Part 4

And when he had succeeded, when Congress first, and afterwards the different States, had granted him the necessary means of making an army, his task was not finished; the business of the war had not yet commenced; the army did not exist. Here, too, he was obstructed by a complete inexperience, the same want of unity, the same passion for individual independence, the same conflict between patriotic purposes and disorganizing impulses. Here, too, he was obliged to bring discordant elements into harmony; to keep together those which were constantly ready to separate; to enlighten, to persuade, to induce; to use personal influence; and, without endangering his dignity or his power, to obtain the moral fidelity, the full and free support, both of the officers and soldiers. {68} Then only could Washington act as a general, and turn his attention to the war. Or, rather, it was during the war, in the midst of its scenes, its perils, and its hazards, that he was constantly obliged to recommence, both in the country and the army itself, this work of organization and government.

His military capacity has been called in question. He did not manifest, it is true, those striking displays of it which, in Europe, have given renown to great captains. Operating with a small army over an immense space, great manoeuvres and great battles were necessarily unknown to him. But his superiority, acknowledged and declared by his companions, the continuance of the war during nine years, and its final success, are also to be taken as proofs of his merit, and may well justify his reputation. His personal bravery was chivalrous even to rashness, and he more than once abandoned himself to this impulse in a manner painful to contemplate. More than once, the American militia, seized with terror, took to flight, and brave officers sacrificed their lives to infuse courage into their soldiers. {69} In 1776, on a similar occasion, Washington indignantly persisted in remaining on the field of battle, exerting himself to arrest the fugitives by his example and even by his hand. "We made," wrote General Greene the next day, "a miserable, disorderly retreat from New York, owing to the disorderly conduct of the militia. Fellows's and Parsons's brigades ran away from about fifty men, and left his Excellency on the ground within eighty yards of the enemy, so vexed at the infamous conduct of the troops, that he sought death rather than life." [Footnote 32]

[Footnote 32: Washington's Writings, Vol. IV. p. 94.]

On more than one occasion, also, when the opportunity appeared favorable, he displayed the boldness of the general as well as the intrepidity of the man. He has been called the _American Fabius_, it being said that the art of avoiding battle, of baffling the enemy, and of temporizing, was his talent as well as his taste. In 1775, before Boston, at the opening of the war, this Fabius wished to bring it to a close by a sudden attack upon the English army, which he flattered himself he should be able to destroy. {70} Three successive councils of war, forced him to abandon his design, but without shaking his conviction, and he expressed bitter regret at the result. [Footnote 33] In 1776, in the State of New York, when the weather was extremely cold, in the midst of a retreat, with troops half disbanded, the greater part of whom were preparing to leave him and return to their own homes, Washington suddenly assumed an offensive position, attacked, one after another, at Trenton and Princeton, the different corps of the English army, and gained two battles in eight hours.

[Footnote 33: Washington's Writings, Vol. III. pp. 82, 127, 259, 287, 290, 291, 292, 297.]

Moreover, he understood what was even a much higher and much more difficult art, than that of making war; he knew how to control and direct it. War was to him only a means, always kept subordinate to the main and final object,--the success of the cause, the independence of the country. When, in 1798, the prospect of a possible war between the United States and France occurred to disturb the repose of Mount Vernon, though already approaching to old age and fond of his retirement, he thus wrote to Mr. Adams, his successor in the administration of the republic.

{71}

"It was not difficult for me to perceive that, if we entered into a serious contest with France, the character of the war would differ materially from the last we were engaged in. In the latter, time, caution, and worrying the enemy, until we could be better provided with arms and other means, and had better disciplined troops to carry it on, was the plan for us. But if we should be engaged with the former, they ought to be attacked every step." [Footnote 34]

[Footnote 34: Washington's Writings, Vol. XI. p. 309.]

This system of active and aggressive war, which, at the age of sixty-six, he proposed to adopt, was one which, twenty-two years before, in the vigor of life, neither the advice of some of the generals, his friends, nor the slanders of some others, his enemies, nor the complaints of the States which were laid waste by the enemy, nor popular clamor, nor the desire of glory, nor the recommendations of Congress itself, had been able to induce him to follow. {72} "I know the unhappy predicament I stand in; I know that much is expected of me; I know, that without men, without arms, without ammunition, without any thing fit for the accommodation of a soldier, little is to be done; and, what is mortifying, I know that I cannot stand justified to the world without exposing my own weakness, and injuring the cause, which I am determined not to do. ... My own situation is so irksome to me at times, that, if I did not consult the public good more than my own tranquillity, I should, long ere this, have put every thing on the cast of a die." [Footnote 35]

[Footnote 35: Washington's Writings, Vol. III p. 284.]

He persisted in this course during nine years. Only when the protracted nature of the contest and the general indifference were occasioning a feeling of discouragement, akin to apathy, did he determine to strike a blow, to encounter some brilliant hazard, to make the country aware of the presence of his army, and relieve the people's hearts of some of their apprehensions. {73} It was thus that, in 1777, he fought the battle of Germantown. And when, in the midst of reverses, endured with heroic patience, he was asked what he should do if the enemy continued to advance, if Philadelphia, for instance, should be taken; he replied, "We will retreat beyond the Susquehanna river, and thence, if necessary, to the Alleghany mountains." [Footnote 36]

[Footnote 36: Sparks's _Washington_, Vol. I. p. 221.]

Besides this patriotic calmness and patience, he displayed the same quality in another form, still more praiseworthy. He saw, without chagrin and ill-humor, the successes of his inferiors in command. Still more, when the public service rendered it advisable, he supplied them largely with the means and opportunity of gaining them. A disinterestedness worthy of all praise, rarely found in the greatest minds; as wise as it was noble, in the midst of the envious tendencies of a democratic society; and which, perhaps, we may be permitted to hope, was in his case attended with a deep and tranquil consciousness of his superiority, and of the glory that would follow him.

{74}

When the horizon was dark, when repeated checks and a succession of misfortunes seemed to throw a doubt upon the capacity of the Commander-in-chief, and gave birth to disorders, intrigues, and hostile insinuations, a powerful voice was quickly raised in his behalf,--the voice of the army, which loaded Washington with testimonials of affectionate respect, and placed him beyond the reach of complaints and hostile attacks.

In the winter of 1777 and 1778. while the army was encamped at Valley Forge, exposed to the most severe hardships, some restless and treacherous spirits organized against Washington a conspiracy of considerable magnitude, which penetrated into the Congress itself. He opposed himself to it with stern frankness, saying, without reserve and without cautious insincerity, all he thought of his adversaries, and leaving his conduct to speak for itself. Such a course, at such a moment, was putting much at hazard. But the public respect in which he was held was so profound, the friends of Washington, Lord Stirling, Lafayette, Greene, Knox, Patrick Henry, Henry Laurens, supported him so warmly, the movement of opinion in the army was so decided, that he triumphed almost without defending himself. {75} The principal framer of this conspiracy, an Irishman by the name of Conway, after having sent in his resignation, continued to spread against him the most injurious charges. General Cadwalader resented this conduct; a duel was the consequence; and Conway, severely wounded, and believing himself to be near his death, wrote as follows, to Washington.

"I find myself just able to hold the pen during a few minutes, and take this opportunity of expressing my sincere grief for having done, written, or said any thing disagreeable to your Excellency. My career will soon be over; therefore justice and truth prompt me to declare my last sentiments. You are, in my eyes, the great and good man. May you long enjoy the love, veneration, and esteem of these States, whose liberties you have asserted by your virtues." [Footnote 37]

[Footnote 37: Washington's Writings, Vol. V. p. 517. ]

{76}

In 1779, the officers of a New Jersey regiment, imperfectly paid, burdened with debts contracted in the service, anxious about their future prospects and those of their families, made an official declaration to the legislature of that State, that they would resign in a body, if they were not better treated. Washington blamed them extremely, and required of them to withdraw their declaration; but they persisted in their course. "It was, and still is, our determination to march with our regiment, and to do the duty of officers, until the legislature should have a reasonable time to appoint others, but no longer. We beg leave to assure your Excellency, that we have the highest sense of your ability and virtues; that executing your orders has ever given us pleasure; that we love the service, and love our country; but when that country gets so lost to virtue and justice, as to forget to support its servants, it then becomes their duty to retire from its service." [Footnote 38]

[Footnote 38: Marshall's _Life of Washington_, Vol. IV. p. 47.]

{77}

Thus, respect for Washington appeared conspicuously, even in the cabals formed against him, and was mingled with disobedience itself.

In the state of distress and disorganization into which the American army was perpetually falling, the personal influence of Washington, the affection which was felt for him, the desire of imitating his example, the fear of losing his esteem, or even of giving him pain, deserve to be enumerated among the principal causes, which kept many men, both officers and soldiers, at their posts, kindled anew their zeal, and formed among them that military _esprit de corps_, that friendship of the camp, which is a feeling of great strength, and a fine compensating influence in so rough a profession.

It is a privilege of great men, and often a corrupting one, to inspire affection and devotedness, without feeling them in return. This vice of greatness Washington was exempt from. He loved his associates, his officers, his army. It was not merely from a sense of justice and duty, that he sympathized in their sufferings, and took their interests into his own hands with an indefatigable zeal. {78} He regarded them with a truly tender feeling, marked by compassion for the sufferings he had seen them endure, and by gratitude for the attachment which they had shown to him. And when, in 1783, at the close of the war, at Frances's tavern, in New York, the principal officers, at the moment of their final separation, passed in silence before him, each one pressing his hand as he went by, he was himself moved and agitated, at heart and in his countenance, to a degree that seemed hardly consistent with the firm composure of his spirit.

Nevertheless, he never showed to the army any weakness, or any spirit of unworthy compliance. He never permitted it to be the first object of consideration to itself, and never lost an opportunity to inculcate upon it this truth, that subordination and implicit submission, not only to its country, but to the civil power, was its natural condition, and its first duty.

Upon this subject, he gave it, on three important occasions, the most admirable and the most effective of lessons, that of example. In 1782, he rejected, "with great and painful surprise," [Footnote 39] (these are his expressions), the crown and the supreme power, which some discontented officers were offering to him.

[Footnote 39: Washington's Writings, Vol. VIII. p. 300.]

{79}

In 1783, on the eve of the disbanding of the troops, having been informed that the draft of an address was circulating through the army, and that a general meeting was about to be held to deliberate upon the means of obtaining by force, that which Congress, in spite of justice, had refused to grant, he expressed, in the orders of the day, his strong disapprobation of the measure, himself called together another meeting, attended in person, recalled the officers to the consideration of their duty and the public good, and then withdrew, before any discussion took place, wishing to leave to the parties themselves the merit of retracing their steps, which was done promptly and generally. [Footnote 40]

[Footnote 40: Washington's Writings, Vol. VIII. pp. 392-400.]

{80}

Finally, in 1784 and 1787, when the officers in their retirement attempted to form among themselves the Society of Cincinnati, in order to preserve some bond of union in their dispersed condition, and for the mutual aid of themselves and their families, as soon as Washington saw that the uneasiness and distrust of a jealous people were awakened by the mere name of a military society, a military order, notwithstanding the personal inclination which he felt towards the institution, he not only caused a change to be made in its statutes, but publicly declined being its president, and ceased to take any part in it. [Footnote 41]

[Footnote 41: Washington's Writings, Vol. IX. pp. 26, 127.]

By a singular coincidence, about the same time, Gustavus the Third, king of Sweden, forbade the Swedish officers who had served in the French army during the American war, to wear the order of the Cincinnati, "on the ground, that the institution had a republican tendency not suited to his government." [Footnote 42]

[Footnote 42: Ibid., Vol. IX. p. 56.]

"If we cannot convince the people that their fears are ill-founded, we should, at least, in a degree yield to them," said Washington, upon this subject. [Footnote 43]

[Footnote 43: Ibid., Vol. IX. p. 35.]

He did not yield, even to the people, when the public interest would have suffered from such a course; but he had too just a sense of the relative importance of things to display the same inflexibility, when merely personal interests or private feelings, however reasonable, were in question.

{81}

When the object of the war was obtained, when he had taken leave of his companions in arms, mingled with his affectionate regret, and the joy which he felt in the prospect of repose after victory, another feeling may be perceived in his mind, faint indeed, and perhaps even unknown to himself, and this was, a regret in leaving his military life, that noble profession to which he had devoted his best years with so much distinction. It was a highly congenial employment to Washington, whose genius was methodical, and more firm than inventive; who was just, and full of good-will to all men, but grave, somewhat cold, born for command rather than struggle; in action, loving order, discipline, and subordination of ranks; and preferring the simple and vigorous exercise of power, in a good cause, to the complicated intrigues and impassioned debates of politics.

{82}

"The scene is at last closed. ... On the eve of Christmas, I entered these doors an older man by nine years than when I left them. ... I am just beginning to experience that ease and freedom from public cares, which, however desirable, takes some time to realize. It was not till lately I could get the better of my usual custom of ruminating, as soon as I waked in the morning, on the business of the ensuing day; and of my surprise at finding, after revolving many things in my mind, that I was no longer a public man, nor had any thing to do with public transactions. ... I hope to spend the remainder of my days in cultivating the affections of good men, and in the practice of the domestic virtues. ... The life of a husbandman, of all others, is the most delightful. It is honorable, it is amusing, and, with judicious management, it is profitable. ... I have not only retired from all public employments, but I am retiring within myself, and shall be able to view the solitary walk, and tread the paths of private life, with a heartfelt satisfaction. Envious of none, I am determined to be pleased with all; and this, my dear friend, being the order for my march, I will move gently down the stream of life, until I sleep with my fathers." [Footnote 44]

[Footnote 44: Washington's Writings, Vol. IX. pp. 1, 17, 18, 21, 323.]

{83}

Washington, in uttering such language, was not merely expressing a momentary feeling, the enjoyment of repose, after long-protracted toil, and of liberty, after a severe confinement. The tranquil and active life of a great landed proprietor; those employments, full of interest and free from anxiety; that domestic authority, seldom disputed, and attended with little responsibility; that admirable harmony between the intelligence of man and the prolific power of nature; that sober and simple hospitality; the high satisfaction which springs from consideration and good-will obtained without effort,--these were truly suited to his taste, and were the objects of constant preference to his mind. He would probably have chosen this very life. He enjoyed it; and he enjoyed, besides, all that could be added to it by the public gratitude and his glory, which were delightful in spite of their importunate claims upon him.

{84}

Always of a serious and practical turn of mind, he made improvements in the cultivation of his estates, embellished his mansion-house, occupied himself with the local interests of Virginia, traced the outline of that great system of internal navigation from east to west, which was destined, at a future period, to put the United States in possession of one-half the new world, established schools, put his papers in order, carried on an extensive correspondence, and took great pleasure in receiving, under his roof, and at his table, his attached friends. "It is my wish," he wrote to one of them, a few days after his return to Mount Vernon, "that the mutual friendship and esteem, which have been planted and fostered in the tumult of public life, may not wither and die in the serenity of retirement. We should rather amuse the evening hours of life in cultivating the tender plants, and bringing them to perfection before they are transplanted to a happier clime." [Footnote 45]

[Footnote 45: Washington's Writings, Vol. IX. p. 5.]

{85}

Towards the end of the year 1784, M. de Lafayette came to Mount Vernon. Washington felt for him a truly paternal affection, the tenderest, perhaps, of which his life presents any trace. Apart from the services rendered by him, from the personal esteem he inspired, and from the attractiveness of his character, apart even from the enthusiastic devotion which M. de Lafayette testified for him, this elegant and chivalrous young nobleman, who had escaped from the court of Versailles to dedicate his sword and his fortune to the yeomanry of America, was singularly pleasing to the grave American general. It was, as it were, a homage paid by the nobility of the old world to his cause and his person; a sort of connecting tie between him and that French society, which was so brilliant, so intellectual, and so celebrated. In his modest elevation of mind, he was flattered as well as touched by it, and his thoughts rested with an emotion full of complacency upon this young friend, whose life was like that of none other, and who had quitted every thing to serve by his side.

{86}

"In the moment of our separation," he wrote to him, "upon the road as I traveled, and every hour since, I have felt all that love, respect, and attachment for you, with which length of years, close connection, and your merits have inspired me. I often asked myself, as our carriages separated, whether that was the last sight I should ever have of you. And though I wished to say No, my fears answered Yes. I called to mind the days of my youth, and found they had long since fled to return no more; that I was now descending the hill I had been fifty-two years climbing, and that, though I was blest with a good constitution, I was of a short-lived family, and might soon expect to be entombed in the mansion of my fathers. These thoughts darkened the shades, and gave a gloom to the picture, and consequently to my prospect of seeing you again. But I will not repine; I have had my day." [Footnote 46]

[Footnote 46: Washington's Writings, Vol. IX. p. 77.]

Notwithstanding this sad presentiment, and his sincere taste for repose, his thoughts dwelt constantly upon the condition and affairs of his country. No man can separate himself from the place in which he has once held a distinguished position. {87} "Retired as I am from the world," he writes in 1786, "I frankly acknowledge I cannot feel myself an unconcerned spectator." [Footnote 47]

[Footnote 47: Washington's Writings, Vol. IX. p. 189.]

The spectacle deeply affected and disturbed him. The Confederation was falling to pieces. Congress, its sole bond of union, was without power, not even daring to make use of the little that was intrusted to it. The moral weakness of men was added to the political weakness of institutions. The States were falling a prey to their hostilities, to their mutual distrust, to their narrow and selfish views. The treaties, which had sanctioned the national independence, were executed only in an imperfect and a precarious manner. The debts contracted, both in the old and new world, were unpaid. The taxes destined to liquidate them never found their way into the public treasury. Agriculture was languishing; commerce was declining; anarchy was extending. In all parts of the country itself, whether enlightened or ignorant, whether the blame was laid on the government, or the want of government, the discontent was general. {88} In Europe, the reputation of the United States was rapidly sinking. It was asked if there would ever be any United States. England encouraged this doubt, looking forward to the hour when she might profit by it.

The sorrow of Washington was extreme, and he was agitated and humbled as if he had been still responsible for the course of events. "What, gracious God!" he wrote, on learning the troubles in Massachusetts, "is man, that there should be such inconsistency and perfidiousness in his conduct? It was but the other day, that we were shedding our blood to obtain the constitutions under which we now live; constitutions of our own choice and making; and now we are unsheathing the sword to overturn them. The thing is so unaccountable, that I hardly know how to realize it, or to persuade myself, that I am not under the illusion of a dream." [Footnote 48]

[Footnote 48: Washington's Writings, Vol. IX. p. 221.]

{89}