest order, hearts of the warmest devotion, imaginations of the happiest conception, united with the most refined and thrilling eloquence, have portrayed, in bold and glowing colours, the fair fame of WASHINGTON. To delineate fully and clearly the virtues of this great and good man, would require an angel’s pen dipped in etherial fire, and an angel’s hand to guide it. His life cannot be too often reviewed; his examples cannot be too closely imitated. Like some magnificent scenes of nature, his history is

“Ever charming, ever new, The prospect never tires the view.”

The lustre of his virtues was of that celestial character, that, like the luminary of day, it is seen and felt, but cannot be fully described. His picture is one on which we may gaze with increased delight, and discover new beauties to the last. His memory should be rehearsed by every print in our land; every new press and fount of type should spread, in glowing capitals, the name of the beloved, the illustrious WASHINGTON. The aged sire should impress it on the hearts of the rising generation; the mother should teach it to her lisping babe; the preceptor should point his pupils to this polar star of virtue, goodness and magnanimity; and the friends of union, liberty and order, should read often, carefully and attentively, the biography of the father of our country. These are deemed reasons sufficiently strong to prompt this humble effort to delineate the interesting career of the man who was first in peace—terrible in war—the friend of humanity—the HERO OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE—and the founder of our country’s glory. To me, the subject possesses a peculiar zest, fraught with pleasure and delight.

GEORGE WASHINGTON was born in the county of Fairfax, Virginia, on the 22nd of February, 1732. He lost his father at an early age, and to the wisdom of his mother he declared himself indebted for the correct formation of his youthful mind. Matrons of America, if the mother of Washington moulded _his_ mind with such beauty and greatness, how much may _you_ do to perpetuate, through your sons, the prosperity and happiness of your favoured country! Train their youthful minds in wisdom’s ways; guide them in the paths of virtue and patriotism; teach them to love their country and its liberty; and to prize, dearer than life, the sacred boon of freedom that was nobly won and sacredly transmitted by the sages and patriots of ’76.

Washington, during his childhood and youth, exhibited a strong and enquiring mind. His habits were those of industry, perseverance and stability. He was assiduous in his studies and enriched his memory with solid and useful knowledge. He possessed a large share of merit and modesty, which gained for him the love and esteem of all who had the pleasure of his acquaintance. He was frank, open, generous, humane and honest. Nothing could induce him to utter a falsehood, practice deceit, or disobey his fond mother. He soared above the vain and trifling amusements that so often divert youth from wisdom’s ways. He was designed to be a star of the first magnitude on the great theatre of action; he studied well his part before he entered upon the stage, and when the curtain rose, he was prepared for his audience, acquitted himself nobly, and retired amidst the plaudits and cheers of astonished and admiring millions.

His talents and merit attracted the attention of Governor Dinwiddie, who then presided over Virginia, the frontiers of which were greatly annoyed by the French and Indians. It was deemed necessary to send a messenger to them, demanding the reasons for their unprovoked hostility, and, if possible, to induce them to evacuate their forts, smoke the pipe of peace and disperse. Young Washington, then only twenty-one years of age, was selected to perform this important mission, which was fraught with dangers on every side. His path lay through a dense wilderness for four hundred miles, inhabited by roving Indians seeking for prey. He undertook the hazardous enterprise and arrived at his place of destination in safety. Whilst the French commandant was writing an answer to Governor Dinwiddie, Washington, unobserved, took the dimensions of the fort and returned unmolested. It was soon found necessary to raise a regiment of troops to arrest the bloody career of the savages on the frontiers. Washington was placed in command over them with the commission of colonel, and marched towards the Great Meadows in April, 1754. On his way he surprised and captured a body of the enemy. On his arrival at the Great Meadows he erected a small stockade fort, very appropriately naming it Fort Necessity. Here he was reinforced, swelling his little army to four hundred men. He then made preparations to attack Fort Du Quesne (now Pittsburgh,) but soon learned that the enemy was advancing upon him to the number of 1500 men, commanded by M. de Villiers. The attack was soon commenced with great fury, and continued for several hours, when the French commander offered terms of capitulation and was glad to permit the young champion to march away unmolested. This brilliant and bold adventure placed the talents of Washington high on the scale of eminence, as a bold, skilful and prudent officer. It occurred on the 4th of July, a happy prelude to the glorious 4th of ’76, the grand birthday of American Independence.

The following year another expedition was sent against Fort Du Quesne of about two thousand troops, under the command of the unfortunate General Braddock, who had more courage than prudence, more self-conceit than wisdom. He spurned the advice of the “beardless boy,” and rushed into a snare, where he and nearly half of his army met the cold embrace of death. The deliberate courage and superior skill of Washington, by a judicious retreat, saved the remainder from the bloody tomahawk and scalping-knife. He arrived with them safe at Fort Cumberland. By his rashness, Braddock led his men into an ambuscade of about five hundred French and Indians, who were secreted in three deep ravines forming a triangle, secure from danger unless charged, where he remained with them until he had five horses shot under him, nearly half of his men cut down, himself mortally wounded, and not an enemy to be seen. One hundred men headed by Washington, with fixed bayonets, would have dispersed them in ten minutes.

Washington, unwilling to witness again such waste of human life, resigned his military command and retired to private life. But his sterling talents were not suffered to remain long inactive. He was elected to the legislature from Frederick, and subsequently from Fairfax, and was highly respected as a wise, discerning legislator, exhibiting a mind imbued with philanthropy and liberal principles, guided by a clear judgment and a sound discretion, adorned by a retiring modesty, too rare in men of talent.

From this field of action, Washington entered one of greater magnitude and importance, big with events, involving consequences of the deepest interest to himself, to his country, and to the world. After serving the mother country in the French war with blood and treasure, after submitting to taxation, oppression, and insult for years, the colonists resolved to burst the chains of slavery, throw off the shackles of tyranny, and assume their native dignity. Every source of redress had been exhausted; every avenue of conciliation had been explored; more than reason could demand had been offered; all that was clearly _right_, and much that was clearly _wrong_, the pilgrims had submitted to, and still their ungracious, their unfeeling, their blinded mother, cried give—give—give. They had not dreamed of independence; they had only demanded sheer justice; this being denied, they resorted to the last, the only alternative. Instead of submitting to taxation, without representation—instead of yielding obedience to the pernicious stamp act, they stamped their names with unfading glory, their country with lasting fame. In the autumn of 1774, the first great Congress of the American nation assembled at Philadelphia, of which Washington was a member. The solemnities of that thrilling scene have been repeatedly alluded to as of the most imposing character. No one felt them more deeply than the father of our country. When the proceedings were opened by prayer, Washington alone was upon his knees. His mind, on all occasions, seems to have reached to heaven, his soul seemed to dwell in the bosom of his God. Devoted, unsophisticated and humble piety marked his whole life—a piety sincere in its motives and consistent in all its exhibitions. But Washington was not to remain in the hall of the Continental Congress. A mighty work was in store for him. On the memorable 19th of April, 1775, on the heights of Lexington, American blood was spilt by order of Major Pitcairn. Justice looked at the purple current as it flowed, and sighed; mercy carried the sad news to the etherial skies; the eagle of liberty caught the mournful sound, descended in a stream of liquid fire, planted the torch of freedom in the serum of the bleeding patriots and bid eternal defiance to the British lion.

The effect was electrical. The alarm spread with the rapidity of lightning. It was sounded from church-bells and signal-guns; echo carried it from hills to dales, from sire to son. Vengeance was roused from its lair; the hardy yeomanry left their ploughs in the furrow; the merchant forsook his counting-house; the professional man his office; the minister his pulpit; and with powder-horn and slug, shouldered their rusty muskets, hastened to the scene of action determined to avenge their injured rights, defend their bleeding country, or perish in the attempt. The implements of husbandry were exchanged for those of war; the mechanic shop, the bar, the desk and the forum, were exchanged for the dangers and fatigues of the army. A band of veterans arose, with “hearts of oak and nerves of steel,” headed by that bright luminary the illustrious WASHINGTON, who stood forth the champions of LIBERTY, the advocates of FREEDOM; resolved upon emancipation or death; pledging their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honours in defence of their common country; looking to Heaven for strength, guidance and support. Illustrious heroes! disinterested patriots! yours exceeded all Greek, all Roman fame.

In June following, Washington was appointed by the unanimous voice of the Continental Congress commander-in-chief of the American armies. This appointment he accepted with diffidence and reluctance, feeling that it involved responsibilities, consequences and results too mighty for him to assume, too vast for him to encounter.

He did not view it as the field of glory, of conquest, of ambition, or of fame. He did not thirst for human blood or exult in the profession of arms. Love of country, of liberty, of human rights, of liberal principles, and the oppressive chains of tyranny, prompted him to action.

Before his arrival at Cambridge, to enter upon the important duties of his command, the fortress of Crown Point and Ticonderoga had fallen into the hands of the colonists.

The sanguinary battle of Bunker Hill had been fought, which convinced the British that men contending for their just rights, their dearest interests, their bosoms fired with indignation and patriotism, could not be made to yield to the glittering arms of a haughty monarch without a bold and daring effort to maintain that liberty which they had received at their birth from the hands of their Creator.

War now assumed a serious aspect, the bloody toils of the revolution commenced. England poured in her legions by thousands, and, to cap the climax of the terrific scene, called to her aid the blood-thirsty Indian with his tomahawk and scalping-knife. The welkin rang with the savage war-whoop and the expiring groans of mothers and babes. The contest seemed to be that of an infant with a giant, a lamb with a lion. The dark clouds blackened as they rose, charged with the fury of demons and the lightning of revenge.

Washington viewed their fiery aspect with calm serenity, heard their portentous roar without a tremor. With a soul reaching to heaven, he met the awful crisis with firmness and wisdom before unknown; his gigantic mind soared above the highest pinnacle difficulty could rear; his course was onward towards the goal of LIBERTY; beneath his conquering arm monarchy trembled, tottered and fell.

His whole energy was now directed to the organization of the army and a preparation for future action. An important expedition was planned against Canada, which was attended with great hardship, boldness and perseverance. It was entrusted to Generals Montgomery and Schuyler, who were subsequently followed by Arnold. It was crowned with success, until an unfortunate attack was made upon Quebec, where the brave Montgomery fell with many other valuable officers and soldiers. The ensuing spring the American army evacuated Canada. The royal governors in some of the colonies, by the aid of the king’s troops, still maintained the authority of the crown, but they were soon compelled to flee on board of the British ships of war, where they issued their proclamations with about as much effect as the puffing of a porpoise.

Early in March, 1776, Washington appeared before Boston, where lord Howe had concentrated his army, and took a position that induced the English general to evacuate the town on the 17th of the same month. In July, the fort on Sullivan’s Island was attacked by General Clinton and Sir Peter Parker, and after an action of ten hours, Sir Peter was compelled to retire with his silk breeches disfigured by the rudeness of a cannon ball, his ships badly torn to pieces by the rebel artillery, and two hundred of his men killed and wounded. The fort was defended by Colonel Moultrie with about five hundred men, with twenty-six nine and eighteen pounders. Sir Peter had two fifty gun ships, four frigates and several small vessels, with three thousand veteran troops. There was so much elasticity in the southern climate on this occasion, that the royalists did not venture there again for nearly two years.