Washington and the American Republic, Vol. 3.

CHAPTER III.

british troops leave the city of new york—american troops and civil authorities enter and take possession—the british and american troops contrasted—parting scene between washington and his officers—washington settles his accounts with the united states—journey to annapolis—complimentary dinner and ball there—washington resigns his commission—his retirement to private life at mount vernon—letters to his friends on the subject—washington's dreams of quiet life.

It was late in November, 1783, before the British troops were prepared to leave New York, so large was the number of persons, and so great was the quantity of goods to be first conveyed away. At length Sir Guy Carleton gave Washington notice when he would be ready to surrender the city. Governor Clinton summoned the members of the state council to convene at Eastchester on the twenty-first of November, to prepare for the re-establishment of civil government in New York city and its vicinity, and a detachment of troops came down from West Point to be ready to take possession of the posts about to be evacuated by the British.

Carleton appointed the twenty-fifth of November as the day for the evacuation, and before that time the British troops were drawn in from the surrounding posts. On the morning of the twenty-fifth Washington and Governor Clinton were at Harlem, with the detachment from West Point, under General Knox; and during the morning they all moved toward the city, and halted at the Bowery. The troops were composed of light-dragoons, light-infantry, and artillery, and were accompanied by the civil officers of the state.

Between twelve and one o'clock the British troops were embarked. The fleet immediately weighed anchor, and with a favoring breeze sailed out the Narrows. The American troops and the civil authorities then marched in and took formal possession. Washington and Clinton, with their respective suites, led the procession, escorted by a troop of Westchester cavalry. Then followed the lieutenant-governor and members of the council, General Knox and the officers of the army, the speaker of the assembly, and a large procession of citizens on horseback and on foot.

The evacuation of the British, and the entrance of the Americans, produced in the inhabitants mingled feelings of joy and sadness. The whigs greatly rejoiced at their deliverance, while the families of loyalists were saddened by the change. There was a marked contrast between the troops that left and the troops that came. “We had been accustomed for a long time to military display in all the finish and finery of garrison life,” said an American lady to Mr. Irving; “the troops just leaving us were as if equipped for show, and with their scarlet uniforms and burnished arms, made a brilliant display; the troops that marched in, on the contrary, were ill-clad and weather-beaten, and made a forlorn appearance; but they were our troops, and as I looked at them and thought upon all they had done and suffered for us, my heart and my eyes were full, and I admired and gloried in them the more, because they were weather-beaten and forlorn.”[6]

But joy was the predominant feeling, and on that night the city was a scene of public festivity, and demonstrations of unbounded pleasure. The governor gave a feast, and splendid fireworks illuminated the town.

On the fourth of December Washington was prepared for a journey to Annapolis, where the Congress was in session, to resign his commission into their hands. A handsome barge was made ready to convey him from the Whitehall ferry to Paulus's Hook (now Jersey City), and lay at the stairs, ready manned at twelve o'clock. Meanwhile Washington and his officers had assembled in the parlor of Fraunce's tavern, near by, to take a final leave of each other. Marshall has left on record, a brief but touching narrative of the scene. As the commander-in-chief entered the room, and found himself in the midst of his officers—his old companions-in-arms, many of whom had shared with him the fortunes of war from its earliest stages—his tender feelings were too powerful for concealment, and defied his usual self-command. Filling a glass of wine, and taking it in his hand, he turned upon his friends a sad but benignant countenance, and said:—

“With a heart full of love and gratitude, I now take leave of you, most devoutly wishing that your latter days may be as prosperous and happy, as your former ones have been glorious and honorable.” After lifting the wine to his lips, and drinking a farewell benediction, he added, while his voice trembled with emotion:—

“I can not come to each of you to take my leave, but shall be obliged if each of you will come and take me by the hand.” General Knox being nearest, first turned to him. Washington, incapable of utterance, grasped his hand in silence, and embraced him affectionately, while his eyes were suffused with tears. In the same affectionate manner, every officer took leave of him. Not a word was spoken. Feeling held speech in abeyance. The tear of manly sensibility was in every eye, and in dignified silence they all followed their beloved chief as he left the room, passed through a corps of light-infantry, and walked to Whitehall to embark. Having entered the barge, he turned to the tearful friends upon the wharf, and waving his hat, bade them a silent adieu. They stood and watched the barge until it was hidden from their view by an angle of the battery, when, in silent and solemn procession, they all returned to the place where they had assembled.

Washington stopped a few days in Philadelphia, where he adjusted his accounts with the comptroller of the treasury. These were all in perfect order, from the beginning of the war until the moment of settlement, on the thirteenth of December. They were entirely in his own hand-waiting. The gross amount was almost seventy-five thousand dollars, in which were included moneys expended for secret service and in various incidental charges. For his own services he would receive nothing.

Washington's journey from New York to Annapolis, in Maryland, was one continued ovation. The people everywhere received him with enthusiasm; and public meetings, legislative assemblies, and learned and religious institutions, greeted him with addresses. He arrived at Annapolis on Friday, the nineteenth of December, where he was joined by Mrs. Washington and many warm personal friends. On the following day he addressed a note to the Congress, inquiring when, and in what manner it would be proper to offer his resignation; and on Monday he was present at a dinner ordered by that body. In the evening he attended a grand ball given in his honor.

On Tuesday, the twenty-third, Washington wrote to the Baron Steuben—“This is the last letter I shall write while I continue in the service of my country. The hour of my resignation is fixed at twelve to-day; after which I shall become a private citizen on the banks of the Potomac.”

At the hour named the chief was before the assembled Congress, of whom General Thomas Mifflin was president. The hall was filled with public functionaries and military officers, accompanied by ladies; and in the gallery was Mrs. Washington and many more ladies than were on the floor below.

Washington was conducted to the hall by Secretary Thomson, when the president said, “The United States in Congress assembled, are prepared to receive your communication.” Washington then arose, and in a dignified manner, and clear, rich voice, said:—

“Mr. President: The great events on which my resignation depended, having at length taken place, I now have the honor of offering my sincere congratulations to Congress, and of presenting myself before them, to surrender into their hands the trust committed to me, and to claim the indulgence of retiring from the service of my country. Happy in the confirmation of our independence and sovereignty, and pleased with the opportunity afforded the United States of becoming a respectable nation, I resign with satisfaction the appointment I accepted with diffidence; a diffidence in my abilities to accomplish so arduous a task, which, however, was superseded by a confidence in the rectitude of our cause, the support of the supreme power of the Union, and the patronage of Heaven. The successful termination of the war has verified the most sanguine expectations; and my gratitude for the interposition of Providence, and the assistance I have received from my countrymen, increases with every review of the momentous contest. While I repeat my obligations to the army in general, I should do injustice to my own feelings not to acknowledge in this place the peculiar services and distinguished merits of the gentlemen who have been attached to my person during the war. It was impossible the choice of confidential officers to compose my family should have been more fortunate. Permit me, sir, to recommend in particular those who have continued in the service to the present moment, as worthy of the favorable notice and patronage of Congress. I consider it as an indispensable duty to close this last act of my official life by commending the interests of our dearest country to the protection of Almighty God, and those who have the superintendence of them to his holy keeping. Having now finished the work assigned me, I retire from the great theatre of action, and bidding an affectionate farewell to this august body, under whose orders I have so long acted, I here offer my commission, and take my leave of all the employments of public life.”

President Mifflin replied: “Sir—The United States, in Congress assembled, receive with emotions too affecting for utterance, the solemn resignation of the authorities under which you have led their troops with success through a perilous and a doubtful war. Called upon by your country to defend its invaded rights, you accepted the sacred charge, before it had formed alliances, and while it was without funds or a government to support you. You have conducted the great military contest with wisdom and fortitude, invariably regarding the rights of the civil power, through all disasters and changes. You have, by the love and confidence of your fellow-citizens, enabled them to display their martial genius, and transmit their fame to posterity. You have persevered, until these United States, aided by a magnanimous king and nation, have been enabled, under a just Providence, to close the war in freedom, safety, and independence; in which happy event we sincerely join you in congratulations. Having defended the standard of liberty in this new world; having taught a lesson useful to those who inflict and to those who feel oppression, you retire from the great theatre of action with the blessings of your fellow-citizens. But the glory of your virtues will not terminate with your military command; it will continue to animate remotest ages. We feel with you our obligations to the army in general, and will particularly charge ourselves with the interests of those confidential officers who have attended your person to this affecting moment. We join you in commending the interests of our dearest country to the protection of Almighty God, beseeching him to dispose the hearts and minds of its citizens to improve the opportunity afforded them of becoming a happy and respectable nation. And for you, we address to him our earnest prayers that a life so beloved may be fostered with all his care; that your days may be as happy as they have been illustrious; and that he will finally give you that reward which this world can not give.”

Washington, now a private citizen, hastened to his beloved home on the Potomac, accompanied on the way by many friends, among whom was Colonel Walker, one the aids of the Baron Steuben. By his hand, he sent a letter to Governor George Clinton—the first that he wrote after his retirement from office—in which he said: “The scene is at last closed. I am now a private citizen on the banks of the Potomac. I feel myself eased of a load of public care. I hope to spend the remainder of my days in cultivating the affections of good men, and in the practice of the domestic virtues.”

It was on Christmas eve when Washington reached Mount Vernon. It must have been a happy and a merry Christmas in that beautiful home, for the toils and dangers of war were over, peace was smiling upon all the land, and the people were free and independent. The enjoyment of his home, under these circumstances, was an exquisite one to the retired soldier; and in his letters to his friends he gives frequent and touching evidence of his happiness in private life. To Lafayette he wrote on the first of February:—

“At length, my dear marquis, I am become a private citizen on the banks of the Potomac, and under the shadow of my own vine and my own fig-tree, free from the bustle of a camp, and the busy scenes of public life. I am solacing myself with those tranquil enjoyments, of which the soldier, who is ever in pursuit of fame, the statesman, whose watchful days and sleepless nights are spent in devising schemes to promote the welfare of his own, perhaps the ruin of other countries, as if this globe was insufficient for us all, and the courtier, who is always watching the countenance of his prince, in hopes of catching a gracious smile, can have very little conception. 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 of my march, I will move gently down the stream of life, until I sleep with my fathers.”

A little later he wrote to Madam Lafayette, saying:—

“Freed from the clangor of arms and the bustle of a camp, from the cares of public employment and the responsibility of office, I am now enjoying domestic ease under the shadow of my own vine and my own fig-tree; and in a small villa, with the implements of husbandry and lambkins around me, I expect to glide gently down the stream of life, till I am entombed in the mansion of my fathers.

“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. In these wishes and most respectful compliments, Mrs. Washington joins me.”

Notwithstanding Washington's retirement was so perfect as to amount to positive isolation for a month or more, on account of the effects of an intensely severe winter, which closed almost every avenue to Mount Vernon, and suspended even neighborly intercourse, he found it extremely difficult to divest himself of the habits of the camp. “Strange as it may seem,” he wrote to General Knox on the twentieth of February, “it is nevertheless true, that 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 anything to do with public transactions.

“I feel now, however, as I conceive a wearied traveller must do, who, after treading many a painful step with a heavy burthen on his shoulders, is eased of the latter, having reached the haven to which all the former were directed; and from his house-top is looking back, and tracing with an eager eye the meanders by which he escaped the quicksands and mires which lay in his way; and into which none but the all-powerful Guide and Dispenser of human events could have prevented his falling.”

Surely, if ever a man had cause for serenity of mind while taking a retrospect of his public and private life, it was George Washington. From his youth he had walked in the path of truth and rectitude, and throughout his long public career of about thirty years, at the time of his retirement from the army, not a stain of dishonor—not even the suspicion of a stain—had ever been seen upon his character. His moral escutcheon was bright, his conscience was unqualifiedly approving, his country loved him above all her sons. With a sincere desire to spend the remainder of his days as a simple farmer upon the Potomac, without the ambition of being famous, or the expectation of being again called into public life, he resumed his old domestic habits, and prepared for the enjoyment of the evening of his days undisturbed by the turmoils of society around him.

“My manner of living is plain,” he wrote to a friend, “and I do not mean to be put out by it. A glass of wine and a bit of mutton are always ready, and such as will be content to partake of them, are always welcome. Those who expect more will be disappointed.”

But Washington's modest dream of quietude and simplicity of life in his home at Mount Vernon was not realized.

FOOTNOTES:

[6] Life of Washington, iv. 440.

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