Chapter II (2)

Elizabeth it is in vain you say
“Love not”—thou say’st it in so sweet a way:
In vain those words from thee or L. E. L.
Xantippe’s talents had enforced so well:
Ah! if that language from thy heart arise,
Breathe it less gently forth and veil thine eyes.
Endymion, recollect, when Luna tried
To cure his love—was cured of all beside—
His folly—pride—and passion—for he died.
_E. A. P._

WHEN WASHINGTON CAME TO SPRINGFIELD

In April, 1905, after the adjournment of Congress, Theodore Roosevelt, President of the United States, started on a tour of the country. On Thursday, October 15, 1789, George Washington, President of the United States, Congress having adjourned, started on a tour of the New England States. The contrasts brought out by the two journeys are so striking that it may be of interest to recall the earlier tour, and some of the conditions under which it was made. President Roosevelt began his trip in the cab of a locomotive. President Washington started in his private coach, with much ceremony, attended by six servants. President Roosevelt travelled thousands of miles to Colorado and Texas, visiting territory, the existence of which was not even dreamed of in 1789. Washington went as far from New York as Portsmouth, N. H., and required a month in which to cover the distance between the two cities. But it is not so much the outward changes in conditions as the attitude of the people which is, after all, of the chief interest. The fiction of the “good old days” is so strongly intrenched in our minds that it is very difficult to break away from it, yet the absence of bitterness to-day in the spirit of the public toward the chief magistrate is no less marked a change than the revolution in physical conditions. President Roosevelt was followed on his journey by the good will of all the people. There might be a sly hit, now and then, at his strenuous bear-hunting, rough-riding proclivities, but the attitude of the people as a whole was respectful and sympathetic. How the different classes of the people felt toward Washington, together with some descriptive hints about his journey, I have endeavored to set forth in the following letters, all drawn from historic sources, which I suppose to have been written by the following imaginary personages:—

John Adams, a young Springfield lawyer, recently from Boston.

Dorothy Coolidge of Boston, a society girl, a friend and former
playmate of John Adams.

Enoch Day, keeper of a general store in West Springfield.

Peter Colton, farmer of Longmeadow.

The first letter is addressed to William Armstrong of Pittsfield, and is written by Peter Colton.

LONGMEADOW, MASS., _10th mo., 24th day, 1789_.

HONORED FRIEND:

It is going on a Year since I have writ a Letter to you, but you know
I have not forgot the man that saved my Life at Monmouth, and I hope
you have not forgot Yr old Sargeant of Co A. I hear you are growing
prosperous, and I am glad to hear it. I take my pen in hand to tell
you of the Visit w’ch our old General has made to Springfield. I thank
the Lord that these old Eyes has seen him once more before I die. I
knew he w’ld not stop in our Town, & so I harnessed up the old horse
and took my ten year old boy & started to Springf’ld. After I had
bought some Codfish & molases, I tied up my horse in the First Meeting
House Sheds & waited by Zenas Parsonses Tavern. The General was late,
it having rained hard in the Morning, and he did not reach town till
nearly Four. There was a crowd around the Tavern Steps, but no great
Cheers when the General stepped out of his Handsome Coach. There was
several Prominent Gentlemen to meet him, and Zenas, he was a-rubbing
his hands and a-bowing, with all the servants behind him. The boys
took the Horses around to the stables, & the General, he started to go
in, when he sees me standing by the door. What do you suppose he did?
There come over his face one of them smiles of his, like the sun
breaking through the clouds on a wintry day, & he steps up and shakes
my hand & he says, Why here’s my old Sargeant. And is this your Boy? a
Fine lad, says he, what is his Name? George Washington Colton, says I
as proud as a Peacock. He laughs, and pulls out a Silver Dollar, and
gives it to the Boy & it will be handed down to his Great grand
children, if he has any. Then the General says, Come up in the
Evening, says he, & sit with me and the other Gentlemen. Thank you
Sir, says I, saluting, I will, as soon as milking, and then he went
into the Tavern, for some of the fine Gentlemen was getting quite
impatient, seeing him stand talking so long with a plain farmer like
me. And yet there is some Sneaks who ought to be on the gallows, that
says that George Washington is cold and haughtey, and has no heed for
the common People. My paper is used up, so no more at present from.

Yr faithful friend,
PETER COLTON.

The second letter is from Enoch Day, proprietor of a general store in West Springfield, to Joseph Mugridge, merchant, of Medford.

WEST SPRINGFIELD, _Oct. 22, 1789_.

COUSIN JOSEPH:—It is some time since I have seen you, & I hope that
your business is florishing, and that you & Cousin Elizabeth, and
little Betty are well. I would be getting on prety well if these
blustering returned Soldiers had any thing but their filthy
Continental Money to pay with. I had one put in Jail the other day,
old Job Smith, up on the Northampton Road. He came down from his High
Horse, after I got the Sheriff on his back & began to sniffle & whine,
and talk about a sick Wife, & how he had been wounded at Trenton. I
tell you, Joseph, it is our turn now, & we have gott these bare
footted heros on the Hip. That white livered Sneak & Coward, G.
Washington, was in Springfield, yesterday. A lot of Fools dressed up
in their best, and went over the river to see him. I hear he stopped
at Zene Parsons’ Tavern, and rode in a fine Coach, with four Horses,
and a whole company of Lackeys to bend & crouch & lick his Boots. He
is more like a King than a president, and they say he grows wors every
day. I hear he has already overdrawed his salary, & has stole $4,000,
and I can well believe it. What any one can see to worship in that
man, I cannot understand. He is treacherous in private Friendship, a
hypocrite in public life, and the World will be puzzled to know
whether he is an Apostate or an Imposter, whether he has abandoned his
principles or whether he ever had any. Posterity will say that the
Mask of political hypocricy has been worn by Caesar, by Cromwell, and
by Washington. This journey he is taking is to make political Capital.
He wants a second Term in Office, & he is catering to the vote of New
England. He is an aristocrat, a Monocrat, an Anglomaniac, & an
American Caesar. He ought to be the Servant of the People, but he
wants them to bow & treat him like a little King. We had one odious
King George, & now we are burdened with another. He is not the father,
but the Stepfather of the Country. A friend of mine in New York, tells
me for a fact, that this man comitted murder in his youth, & you have
doubtless heard of those letters of his which have been found, that
prove beyond the shadow of a Doubt, that this man, who is hailed as
the Saviour of the Country, was really a Coward, that he was at heart
as much of a Traitor as Benedict Arnold, only he lacked Arnold’s
Boldness & Courage to carry it out. I have just received a Pamphlet
written by one Valerius, which ought to be scattered abroad as a
patriotic Document. I will copy one particularly good paragraph for
you.

“With the Constitution in one hand, and the Word of God in
the other, George Washington swore to defend a republican
form of government, which abhors the insidious machinery of
royal imposture. Has he done so? What have been the fruits
of this solemn oath? The seclusion of a monk, and the
supercilious distance of a tyrant. Old habits have been on a
sudden thrown away. Time was, when he more than any other,
indulged the manly walk and rode the generous steed. Now to
behold him afoot or on horseback, is the subject of remark.
The concealing carriage drawn by supernumerary horses,
expresses the will of the President, and defies the will of
the people. He receives visits. He returns none. Are these
Republican virtues? Do they command our esteem?”

These words, dear cousin, filled with virtuous indignation, yet so
elegantly expressed, are no doubt your sentiments as well as mine.
Some of our West Springfield people, I am glad to say, have shown much
spirit in this matter. The last time an attempt was made to celebrate
the birthday of this odious tyrant, the swabs were stolen from the
cannon, so that no salute could be fired. It will be a happy day for
the Country, when G. Washington, Charlatan, political Trickster,
Apostate, and Coward, is removed from our midst.

Yr Cousin & ob’d’t Servant,
ENOCH DAY.

P. S. The last Rum you sent was of Prime quality. If you get any more
bargains in those slightly damaged Blankets from England, wch can be
sold for new, remember yr loving Cousin.

The next letter is from John Adams, to his friend and former playmate, Dorothy Coolidge of Boston.

SPRINGFIELD, MASS., _October 22, 1789_.

MY DEAR FRIEND DOROTHY:—

I know that I ought not to write to you again this week, but my
clients are few, and time hangs heavily on my hands, out here in the
backwoods. You ask me if there are no handsome Springfield girls to
take my attention, and keep me from being lonely. There are some very
decent-looking young ladies, whom I see when I attend divine worship
in the First Church, but you know very well why I do not care to
cultivate their acquaintance. There is only One—no, I will not break
my promise which I made, not to propose for your hand again for six
months, but you know what I mean. I am going to tell you about the
visit which that noble Patriot & Friend of Mankind, President George
Washington, has just made to Springfield. He was here yesterday. About
four o’clock his coach came up the Main street, horses at a smart
trot, and drew up with a flourish in front of Zenas Parson’s Tavern.
There was a small crowd, and three cheers were give as the President
stepped from his coach, but no great enthusiasm, for I am bound to say
that Springfield is an anti-Federalist town, and there is already much
grumbling about the government. The general remained in the tavern but
a short time, when he came out, and mounting a horse set out with
several officers up the Boston road, to visit the Government Stores. I
learn that he was well satisfied with the location and the
improvements, and predicts that there will be here one day great
manufactories and warehouses for the making and storing of Munitions
of War. After supper he sat for a couple of hours, until ten o’clock,
with a company of gentlemen in the great room of the Tavern, before a
roaring fire, for the nights are chill. I was invited, no doubt on my
father’s account, for whom the General inquired kindly. There were,
among others in the company, Col Worthington, Col Williams, Adjt.
General of the State, Gen William Shepard, Mr Lyman, and many other
respectable gentlemen of the Town. I shall never forget that evening.
His Excellency talked more freely than is his wont. He is loth to
speak of his own achievements, but at the urgent solicitation of Col
Williams he told of his part in the Trenton campaign. He gave great
praise to our Massachusetts men, particularly to the Marblehead
fishermen, who ferried the army, men, horses and guns, across the
river, amid the floating ice. I can very well see, Dorothy, how some
men can worship him and others hate him. He is a gentleman, an
aristocrat, if you please, by nature; proud, self-contained, refined
in every sense of the word. Added to that he is afflicted—I think that
is the right word—with an abnormal shyness and reserve. His nature
suddenly draws in upon itself, leaving him silent, diffident, almost
glum. He cannot speak at such times. His lips close in a firm line; he
looks like a marble statue. This mood is what some men mistake for
hauteur, pride, arrogance. They call him Caesar, because he does not
smirk and grin, and slap every country Tom and Jerry on the back. And
yet, beneath that cold exterior, there is a nature which can be as
warm and as tender as Spring. Once or twice during the evening he
laughed as heartily as any one. I am convinced that the reserve and
apparent exclusiveness, which seems so offensive to some, is partly a
natural dignity, a respect for his position, and partly a disposition
which he cannot help.

But there is a quality about him which only the most superficial
observer can fail to notice. The sense of it grew upon me as I sat
there and watched the play of his features in the firelight. Dorothy,
he is a great man, the greatest, perhaps, that our country will ever
see. He is cast in the heroic mold. He belongs in the company of the
elect of all the ages. Only once in centuries does Nature form such a
man, and then, like Caesar and Cromwell, he must be misunderstood,
because he walks in a different atmosphere from the common throng.
When I was in college I went on a hunting trip in the New Hampshire
wilderness. Away up there in the Northland, suddenly, from a hilltop,
I saw that splendid mountain peak, which has just been rightly named
Washington. Gloriously, above its fellows, it soared into the sunset
sky, remote, inaccessible, companion of the stars, yet rooted in
mother earth, with running stream and birds and flowers about its
base. That is our Washington, and such he must ever be. Once he
alluded to the slanders and vituperations, which cannot but annoy him.
He spoke in a voice which had more of sadness than anger in it. “These
attacks,” he said, “are outrages on common decency. But I have a
consolation within that no earthly effort can deprive me of, and that
is, that neither ambition nor interested motives have influenced my
conduct. The arrows of malevolence, therefore, however barbed and well
pointed, can never reach the most vulnerable part of me, though while
I am up as a mark they will be continually aimed.” The truth is,
Dorothy, his public life is one continual martyrdom and
self-sacrifice. He does not care for public life. He loves his farm on
the Potomac—his horses and his dogs, his tobacco and his wheat, and he
would be happier there than in any office which the people can give
him. This talk about his being unrepublican is absurd. No man could be
more ardently republican. He went into the war from pure sentiment and
love of the country. He would have fought in the ranks, if his place
had not been in the saddle. He believes, as every man must, in a
strong central government, but monarchial institutions he abhors.

At the stroke of ten he arose, and we stood and remained standing as
he bade us a gracious good-night and left the room. There was no
laughter and loud talking as we went away. A spell seemed to be upon
us, the spell of his dignity and nobility and greatness. This morning
at seven he started for Boston. May God go with him.

I must say good-night, Dorothy. I wish I could see you. Could you not
write more often than once a week? It is very lonely here, but
Springfield is really a lovely place. The river, as it comes sweeping
down from the hills, is beautiful. There is a very pretty society here
for a small town, and some assemblies. I think you love the country. I
think that a girl, even one who had been brought up in Boston, might
under certain circumstances be happy here. Good-night, again, and
Farewell.

Ever your ob’d’t Servant and well-wisher,

JOHN.

The last letter is a reply to the preceding.

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, _Nov. 5, 1789_.

MY DEAR FRIEND JACK:—

You needn’t abuse me so, sir, because I have not written to you for
more than two Weeks. How could I write, with the President here, & so
many Balls and Assemblies. Besides, I write quite as often as is good
for you. I had thought of not writing any more to you, sir. I am
afraid that it may interfere with yr important Business. But I won’t
stop—just yet. I have seen yr Paragon, George Washington. He reached
here on Saturday after he was in Springfield, & it was a Gala-day for
Boston. There was a great Procession, Militia, marching very straight
and fine, trades-people, each guild with the Device of its Craft, and
many Gentlemen on horseback. Near the State-house was a triumphal
Arch, built acrost the street. On one side were the words, “The Man
Who Unites All Hearts.” On the Other “To Columbia’s Favorite Son.” On
the top of the Arch there was a stuffed Eagle. The school children
were drawn up in line, & saluted by rolling their writing quills in
their hands. The General rode a splendid white Horse, and looked every
inch the hero, in his blue and buff uniform. He held his Hat in his
hand, and bowed slightly to left and right. He went into the
State-house, and came out on the Balcony. Then the great throng below
went wild with Enthusiasm. By and by, when they could be heard, a
select Choir sang an Ode written for the occasion.

On Sunday morning his Excellency went to Church & sat in the Pew
behind ours. I had a new hat, which I think is very becoming. It has a
large brim, a gauze crown, & a broad bow with long ends at the back,
and it was trimmed with three Ostrich Feathers. What do you suppose
that ridiculous old anti-Federalist governor Hancock did? He refused
to call on the President, saying that it was the President’s place to
call upon his High Mightiness. The People were so angry, that threats
of violence were heard. You know that the President is stopping at the
Widow Ingersoll’s just opposite our house. Well, I was looking out,
when, about two o’clock, the Governor’s Coach drew up. His gouty legs
were done up in red Flannel & his lackeys carried him in, to see the
President. Later the President went and drank tea with him and Mrs
Hancock. I wouldn’t have returned such a call. My father was very much
pleased. He said that settled one thing forever, that the National
Government was supreme, and the States must take second place.

Wednesday night was the Assembly. I had a lovely pink Silk Gown, made
new for the great occasion, & I wore as all the young ladies did, a
broad white Satin sash, with G. W. in gold letters, with a laurel
Wreath around them. On one end of the sash was painted an American
Eagle, & on the other a Fleur-de-lis. I saw yr honored Mother, and she
was very gracious to me. She looked very Handsome & Stately, in a
beautiful Velvit gown, and the sash like ours, only black with gold
letters and Devices.

I had the honor of a Dance with his Excellency, and he was pleased to
be most charming in his Manner. He complimented my appearance, and
said that he had found our New England ladies quite as Handsome as
those in the South. I felt more complimented when he talked with me
about public Affairs here, & I know that I blushed when he praised my
knowledge of Politics. I admired yr description of him, & I know it is
true. I could feel his nobility and greatness of Soul. Oh, Jack, how
can anyone say such horrid things of him, when he is so Pure, so High
minded, when he is the Saviour of our Country. When he stood there on
the balcony of the State-house, with everybody cheering and shouting,
I could not help thinking of him as he was at Valley Forge, cold &
hungry, sacrificing everything for his soldiers, and the tears of
gratitude & affection came into my eyes. Well, he is gone, and I pray
he may return safely Home. I suppose he will not go through
Springfield on his way back. I asked him about Springfield, and he
said it was no great Town, but Lovely in situation, and that Zenas
Parson’s Tavern was a good one. I think—I am not sure—but perhaps,
under certain circumstances, a city girl might be happy in the
country. But this letter is too long. I meant to punish you by making
it short. You need not expect another for at least a Month. This is to
be a very gay winter, & I doubt not, I shall be much sought after, so
I shall have small time to write to my friends in the Country.

Yours, with some kindness,
DOROTHY.

The careful historical student may find some anachronisms in these letters, yet in the main they give a true account of the time “when Washington came to Springfield,” and rode, with his coach and four along the New England highways, in the bright autumn weather.

SPRINGFIELD, MASS. NEWTON M. HALL.

(Read before the S. A. R., Springfield.)

LEXINGTON AND CONCORD

[We are indebted to Mr. Herbert W. Kimball, of Boston, Registrar of the Massachusetts S. A. R., for the two accounts of the “shot heard round the world.” The first was prepared for the Boston News-Letter, in 1826, and the second, although written many years ago, was not printed until 1896, and then only in a newspaper, hence will probably be as new to most of our readers as it is to the Editor. The bill of Dr. Fisk has never been published or printed in any form, and is especially interesting as showing, what we believe has not been stated by any writer, that several of the British wounded who were left behind, were cared for by the patriots. The detailed list of the killed and wounded of the patriots was also prepared especially for the S. A. R., and published in their Register, a few years ago.—ED.]