Chapter VII: George Washington (3)

To any one who carefully studies his life, it is evident that Washington was as warm-hearted and affectionate as he was great in character and ability, and that he was so without noise or pretense. This really only amounts to saying that he was a well-balanced man, and yet even this cannot be said without admitting still another quality. The sanest of all senses is the sense of humor, and the nature in which it is wholly lacking cannot be thoroughly rounded and complete. Humor is not the most lofty of qualities, but it is one of the most essential, and it is generally assumed that Washington was very deficient in humor. This idea has arisen from a hasty consideration of the subject, and from a superficial conception of humor itself. To utter jests, or to say or write witty, brilliant, or amusing things, no doubt implies the possession of humor, but they are not the whole of it, for a man may have a fine sense of humor, and yet never make a joke nor utter a sarcasm. The distinction between humor and the want of it lies much deeper than word of mouth. The man without a sense of humor is sure to make a certain number of solemn blunders. They may be in matters of importance or in the merest trifles, but they are blunders none the less, and come from insensibility to the incongruous, the ludicrous, or the impossible. It may be said that common sense suffices to avoid these pitfalls, but this is really begging the question, inasmuch as common sense of a high order amounting almost to genius cannot exist without humor, for humor is the root and foundation of common sense. Let us apply this test to Washington and we shall find that there never was a man who made fewer mistakes than he, down even to matters of the smallest detail. Search his career from beginning to end, and there is not a solemn blunder to be found in it. He was attacked and assailed both as general and President, but he was never laughed at. In other words, he had a sense of humor which made it impossible for him to blunder solemnly, or to do or say anything which ridicule could touch.

It is not, however, necessary to leave his possession of a sense of humor to inference from his career and his freedom from blunders. That he had humor strong, sane, and abundant is susceptible of much more direct proof; and the idea that he was lacking in this respect arose undoubtedly from the gravity of demeanor which was characteristic of the man. He had assumed the heavy responsibilities of an important military command in the French war at an age when most men are just leaving college and beginning to study a profession. This of itself sobered him, and added to his natural quiet and reserve, so that in estimating him in after-life this early and severe discipline at a most impressionable age ought never to be overlooked, for it had a very marked effect upon his character.

He was not perhaps exactly joyous or gay of nature, but he had a contented and happy disposition, and, like all robust, well-balanced men, he possessed strong animal spirits and a keen sense of enjoyment. He loved a wild, open-air life, and was devoted to rough out-door sports. He liked to wrestle and run, to shoot, ride or dance, and to engage in all trials of skill and strength, for which his great muscular development suited him admirably. With such tastes, it followed almost as a matter of course that he loved laughter and fun. Good, hearty, country fun, a ludicrous mishap, a practical joke, all merriment of a simple, honest kind, were highly congenial to him, especially in his youth and early manhood. Here is the way, for example, in which he described in his diary a ball he attended in 1760: "In a convenient room, detached for the purpose, abounded great plenty of bread and butter, some biscuits, with tea and coffee which the drinkers of could not distinguish from hot water sweetened. Be it remembered that pocket handkerchiefs served the purposes of tablecloths, and that no apologies were made for them. I shall therefore distinguish this ball by the style and title of the bread-and-butter ball." The wit is not brilliant, but there was a good hearty laugh in the young man who jots down this little memorandum in his diary.

The years after the French war were happy years, free from care and full of simple pleasures. Then came the Revolution, bringing with it a burden such as has seldom been laid upon any man, and the seriousness bred by earlier experiences, came back with tenfold force. The popular saying was that Washington never smiled during the war, and, roughly speaking, this was quite true. In all those years of danger and trial, inasmuch as he was a man big of heart and brain, he had the gravity and the sadness born of responsibility, and the suffering sure to come to an unselfish mind. It was at this time that he began to be most closely observed of men, and hence came the idea that he never laughed, and therefore was a being devoid of humor, the most sympathetic of gifts. But as a matter of fact, the old sense of fun never left him. It would come to his aid at the most serious moments, just as an endless flow of stories brought relief to Lincoln and carried him round many jagged corners. With Washington it was hearty, laughing mirth at some ludicrous incident. Putnam riding into Cambridge with an old woman clinging behind him; Greene searching for his wig while it was on his head; a young braggart flung over the head of an unbroken colt; or a good, rollicking story from Colonel Seammel or Major Fairlie,--all these would delight Washington, and send him off into peals of inextinguishable laughter. It was ever the old, hearty love of fun born of animal spirits, which never left him, and which would always break out on sufficient provocation. Mr. Parton would have us believe that this was all, and that the common-place hero whom he describes never rose above the level of the humor conveyed by grinning through a horse-collar. Even admitting the truth of this, a real love of honest fun and of a hearty laugh is a kindly quality that all men like.

But was this all? Is it quite true that Washington had only a love of boisterous fun, and nothing else? It is worth looking a little deeper than the current stories of the camp to find out, and yet one of these very camp-stories raises at once a strong suspicion that Mr. Parton's conclusion in this regard, like so many conclusions about Washington, is unfounded. When General Lee took the oath of allegiance to the United States, he remarked, in making abjuration of his former allegiance, that he was perfectly ready to abjure the king, but could not bring himself to abjure the Prince of Wales, at which bit of irony Washington was greatly amused. The wit of the remark is a little cold to-day, but at the moment, accompanying as it did a solemn act of abjuration, it was keen enough. Washington himself, moreover, was perfectly capable of good-natured banter. Colonel Humphreys challenged him one day to jump over a hedge. Washington, always ready to accept a challenge where riding was concerned, told the colonel to go on. Humphreys put his horse at the hedge, cleared it, and landed in a quagmire on the other side up to his horse's girths; whereupon Washington rode up, stopped, and looking blandly at his struggling friend, remarked, "Ah, colonel, you are too deep for me." "Take care," he wrote to young Custis, when he sent him money for his college gown, "not to buy without advice; otherwise you may be more distinguished by your folly than your dress."

We find in his letters here and there a good-natured raillery, and jesting, which show a sense of humor that goes beyond the limits of mere fun and horse-play. Here is a letter he wrote toward the close of the war, asking some ladies to dine with him in his quarters at West Point:--

"WEST POINT, August 16, 1779.

"Dear Doctor: I have asked Mrs. Cochran and Mrs. Livingston to
dine with me to-morrow; but ought I not to apprise you of their
fare? As I hate deception, even where imagination is concerned, I
will.

"It is needless to premise that my table is large enough to hold
the ladies: of this they had ocular demonstration yesterday. To
say how it is usually covered is rather more essential, and this
shall be the purport of my letter.

"Since my arrival at this happy spot, we have had a ham, sometimes
a shoulder of bacon, to grace the head of the table. A piece
of roast beef adorns the foot, and a small dish of green
beans--almost imperceptible--decorates the centre. When the cook
has a mind to cut a figure,--and this I presume he will attempt
to-morrow,--we have two beefsteak pies, or dishes of crabs, in
addition, one on each side of the centre dish, dividing the space,
and reducing the distance between dish and dish to about six feet,
which without them would be nearly twelve feet apart. Of late he
has had the surprising luck to discover that apples will make
pies; and it is a question if, amidst the violence of his efforts,
we do not get one of apples instead of having both of beef.

"If the ladies can put up with such entertainment, and submit to
partake of it on plates once tin, but now iron, not become so by
the labor of hard scouring, I shall be happy to see them."

We may be sure that the ladies found their dinner a pleasant one, and that the writer of the note was neither a stiff nor unsocial host. A much more charming letter is one to Nellie Custis, on the occasion of her first ball. It is too long for quotation, but it is a model of affectionate wisdom tinged with a gentle humor, and designed to guide a young girl just beginning the world of society.

Here, however, is another extract from a letter to Madame de Lafayette, of rather more serious purport, but in the same strain, and full of a simple and, as we should call it, an old-fashioned grace. He was replying to an invitation to visit France, which he felt obliged to decline. After giving his reasons, he said: "This, my dear Marchioness (indulge the freedom), is not the case with you. You have youth (and, if you should incline to leave your children, you can leave them with all the advantages of education), and must have a curiosity to see the country, young, rude, and uncultivated as it is, for the liberties of which your husband has fought, bled, and acquired much glory, where everybody admires, everybody loves him. Come, then, let me entreat you, and call my cottage your home; for your own doors do not open to you with more readiness than mine would. You will see the plain manner in which we live, and meet with rustic civility; and you shall taste the simplicity of rural life. It will diversify the scene, and may give you a higher relish for the gayeties of the court when you return to Versailles."

There is also apparent in many of his letters a vein of worldly wisdom, shrewd but kindly, too gentle to be called cynical, and yet touched with the humor which reads and appreciates the foibles of humanity. Of an officer who grumbled at disappointments during the war he wrote: "General McIntosh is only experiencing upon a small scale what I have had an ample share of upon a large one; and must, as I have been obliged to do in a variety of instances, yield to necessity; that is, to use a vulgar phrase, 'shape his coat according to his cloth,' or in other words, if he cannot do as he wishes, he must do what he can." The philosophy is homely and common enough, but the manner in which the reproof was administered shows kindly tact, one of the most difficult of arts. Here is another passage, touching on something outside the range of war and politics. He was writing to Lund Washington in regard to Mrs. Washington's daughter-in-law, Mrs. Custis, who was contemplating a second marriage. "For my own part," he said, "I never did, nor do I believe I ever shall, give advice to a woman who is setting out on a matrimonial voyage: first, because I never could advise one to marry without her own consent; and secondly, because I know it is to no purpose to advise her to refrain when she has obtained it. A woman very rarely asks an opinion or requires advice on such an occasion till her resolution is formed; and then it is with the hope and expectation of obtaining a sanction, not that she means to be governed by your disapprobation, that she applies. In a word, the plain English of the application may be summed up in these words: 'I wish you to think as I do; but if unhappily you differ from me in opinion, my heart, I must confess, is fixed, and I have gone too far _now_ to retract.'"

In the same spirit, but this time with a lurking smile at himself, did he write to the secretary of Congress for his commission: "If my commission is not necessary for the files of Congress, I should be glad to have it deposited among my own papers. It may serve _my grandchildren_, some fifty or a hundred years hence, for a theme to ruminate upon, if _they_ should be contemplatively disposed."

He knew human nature well, and had a smile for its little weaknesses when they came to his mind. It was this same human sympathy which made him also love amusements of all sorts; but he was as little their slave as their enemy. No man ever carried great burdens with a higher or more serious spirit, but his cares never made him forbidding, nor rendered him impatient of the pleasure of others. He liked to amuse himself, and knew the value of a change of thought and scene, and he was always ready, when duty permitted, for a chat. He liked to take a comfortable seat and have his talk out, and he had the talent so rare in great men of being a good and appreciative listener. We hear of him playing cards at Tappan during the war, and he was always fond of a game in the evening, realizing the force of Talleyrand's remark to the despiser of cards: "Quelle triste vieillesse vous vous préparez." In 1779 it is recorded that at a party he danced for three hours with Mrs. Greene without sitting down or resting, which speaks well for the health and spirits both of the lady and the gentleman. Even after Yorktown, he was ready to walk a minuet at a ball, and to the end he liked to see young people dance, as he had danced himself in his youth. As has been seen from his treatment of Bernard, he liked the theatre and the actors, and when he was in Philadelphia he was a constant attendant at the play, as he had been ever since he went to see "George Barnwell" in the Barbadoes. His love of horses stayed with him to the last. He not only rode and drove and trained horses,[1] but he enjoyed the sport of the race-course. He was probably aware, like the Shah of Persia who declined to go to the Derby, that one horse could run faster than another, but nevertheless he liked to see them run, and we hear of him, after he had reached the presidency, acting as judge at a race, and seeing his own colt Magnolia beaten, which he no doubt considered the next best thing to winning.

[Footnote 1: The Marquis de Chastelleux speaks of the perfect training of Washington's saddle horses, and says the general broke them himself. He adds "He (the general) is an excellent and bold horseman, leaping the highest fences and going extremely quick, without standing upon his stirrups, bearing on the bridle or letting his horse run wild; circumstances which our young men look upon as so essential a part of English horsemanship, that they would rather break a leg or an arm than renounce them."]

He had, indeed, in all ways a thoroughly well-balanced mind and temper. In great affairs he knew how to spare himself the details to which others could attend as well as he, and yet he was in no wise a despiser of small things. Before the Revolution, there was a warm discussion in the Truro parish as to the proper site for the Pohick Church. Washington and George Mason led respectively the opposing forces, and each confidently asserted that the site he preferred was the most convenient for the largest number of parishioners. Finally, after much debate and no conclusion, Washington appeared at a vestry meeting with a collection of statistics. He had measured the distance from each proposed site to the house of each parishioner, and found, as he declared, that his site was nearer to more people than the other. It is needless to add that he carried his point, and that the spot he desired for the church was the one chosen.

The fact was that, if he confided a task of any sort to another, he let it go on without meddling; but if he undertook anything himself, he did it with the utmost thoroughness, and there is much success in this capacity to take pains even in small things. He managed his plantations entirely himself when he was at home, and did it well. He knew the qualities of each field, and the rotation of its crops. No improvement in agriculture and no ingenious invention escaped his attention, although he was not to be carried away by mere novelty, which had such a fascination for his ex-secretary at Monticello. Every resource of his estate was turned to good use, and his flour and tobacco commanded absolute confidence with his brand upon them. He followed in the same painstaking way all his business affairs, and his accounts, all in his own hand, are wonderfully minute and accurate. He was very exact in all business as well as very shrewd at a bargain, and the tradition is that his neighbors considered the general a formidable man in a horse-trade, that most difficult of transactions. Parkinson mentions that everything purchased or brought to the house was weighed, measured, or counted, generally in the presence of the master himself. Some of his letters to Lear, his private secretary, show that he looked after his china and servants, the packing and removal of his furniture with great minuteness. To some persons this appears evidence of a petty mind in a great man, but to those who reflect a little more deeply it will occur that this accuracy and care in trifles were the same qualities which kept the American army together, and enabled their owner to arrive on time and in full preparation at Yorktown and Trenton. The worst that can be said is that from his love of perfection and completeness he may in this respect have wasted time and strength, but his untiring industry and his capacity for work were so great that he accomplished so far as we can see all this drudgery without ever neglecting in the least more important duties. It was a satisfaction to him to do it; for he was methodical and exact to the last degree, and he was never happy unless he held everything in which he was concerned easily within his grasp.

He had the same attention to details in external things, and he wished everything about him to be of the best, if not "express'd in fancy." He had the handsomest carriages and the finest horses always in his stables. It was necessary that the furniture of his house should be as good as could be procured, and he was most particular in regard to it. When he was preparing as President to move to Philadelphia, he made the most searching inquiries as to horses, stables, servants, schools for young Custis, and everything affecting the household. He sent at the same time most minute directions to his agents as to the furniture of his house, touching upon everything, down to the color of the curtains and the form of his wine-coolers. He had a like feeling in regard to dress. His fancy for handsome and appropriate dress in his youth has already been alluded to, but he never ceased to take an interest in it; and in a letter to McHenry, written in the last year of his life, he discusses with great care the details of the uniform to be prescribed for himself as commander-in-chief of the new army. It would be a mistake, of course, to infer that he was a dandy, or that he gave to dress and furniture the importance set upon them by shallow minds. He simply valued them rightly, and enjoyed the good things of this world. He had the best possible taste and the keenest sense of what was appropriate, and it was this good taste and sense of fitness which saved him from blundering in trifles, as much as his ability and his sense of humor preserved him from error in the conduct of great affairs.

The value of all this to the country he served cannot be too often reiterated, for ridicule was a real danger to the Revolutionary cause when it started. The raw levies, headed by volunteer officers from the shop, the plough, the work-bench, or the trading vessel, despite their patriotism and the nobility of their cause, could easily have been made subjects of derision, a perilous enemy to all new undertakings. Men prefer to be shot at, if they are taken seriously, rather than to be laughed at and made objects of contempt. The same principle holds true of a revolution seeking the sympathy of a hostile world. When Washington drew his sword beneath the Cambridge elm and put himself at the head of the American army, effective ridicule became impossible, for the dignity of the cause was seen in that of its leader. The British generals soon found that they not only had a dangerous enemy to encounter, but that they were dealing with a man whose pride in his country and whose own sense of self-respect reduced any assumption of personal superiority on their part to speedy contempt. In the same way he brought dignity to the new government of the Constitution when he was placed at its head. The confederation had excited the just contempt of the world, and Washington as President, by the force of his own character and reputation, gave the United States at once the respect not only of the American people, but of those of Europe as well. Men felt instinctively that no government over which he presided could ever fall into feebleness or disrepute.

In addition to the effect on the popular mind of his character and services was that of his personal presence. If contemporary testimony can be believed, few men have ever lived who had the power to impress those who looked upon them so profoundly as Washington. He was richly endowed by nature in all physical attributes. Well over six feet high,[1] large, powerfully built, and of uncommon muscular strength, he had the force that always comes from great physical power. He had a fine head, a strong face, with blue eyes set wide apart in deep orbits, and beneath, a square jaw and firm-set mouth which told of a relentless will. Houdon the sculptor, no bad judge, said he had no conception of the majesty and grandeur of Washington's form and features until he studied him as a subject for a statue. Pages might be filled with extracts from the descriptions of Washington given by French officers, by all sorts of strangers, and by his own countrymen, but they all repeat the same story. Every one who met him told of the commanding presence, and noble person, the ineffable dignity, and the calm, simple, and stately manners. No man ever left Washington's presence without a feeling of reverence and respect amounting almost to awe.

[Footnote 1: Lear in his memoranda published recently in full in McClure's Magazine for February, 1898, states that Washington measured after death six feet three and one half inches in height, a foot and nine inches across the shoulders, two feet across the elbows; evidently a spare man with muscular arms, which we know to have been also of unusual length.]

I will quote only a single one of the numerous descriptions of Washington, and I select it because, although it is the least favorable of the many I have seen, and is written in homely phrase, it displays the most evident and entire sincerity. The extract is from a letter written by David Ackerson of Alexandria, Va., in 1811, in answer to an inquiry by his son. Mr. Ackerson commanded a company in the Revolutionary war.

"Washington was not," he wrote, "what ladies would call a pretty man, but in military costume a heroic figure, such as would impress the memory ever afterward."

The writer had a good view of Washington three days before the crossing of the Delaware.

"Washington," he says, "had a large thick nose, and it was very red that day, giving me the impression that he was not so moderate in the use of liquors as he was supposed to be. I found afterward that this was a peculiarity. His nose was apt to turn scarlet in a cold wind. He was standing near a small camp-fire, evidently lost in thought and making no effort to keep warm. He seemed six feet and a half in height, was as erect as an Indian, and did not for a moment relax from a military attitude. Washington's exact height was six feet two inches in his boots. He was then a little lame from striking his knee against a tree. His eye was so gray that it looked almost white, and he had a troubled look on his colorless face. He had a piece of woolen tied around his throat and was quite hoarse. Perhaps the throat trouble from which he finally died had its origin about then. Washington's boots were enormous. They were number 13. His ordinary walking-shoes were number 11. His hands were large in proportion, and he could not buy a glove to fit him and had to have his gloves made to order. His mouth was his strong feature, the lips being always tightly compressed. That day they were compressed so tightly as to be painful to look at. At that time he weighed two hundred pounds, and there was no surplus flesh about him. He was tremendously muscled, and the fame of his great strength was everywhere. His large tent when wrapped up with the poles was so heavy that it required two men to place it in the camp-wagon. Washington would lift it with one hand and throw it in the wagon as easily as if it were a pair of saddle-bags. He could hold a musket with one hand and shoot with precision as easily as other men did with a horse-pistol. His lungs were his weak point, and his voice was never strong. He was at that time in the prime of life. His hair was a chestnut brown, his cheeks were prominent, and his head was not large in contrast to every other part of his body, which seemed large and bony at all points. His finger-joints and wrists were so large as to be genuine curiosities. As to his habits at that period I found out much that might be interesting. He was an enormous eater, but was content with bread and meat, if he had plenty of it. But hunger seemed to put him in a rage. It was his custom to take a drink of rum or whiskey on awakening in the morning. Of course all this was changed when he grew old. I saw him at Alexandria a year before he died. His hair was very gray, and his form was slightly bent. His chest was very thin. He had false teeth, which did not fit and pushed his under lip outward."[1]

[Footnote 1: This letter, recently printed, is in the collection of Dr. Toner, at Washington. It contains some obvious errors, as in regard to the color of the eyes, but it is nevertheless very interesting and valuable.]

This description is certainly not a flattering one, and all other accounts as well as the best portraits prove that Washington was a much handsomer man than this letter would indicate. Yet the writer, despite his freedom from all illusions and his readiness to state frankly all defects, was profoundly impressed by Washington's appearance as he watched him meditating by the camp-fire at the crisis of the country's fate, and herein lies the principal interest of his description.

This personal impressiveness, however, affected every one upon all occasions.

Mr. Rush, for instance, saw Washington go on one occasion to open Congress. He drove to the hall in a handsome carriage of his own, with his servants dressed in white liveries. When he had alighted he stopped on the step, and pausing faced round to wait for his secretary. The vast crowd looked at him in dead silence, and then, when he turned away, broke into wild cheering. At his second inauguration he was dressed in deep mourning for the death of his nephew. He took the oath of office in the Senate Chamber, and Major Forman, who was present, wrote in his diary: "Every eye was on him. When he said, 'I, George Washington,' my blood seemed to run cold and every one seemed to start." At the inauguration of Adams, another eye-witness wrote that Washington, dressed in black velvet, with a military hat and black cockade, was the central figure in the scene, and when he left the chamber the crowds followed him, cheering and shouting to the door of his own house.

There must have been something very impressive about a man who, with no pretensions to the art of the orator and with no touch of the charlatan, could so move and affect vast bodies of men by his presence alone. But the people, with the keen eye of affection, looked beyond the mere outward nobility of form. They saw the soldier who had given them victory, the great statesman who had led them out of confusion and faction to order and good government. Party newspapers might rave, but the instinct of the people was never at fault. They loved, trusted and well-nigh worshiped Washington living, and they have honored and reverenced him with an unchanging fidelity since his death, nearly a century ago.

But little more remains to be said. Washington had his faults, for he was human; but they are not easy to point out, so perfect was his mastery of himself. He was intensely reserved and very silent, and these are the qualities which gave him the reputation in history of being distant and unsympathetic. In truth, he had not only warm affections and a generous heart, but there was a strong vein of sentiment in his composition. At the same time he was in no wise romantic, and the ruling element in his make-up was prose, good solid prose, and not poetry. He did not have the poetical and imaginative quality so strongly developed in Lincoln. Yet he was not devoid of imagination, although it was here that he was lacking, if anywhere. He saw facts, knew them, mastered and used them, and never gave much play to fancy; but as his business in life was with men and facts, this deficiency, if it was one, was of little moment. He was also a man of the strongest passions in every way, but he dominated them; they never ruled him. Vigorous animal passions were inevitable, of course, in a man of such a physical make-up as his. How far he gave way to them in his youth no one knows, but the scandals which many persons now desire to have printed, ostensibly for the sake of truth, are, so far as I have been able to learn, with one or two dubious exceptions, of entirely modern parentage. I have run many of them to earth; nearly all are destitute of contemporary authority, and they may be relegated to the dust-heaps.[1] If he gave way to these propensities in his youth, the only conclusion that I have been able to come to is that he mastered them when he reached man's estate.

[Footnote 1: The charge in the pamphlet purporting to give an account of the trial of the New York conspirators in 1776 is of such doubtful origin and character that it hardly merits consideration, and the only other allusion is in the well-known intercepted letter of Harrison, which is of doubtful authenticity in certain passages, open to suspicion from having been intercepted and published by the enemy and quite likely to have been at best merely a coarse jest of a character very common at that period and entirely in keeping with the notorious habits of life and speech peculiar to the writer. (See Life of John Adams, iii. 35.)]

He had, too, a fierce temper, and although he gradually subdued it, he would sometimes lose control of himself and burst out into a tempest of rage. When he did so he would use strong and even violent language, as he did at Kip's Landing and at Monmouth. Well-intentioned persons in their desire to make him a faultless being have argued at great length that Washington never swore, and but for their argument the matter would never have attracted much attention. He was anything but a profane man, but the evidence is beyond question that if deeply angered he would use a hearty English oath; and not seldom the action accompanied the word, as when he rode among the fleeing soldiers at Kip's Landing, striking them with his sword, and almost beside himself at their cowardice. Judge Marshall used to tell also of an occasion when Washington sent out an officer to cross a river and bring back some information about the enemy, on which the action of the morrow would depend. The officer was gone some time, came back, and found the general impatiently pacing his tent. On being asked what he had learned, he replied that the night was dark and stormy, the river full of ice, and that he had not been able to cross. Washington glared at him a moment, seized a large leaden inkstand from the table, hurled it at the offender's head, and said with a fierce oath, "Be off, and send me a _man_!" The officer went, crossed the river, and brought back the information.

But although he would now and then give way to these tremendous bursts of anger, Washington was never unjust. As he said to one officer, "I never judge the propriety of actions by after events;" and in that sound philosophy is found the secret not only of much of his own success, but of the devotion of his officers and men. He might be angry with them, but he was never unfair. In truth, he was too generous to be unjust or even over-severe to any one, and there is not a line in all his writings which even suggests that he ever envied any man. So long as the work in hand was done, he cared not who had the glory, and he was perfectly magnanimous and perfectly at ease about his own reputation. He never showed the slightest anxiety to write his own memoirs, and he was not in the least alarmed when it was proposed to publish the memoirs of other people, like General Charles Lee, which would probably reflect upon him.

He had the same confidence in the judgment of posterity that he had in the future beyond the grave. He regarded death with entire calmness and even indifference not only when it came to him, but when in previous years it had threatened him. He loved life and tasted of it deeply, but the courage which never forsook him made him ready to face the inevitable at any moment with an unruffled spirit. In this he was helped by his religious faith, which was as simple as it was profound. He had been brought up in the Protestant Episcopal Church, and to that church he always adhered; for its splendid liturgy and stately forms appealed to him and satisfied him. He loved it too as the church of his home and his childhood. Yet he was as far as possible from being sectarian, and there is not a word of his which shows anything but the most entire liberality and toleration. He made no parade of his religion, for in this as in other things he was perfectly simple and sincere. He was tortured by no doubts or questionings, but believed always in an overruling Providence and in a merciful God, to whom he knelt and prayed in the day of darkness or in the hour of triumph with a supreme and childlike confidence.

* * * * *

As I bring these volumes to a close I am conscious that they speak, so far as they speak at all, in a tone of almost unbroken praise of the great man they attempt to portray. If this be so, it is because I could come to no other conclusions. For many years I have studied minutely the career of Washington, and with every step the greatness of the man has grown upon me, for analysis has failed to discover the act of his life which, under the conditions of the time, I could unhesitatingly pronounce to have been an error. Such has been my experience, and although my deductions may be wrong, they at least have been carefully and slowly made. I see in Washington a great soldier who fought a trying war to a successful end impossible without him; a great statesman who did more than all other men to lay the foundations of a republic which has endured in prosperity for more than a century. I find in him a marvelous judgment which was never at fault, a penetrating vision which beheld the future of America when it was dim to other eyes, a great intellectual force, a will of iron, an unyielding grasp of facts, and an unequaled strength of patriotic purpose. I see in him too a pure and high-minded gentleman of dauntless courage and stainless honor, simple and stately of manner, kind and generous of heart. Such he was in truth. The historian and the biographer may fail to do him justice, but the instinct of mankind will not fail. The real hero needs not books to give him worshipers. George Washington will always hold the love and reverence of men because they see embodied in him the noblest possibilities of humanity.

INDEX for Volumes I & II

ACKERSON, DAVID,
describes Washington's personal appearance, ii. 386-388.

Adams, Abigail,
on Washington's appearance in 1775, i. 137.

Adams, John,
moves appointment of Washington as commander-in-chief, i. 134;
on political necessity for his appointment, 135;
and objections to it, 135;
statement as to Washington's difficulties, 163;
over-sanguine as to American prospects, 171;
finds fault with Washington, 214, 215;
one of few national statesmen, 252;
on Washington's opinion of titles, ii. 52;
advocates ceremony, 54;
returns to United States, 137;
attacked by Jefferson as a monarchist, 226;
praised by Democrats as superior to Washington, 251;
his administration upheld by Washington, 259;
advised by Washington, 260;
his inauguration, 276;
sends special mission to France, 284;
urges Washington to take command of provisional army, 285;
wishes to make Knox senior to Hamilton, 286;
censured by Washington, gives way, 287;
lack of sympathy with Washington, 287;
his nomination of Murray disapproved by Washington, 292, 293;
letter of Washington to, on immigration, 326.

Adams, J.Q.,
on weights and measures, ii. 81.

Adams, Samuel,
not sympathized with by Washington in working for independence, i. 131;
his inability to sympathize with Washington, 204;
an enemy of Constitution, ii. 71;
a genuine American, 309.

Alcudia, Duke de,
interviews with Pinckney, ii. 166.

Alexander, Philip,
hunts with Washington, i. 115.

Alien and Sedition Laws,
approved by Washington and Federalists, ii. 290, 297.

Ames, Fisher,
speech on behalf of administration in Jay treaty affair, ii. 210.

André, Major,
meets Arnold, i. 282;
announces capture to Arnold, 284;
confesses, 284;
condemned and executed, 287;
justice of the sentence, 287, 288;
Washington's opinion of, 288, ii. 357.

Armstrong, John, Major,
writes Newburg address, i. 335.

Army of the Revolution,
at Boston, adopted by Congress, i. 134;
its organization and character, 136-143;
sectional jealousies in, at New York, 162;
goes to pieces after defeat, 167, 175, 176;
condition in winter of 1777, 186;
difficulties between officers, 189;
with foreign officers, 190-192;
improvement as shown by condition after Brandywine and Germantown,
200, 201;
hard winter at Valley Forge, 228;
maintained alive only by Washington, 227, 228, 232;
improved morale at Monmouth, 239;
mutinies for lack of pay, 258;
suffers during 1779, 270;
bad condition in 1780, 279;
again mutinies for pay, 291, 292, 295;
conduct of troops, 292, 293;
jealousy of people towards, 332;
badly treated by States and by Congress, 333;
grows mutinous, 334;
adopts Newburg addresses, 335, 336;
ready for a military dictatorship, 338, 340;
farewell of Washington to, 345.

Arnold, Benedict,
sent by Washington to attack Quebec, i. 144;
sent against Burgoyne, 210;
plans treason, 281;
shows loyalist letter to Washington, 282;
meets André, 282;
receives news of André's capture, 284;
escapes, 284, 285;
previous benefits from Washington, 286;
Washington's opinion of, 288;
ravages Virginia, 303;
sent back to New York, 303;
one of the few men who deceived Washington, ii. 336.

Arnold, Mrs.,
entertains Washington at time of her husband's treachery, i. 284, 285.

Articles of Confederation,
their inadequacy early seen by Washington, i. 297, 298; ii. 17.

Asgill, Capt.,
selected for retaliation for murder of Huddy, i. 328;
efforts for his release, 329;
release ordered by Congress, 330.

BACHE, B.F.,
publishes Jay treaty in "Aurora," ii. 185;
joins in attack on Washington, 238, 244;
rejoices over his retirement, 256.

Baker,----,
works out a pedigree for Washington, i. 31.

Ball, Joseph,
advises against sending Washington to sea, i. 49, 50.

Barbadoes,
Washington's description of, i. 64.

Beckley, John,
accuses Washington of embezzling, ii. 245.

Bernard, John,
his conversation with Washington referred to, i. 58, 107;
describes encounter with Washington, ii. 281-283;
his description of Washington's conversation, 343-348.

Blackwell, Rev. Dr.,
calls on Washington with Dr. Logan, ii. 264.

Blair, John,
appointed to Supreme Court, ii. 73.

Bland, Mary,
"Lowland Beauty," admired by Washington, i. 95, 96.

Blount, Governor,
pacifies Cherokees, ii. 94.

Boston,
visit of Washington to, i. 97, 99;
political troubles in, 120;
British measures against condemned by Virginia, 122, 123;
appeals to colonies, 124;
protests against Jay treaty, ii. 186;
answered by Washington, 190.

Botetourt, Lord, Governor of Virginia,
quarrels with Assembly, i. 121;
manages to calm dissension, 122;
on friendly terms with Washington, 122.

Braddock, General Edward,
arrives in Virginia, i. 82;
invites Washington to serve on his staff, 82;
respects him, 83;
his character and unfitness for his position, 83;
despises provincials, 83;
accepts Washington's advice as to dividing force, 84;
rebukes Washington for warning against ambush, 85;
insists on fighting by rule, 85;
defeated and mortally wounded, 85;
death and burial, 87.

Bradford, William,
succeeds Randolph, ii. 246.

Brandywine,
battle of, i. 196-198.

Bunker Hill,
question of Washington regarding battle of, i. 136.

Burgoyne, General John,
junction of Howe with, feared by Washington, i. 194, 195, 205, 206;
significance of his defeat, 202;
danger of his invasion foreseen by Washington, 203-206;
captures Ticonderoga, 207;
outnumbered and defeated, 210;
surrenders, 211.

Burke, Edmund,
understands significance of Washington's leadership, i. 202;
unsettled by French Revolution, ii. 294.

CABOT, GEORGE,
entertains Lafayette's son, ii. 366.

Cadwalader, General,
fails to cross Delaware to help Washington, i. 180;
duel with Conway, 226.

Calvert, Eleanor,
misgivings of Washington over her marriage to John Custis, i. 111.

Camden, battle of, i. 281.

Canada,
captured by Wolfe, i. 94;
expedition of Montgomery against, 143, 144;
project of Conway cabal against, 222; 253;
project of Lafayette to attack, 254;
plan considered dangerous by Washington, 254, 255;
not undertaken by France, 256.

Carleton, Sir Guy,
informs Washington of address of Commons for peace, i. 324;
suspected by Washington, 325;
remonstrates against retaliation by Washington for murder of
Huddy, 328;
disavows Lippencott, 328;
fears plunder of New York city, 345;
urges Indians to attack the United States, ii. 102, 175.

Carlisle, Earl of,
peace commissioner, i. 233.

Carlyle, Thomas,
sneers at Washington, i. 4, 14;
calls him "a bloodless Cromwell," i. 69, ii. 332;
fails to understand his reticence, i. 70;
despises him for not seizing power, 341.

Carmichael, William,
minister at Madrid, ii. 165;
on commission regarding the Mississippi, 166.

Carrington, Paul,
letter of Washington to, ii. 208;
Washington's friendship for, 363.

Cary, Mary,
early love affair of Washington with, i. 96.

Chamberlayne, Major,
entertains Washington at Williams' Ferry, i. 101.

Charleston,
siege and capture of, i. 273, 274, 276.

Chastellux, Marquis de,
Washington's friendship for and letter to, ii. 351;
on Washington's training of horses, 380.

Cherokees,
beaten by Sevier, ii. 89;
pacified by Blount, 94,101.

Chester, Colonel,
researches on Washington pedigree, i. 31.

Chickasaws,
desert from St. Clair, ii. 96.

China,
honors Washington, i. 6.

Choctaws,
peaceable in 1788, ii. 89.

Cincinnati, Society of the,
Washington's connection with, ii. 4.

Clarke, Governor,
thinks Washington is invading popular rights, i. 215.

Cleaveland, Rev.----,
complimented by Washington, ii. 359.

Clinton, George,
appealed to by Washington to attack Burgoyne, i. 210;
journey with Washington to Ticonderoga, 343;
enters New York city, 345;
letter of Washington to, ii. 1;
meets Washington on journey to inauguration, 45;
opponent of the Constitution, 71;
orders seizure of French privateers, 153.

Clinton, Sir Henry,
fails to help Burgoyne, i. 210;
replaces Howe at Philadelphia, his character, 232;
tries to cut off Lafayette, 233;
leaves Philadelphia, 234;
defeats Lee at Monmouth, 236;
retreats to New York, 238;
withdraws from Newport, 248;
makes a raid, 265;
fortifies Stony Point, 268;
his aimless warfare, 269, 270;
after capturing Charleston returns to New York, 276;
tries to save André, 287;
alarmed at attacks on New York, 306;
jealous of Cornwallis, refuses to send reinforcements, 308;
deceived by Washington, 311;
sends Graves to relieve Cornwallis, 312.

Congress, Continental,
Washington's journey to, i. 128;
its character and ability, 129;
its state papers, 129;
adjourns, 132;
in second session, resolves to petition the king, 133;
adopts Massachusetts army and makes Washington commander, 134;
reasons for his choice, 135;
adheres to short-term enlistments, 149;
influenced to declare independence by Washington, 160;
hampers Washington in campaign of New York, 167;
letters of Washington to, 170, 179, 212, 225, 229, 266, 278, 295,
321, 323, 333;
takes steps to make army permanent, 171;
its over-confidence, 171;
insists on holding Forts Washington and Lee, 174;
dissatisfied with Washington's inactivity, 187;
criticises his proclamation requiring oath of allegiance, 189;
makes unwise appointments of officers, 189;
especially of foreigners, 190-192; 248, 249;
applauds Washington's efforts at Germantown, 200;
deposes Schuyler and St. Clair, 208;
appoints Gates, 210;
irritation against Washington, 212-215;
falls under guidance of Conway cabal, 221, 222;
discovers incompetence of cabal, 223;
meddles with prisoners and officers, 231;
rejects English peace offers, 233;
makes alliance with France, 241;
suppresses protests of officers against D'Estaing, 244;
decline in its character, 257;
becomes feeble, 258;
improvement urged by Washington, 259, 266;
appoints Gates to command in South, 268;
loses interest in war, 278;
asks Washington to name general for the South, 295;
considers reduction of army, 313;
elated by Yorktown, 323;
its unfair treatment of army, 333, 335;
driven from Philadelphia by Pennsylvania troops, 340;
passes half-pay act, 342;
receives commission of Washington, 347-349;
disbands army, ii. 6;
indifferent to Western expansion, 15;
continues to decline, 22;
merit of its Indian policy, 88.

Congress, Federal,
establishes departments, ii. 64;
opened by Washington, 78, 79;
ceremonial abolished by Jefferson, 79;
recommendations made to by Washington, 81-83;
acts upon them, 81-83;
creates commission to treat with Creeks, 90;
increases army, 94, 99;
fails to solve financial problems, 106;
debates Hamilton's report on credit, 107, 108;
establishes national bank, 109;
establishes protective revenue duties, 113;
imposes an excise tax, 123;
prepares for retaliation on Great Britain, 176;
Senate ratifies Jay treaty conditionally, 184;
House demands papers, 207;
debates over its right to concur in treaty, 208-210;
refuses to adjourn on Washington's birthday, 247;
prepares for war with France, 285;
passes Alien and Sedition Laws, 296.

Constitution, Federal,
necessity of, foreseen by Washington, ii. 17-18, 23, 24;
the Annapolis Convention, 23-29;
the Federal Convention, 30-36;
Washington's attitude in, 31,34;
his influence, 36;
campaign for ratification, 38-41.

Contrecoeur, Captain,
leader of French and Indians in Virginia, i. 75.

"Conway cabal,"
elements of in Congress, i. 214, 215;
in the army, 215;
organized by Conway, 217;
discovered by Washington, 220;
gets control of Board of War, 221;
tries to make Washington resign, 222, 224;
fails to invade Canada or provide supplies, 222, 223;
harassed by Washington's letters, 223,226;
breaks down, 226.

Conway, Moncure D.,
his life of Randolph, ii. 65, note, 196;
his defense of Randolph in Fauchet letter affair, 196;
on Washington's motives, 200;
on his unfair treatment of Randolph, 201, 202.

Conway, Thomas,
demand for higher rank refused by Washington, i. 216;
plots against him, 217;
his letter discovered by Washington, 221;
made inspector-general, 221, 222;
complains to Congress of his reception at camp, 225;
resigns, has duel with Cadwalader, 226;
apologizes to Washington and leaves country, 226.

Cooke, Governor,
remonstrated with by Washington for raising state troops, i. 186.

Cornwallis, Lord,
pursues Washington in New Jersey, i. 175;
repulsed at Assunpink, 181;
outgeneraled by Washington, 182;
surprises Sullivan at Brandywine, 197;
defeats Lee at Monmouth, 236;
pursues Greene in vain, 302;
wins battle of Guilford Court House, 302;
retreats into Virginia, 302;
joins British troops in Virginia, 303;
his dangerous position, 304;
urged by Clinton to return troops to New York, 306;
plunders Virginia, 307;
defeats Lafayette and Wayne, 307;
wishes to retreat South, 307;
ordered by ministry to stay on the Chesapeake, 307;
abandoned by Clinton, 308;
establishes himself at Yorktown, 308;
withdraws into town, 315;
besieged, 316, 317;
surrenders, 317;
outgeneraled by Washington, 319, 320.

Cowpens,
battle of, i. 301.

Craik, Dr.,
attends Washington in last illness, ii. 300-302;
Washington's friendship with, 363.

Creeks,
their relations with Spaniards, ii. 89, 90;
quarrel with Georgia, 90;
agree to treaty with United States, 91;
stirred up by Spain, 101.

Curwen, Samuel,
on Washington's appearance, i. 137.

Cushing, Caleb,
appointed to Supreme Court, ii. 72.

Custis, Daniel Parke,
first husband of Martha Washington, i. 101.

Custis, G.W.P.,
tells mythical story of Washington and the colt, i. 45;
Washington's care for, ii. 369.

Custis, John,
Washington's tenderness toward, i. 111;
care for his education and marriage, 111;
hunts with Washington, 141;
death of, 322.

Custis, Nellie,
marriage with Washington's nephew, ii. 281, 369;
letter of Washington to, 377.

DAGWORTHY, CAPTAIN,
claims to outrank Washington in Virginia army, i. 91, 97.

Dallas, Alexander,
protests to Genet against sailing of Little Sarah, ii. 155.

Dalton, Senator,
entertains Washington at Newburyport, ii. 359.

Deane, Silas,
promises commissions to foreign military adventurers, i. 190.

De Barras,
jealous of De Grasse, decides not to aid him, i. 310;
persuaded to do so by Washington and Rochambeau, 311;
reaches Chesapeake, 312.

De Grasse, Comte,
announces intention of coming to Washington, i. 305;
warned by Washington not to come to New York, 305;
sails to Chesapeake, 306;
asked to meet Washington there, 308;
reaches Chesapeake, 312;
repulses British fleet, 312;
wishes to return to West Indies, 315;
persuaded to remain by Washington, 315;
refuses to join Washington in attack on Charleston, 322;
returns to West Indies, 322.

De Guichen,----,
commander of French fleet in West Indies, i. 280;
appealed to for aid by Washington, 281;
returns home, 282.

Delancey, Oliver,
escapes American attack, i. 306.

Democratic party,
its formation as a French party, ii. 225;
furnished with catch-words by Jefferson, 226;
with a newspaper organ, 227;
not ready to oppose Washington for president in 1792, 235;
organized against treasury measure, 236;
stimulated by French Revolution, 238;
supports Genet, 237;
begins to attack Washington, 238;
his opinion of it, 239, 240, 258, 261, 267, 268;
forms clubs on French model, 241;
Washington's opinion of, 242, 243;
continues to abuse him, 244, 245, 250, 252;
exults at his retirement, 256;
prints slanders, 257.

Demont, William,
betrays plans of Fort Washington to Howe, i. 175.

D'Estaing, Admiral,
reaches America, i. 242;
welcomed by Washington, 243;
fails to cut off Howe and goes to Newport, 243;
after battle with Howe goes to Boston, 244;
letter of Washington to, 246;
sails to West Indies, 246;
second letter of Washington to, 247;
attacks Savannah, 248;
withdraws, 248.