Washington in Domestic Life Part 2

A pa.s.sage from one of Mr. Jefferson's letters which the historian Sparks records, may here be given, as its spirit covers the private as well as public life of Was.h.i.+ngton. Mr. Jefferson withdrew his services as Secretary of State from the administration of Was.h.i.+ngton towards the close of his first term in the Presidency. His retirement from that post took place when party spirit was violent and bitter in the extreme; never was it more so in the annals of our country; and it was known that he had differed from Was.h.i.+ngton on political questions of the greatest importance. Nevertheless, writing of him at a later period Mr. Jefferson says: "His integrity was most pure; his justice the most inflexible I have ever known; no motives of interest or consanguinity, of friends.h.i.+p or hatred, being able to bias his decision. He was, indeed, in every sense of the word, a wise, a good, and a great man."

I return to his letters to Mr. Lear. In superintending his domestic affairs, these letters exhibit him as the head of a well-ordered family, himself the regulator of it all under maxims that best conduce to order because not too rigid. We see that he was truly hospitable; kind; devoted to his kindred whom he gathers around him, interesting himself in their education and welfare; cheering them with a welcome at Mount Vernon, and soothing them in sickness and sorrow. The kindred of Mrs.

Was.h.i.+ngton alike share his solicitudes, paternal care, and constant kindness. All this is discernible from the facts that drop out in these letters. They point to a heart affectionately alive to the best social and family feelings. We see his attention to the comfort of his servants, slaves, and others. His government of them, upper and subordinate, appears to have been perfect by his union of discipline with liberality. He knew that his postilions, if they slept over the stable, would carry lights there whether he forbade it or not, for they would do it when he knew nothing about it and not tell on each other. He therefore allowed no sleeping there at all.

I could not avoid remarking, as characteristic throughout the whole of this correspondence, that there is never any complaining of his labors.

Letter-writing alone would have been a heavy labor to him but for his system and industry. Prompt.i.tude in using his pen there must necessarily have been, or he could not have written so much. The history of the times will show that when he wrote these letters he was simultaneously writing others on public business, which, as the world knows, he never neglected in any jot or t.i.ttle no matter what else he might be doing.

The domestic letters must therefore have been struck off with great facility. Let us call to mind also the more than two hundred volumes of folio ma.n.u.script of his public correspondence which Congress purchased, and then remember that the sum of all he wrote is as nothing to what he _did_ in his long career of activity in his country's service, military and civil.

Next I remark, as a new corroboration of the modesty ever so prominent in him, that not once throughout the whole of this correspondence does he make any, the slightest, allusion to himself in connection with the Revolutionary War, comparatively recent as it then was. Besides that the general tenor of the correspondence might have supplied occasions for such allusions, special opportunities were at hand while skirting the battlegrounds and other localities of his military operations in the war, even in his journeys between Mount Vernon and Philadelphia; yet they are never once made. The casual mention of his "_Old Sergeant Cornelius_," whom he happened to want as a workman about his grounds at Mount Vernon, is the sole reference that could wake up the mind to his having had anything to do with the Revolution. He had helped to pave the way for that great event by the influence of his high character thrown into the scale when the early questions of resistance or submission were in agitation; he had helped it on by his attachment to const.i.tutional liberty at that epoch though his fortune was at stake, and friends.h.i.+ps among the highborn and cultivated from the parent State then among his a.s.sociates in Virginia--could a bosom like his have been swayed by such thoughts; he had helped it on by the special weight of name he had won in arms fighting side by side with the proud generals and troops of Britain confident of victory, but saved from annihilation by his inborn fearlessness and superiority, when death was all around him and dismay everywhere in Braddock's disastrous fight--their silent homage crowning the head of their deliverer; his triumphant sword at Yorktown put the crowning hand to the immortal work--the work that founded this great nation; yet we could never infer from a word or hint in the course of these letters, from first to last, that he had anything to do with the work, except as the name of "_Sergeant Cornelius_" incidentally falls from his pen with only a rural object. What a lesson! Some extol themselves openly. Some do it under cover of self-humiliation, called by a French writer the pomp of modesty. Was.h.i.+ngton is simply silent; he will slide into no allusions to the great and glorious work of his life in the midst of temptations to it.

Finally: the charm of these letters is in their being so familiar, so out of the sphere of his correspondence generally, and therefore holding him up in lights that seem new. Mankind, long familiar with the external attributes and grandeur of his character, looking up to his vast fame as hero and statesman uncertain which predominates, have known less of him at home with his family, his relations and his friends. The inner parts of his character, the kindlier impulses of his nature, his sympathies with those dear to him, dependent on him, or looking to him for the solace of his kindness, seem to have remained less publicly known. Mr. Sparks, in his preface to his "Life and Writings," remarks that "it must be kept in mind that much the larger portion of his life pa.s.sed on a conspicuous public theatre, and that no account of it can be written which will not a.s.sume essentially the air of history." He adds, that while in his work "anecdotes are interwoven and such incidents of a private and personal nature as are known, they are more rare than could be desired."

The synopsis of the letters which I have given may perhaps tend in some small degree to supply this desideratum in his ill.u.s.trious life alongside of the more copious anecdotes and reminiscences supplied by the patriotic and filial devotion of Mr. Custis. This is my humble hope.

Since the foregoing Letters were received from Mrs. Lear, she has favored me with the perusal of other ma.n.u.scripts introducing us to the domestic hours of General Was.h.i.+ngton. Among them is a Diary kept by Mr.

Lear at Mount Vernon in 1786, anterior therefore to the time when Was.h.i.+ngton became President. From this doc.u.ment I am permitted to copy a pa.s.sage entire. It is dated the 23d of October, '86. Mr. Drayton and Mr.

Izard, gentlemen of South Carolina, had been spending the day at Mount Vernon. After dinner, the company still round the table, Was.h.i.+ngton was led to speak of Arnold's treason, and Mr. Lear wrote down his account of it in his Diary of that day. Although history has made us familiar with that whole transaction in its essential facts, to hear it under such circ.u.mstances from the lips of Was.h.i.+ngton, seems to impart to it new interest. We listen with revived curiosity and attention when such a narrator speaks. The copy from Mr. Lear's Diary, in which is recorded this interesting dinner-table narrative, is in the words following:--

"MOUNT VERNON, Monday, October 23d, 1786.

"Mrs. Was.h.i.+ngton went to Arlington with the two children. Sent a letter directed to Mr. Samuel Storer to the post-office by Charles, who went up to town (Alexandria) with Master Thompson and Lawrence Was.h.i.+ngton, who had spent their vacation here. Mr. Drayton and Mr. Izard here all day.

After dinner General Was.h.i.+ngton was, in the course of conversation, led to speak of Arnold's treachery, when he gave the following account of it, which I shall put in his own words, thus: 'I confess I had a good opinion of Arnold before his treachery was brought to light; had that not been the case, I should have had some reason to suspect him sooner, for when he commanded in Philadelphia, the Marquis la Fayette brought accounts from France of the armament which was to be sent to co-operate with us in the ensuing campaign. Soon after this was known, Arnold pretended to have some private business to transact in Connecticut, and on his way there he called at my quarters; and in the course of conversation expressed a desire of quitting Philadelphia and joining the army the ensuing campaign. I told him that it was probable we should have a very active one, and that if his wound and state of health would permit, I should be extremely glad of his services with the army. He replied that he did not think his wound would permit him to take a very active part; but still he persisted in his desire of being with the army. He went on to Connecticut, and on his return called again upon me.

He renewed his request of being with me next campaign, and I made him the same answer I had done before. He again repeated that he did not think his wound would permit him to do active duty, and intimated a desire to have the command at West Point. I told him I did not think that would suit him, as I should leave none in the garrison but invalids, because it would be entirely covered by the main army. The subject was dropt at that time, and he returned to Philadelphia. It then appeared somewhat strange to me, that a man of Arnold's known activity and enterprise, should be desirous of taking so inactive a part. I however thought no more of the matter. When the French troops arrived at Rhode Island, I had intelligence from New York that General Clinton intended to make an attack upon them before they could get themselves settled and fortified. In consequence of that, I was determined to attack New York, which would be left much exposed by his drawing off the British troops; and accordingly formed my line of battle, and moved down with the whole army to King's ferry, which we pa.s.sed. Arnold came to camp at that time, and having no command, and consequently no quarters (all the houses thereabouts being occupied by the army), he was obliged to seek lodgings at some distance from the camp. While the army was crossing at King's ferry, I was going to see the last detachment over, and met Arnold, who asked me if I had thought of anything for him. I told him that he was to have the command of the light troops, which was a post of honor, and which his rank indeed ent.i.tled him to. Upon this information his countenance changed, and he appeared to be quite fallen; and instead of thanking me, or expressing any pleasure at the appointment, never opened his mouth. I desired him to go on to my quarters and get something to refresh himself, and I would meet him there soon. He did so. Upon his arrival there, he found Col. Tilghman, whom he took a one side, and mentioning what I had told him, seemed to express great uneasiness at it--as his leg, he said, would not permit him to be long on horse-back; and intimated a great desire to have the command at West Point. When I returned to my quarters, Col. Tilghman informed me of what had pa.s.sed. I made no reply to it--but his behavior struck me as strange and unaccountable. In the course of that night, however, I received information from New York that General Clinton had altered his plan and was debarking his troops. This information obliged me likewise to alter my disposition and return to my former station, where I could better cover the country. I then determined to comply with Arnold's desire, and accordingly gave him the command of the garrison at West Point. Things remained in this situation about a fortnight, when I wrote to the Count Rochambeau desiring to meet him at some intermediate place (as we could neither of us be long enough from our respective commands to visit the other), in order to lay the plan for the siege of Yorktown, and proposed Hartford, where I accordingly went and met the Count. On my return I met the Chevalier Luzerne towards evening within about 15 miles of West Point (on his way to join the Count at Rhode Island), which I intended to reach that night, but he insisted upon turning back with me to the next public house; where, in politeness to him, I could not but stay all night, determining, however, to get to West Point to breakfast very early. I sent off my baggage, and desired Colonel Hamilton to go forward and inform General Arnold that I would breakfast with him. Soon after he arrived at Arnold's quarters, a letter was delivered to Arnold which threw him into the greatest confusion. He told Colonel Hamilton that something required his immediate attendance at the garrison which was on the opposite side of the river to his quarters; and immediately ordered a horse, to take him to the river; and the barge, which he kept to cross, to be ready; and desired Major Franks, his Aid, to inform me when I should arrive, that he was gone over the river and would return immediately. When I got to his quarters and did not find him there, I desired Major Franks to order me some breakfast; and as I intended to visit the fortifications I would see General Arnold there. After I had breakfasted, I went over the river, and inquiring for Arnold, the commanding officer told me that he had not been there. I likewise inquired at the several redoubts, but no one could give me any information where he was. The impropriety of his conduct when he knew I was to be there, struck me very forcibly, and my mind misgave me; but I had not the least idea of the real cause. When I returned to Arnold's quarters about two hours after, and told Colonel Hamilton that I had not seen him, he gave me a packet which had just arrived for me from Col. Jemmison, which immediately brought the matter to light. I ordered Colonel Hamilton to mount his horse and proceed with the greatest despatch to a post on the river about eight miles below, in order to stop the barge if she had not pa.s.sed; but it was too late. It seems that the letter which Arnold received which threw him in such confusion was from Col. Jemmison, informing him that Andre was taken and that the papers found upon him were in his possession. Col. Jemmison, when Andre was taken with these papers, could not believe that Arnold was a traitor, but rather thought it was an imposition of the British in order to destroy our confidence in Arnold. He, however, immediately on their being taken, despatched an express after me, ordering him to ride night and day till he came up with me. The express went the lower road, which was the road by which I had gone to Connecticut, expecting that I would return by the same route, and that he would meet me; but before he had proceeded far, he was informed that I was returning by the upper road. He then cut across the country and followed in my track till I arrived at West Point. He arrived about two hours after, and brought the above packet. When Arnold got down to the barge, he ordered his men, who were very clever fellows and some of the better sort of soldiery, to proceed immediately on board the Vulture sloop of war, as a flag, which was lying down the river; saying that they must be very expeditious, as he must return in a short time to meet me, and promised them two gallons of rum if they would exert themselves. They did, accordingly; but when they got on board the Vulture, instead of their two gallons of rum, he ordered the c.o.xswain to be called down into the cabin and informed him that he and the men must consider themselves as prisoners. The c.o.xswain was very much astonished, and told him that they came on board under the sanction of a flag. He answered that that was nothing to the purpose; they were prisoners. But the Captain of the Vulture had more generosity than this pitiful scoundrel, and told the c.o.xswain that he would take his parole for going on sh.o.r.e to get clothes, and whatever else was wanted for himself and his companions. He accordingly came, got his clothes and returned on board. When they got to New York, General Clinton, ashamed of so low and mean an action, set them all at liberty."

This closes the account. It terminates also the use I have been permitted, through the valued friends.h.i.+p of Mrs. Lear, to make of these ma.n.u.scripts.

R.R.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: Alluding probably to the Nootka Sound controversy then pending between these courts.]

[Footnote B: The affectionate interest General Was.h.i.+ngton took in this adopted son is well known. Mr. Custis still lives (1856) and still dispenses the hospitalities of Arlington, his estate and home in Virginia near the city of Was.h.i.+ngton; which it overlooks from its beautiful heights. His house exhibits paintings, ill.u.s.trative of our revolutionary annals, the work of his amateur pencil; whilst the productions of his patriotic pen have charmed the public by the anecdotes they record in attractive ways of the personal, rural, and other habits of the great Chief.]

[Footnote C: The latter mean his slaves.]

[Footnote D: Alison]