MARY WASHINGTON IN THE HOUR OF PERIL
Mary Washington was kept in a state of perpetual anxiety and alarm. She was left unprotected by her nearest friends and relatives. Her son was gone, returning for no brief visits to his old home. Her grandson, George Lewis, was on his uncle's staff. Her sons were enlisted, all her grandsons. The Spotswood boys were at the front. Her good neighbor, Hugh Mercer, was a general in the army; her near relative, Colonel Burgess Ball, had raised and equipped a regiment, and was maintaining it at his own expense. "All Europe was amazed when out of the forests and fields of the remote colonies of the Atlantic coast, from north to south, there stepped forth at the drum beat of Revolution heroes, scholars, statesmen, soldiers, and chieftains who overcame its master spirits in debate and foiled its ablest commanders in the field of combat."
Others of her neighbors and relations were already at the front. In many houses father and sons had gone; in almost every home the first-born was a soldier. She had only with her the women of her kindred and the good and faithful Dr. Charles Mortimer,—the loyal American though English born,—the able, generous physician. At his own expense he equipped and maintained a hospital in which Mary Washington and his little Maria probably felt a deep and common interest.
Her old age was not to be the ideal age so passionately desired by the old, of quiet serenity, "honor, obedience, and troops of friends." The latter she had, with the added pang of keen anxiety for their safety and welfare. She was called upon to surrender all she held sacred or dear,—her king, her church, her glorious son, her kindred, her loved country home. She gave up all resignedly, uncomplainingly.
It was after this triumph over her prejudices, this complete surrender to conviction of duty that her character blossomed into perfect beauty. A great calmness possessed her soul and shone in her face, a dignified resignation differing altogether from dumb despair.
While her son was leading the troops of his country she was busily engaged in the industries of domestic life,—sorting the fleece and mingling it with shredded silk to make long hose for her son, the general; weaving substantial fabrics in the great cumbrous looms; learning cunning secrets of herbs and leaves to dye the cloth for garments; preparing balsams and lotions for the sick and needy. Her hands were never idle. Gathering her apron into a spacious pocket, she walked about with the woollen knitting for her son's soldiers. She became, it is true, somewhat more silent, more reserved. The lines of the face lost all hint of humor. She was too sad for that, but never peevish or complaining. Descendants of her old neighbors acknowledged that "Mrs. Washington was somewhat stern," but add that she and her daughter, Mrs. Lewis, possessed withal a lofty graciousness of manner peculiarly their own. General Washington had this manner, commanding deference and confidence, and forbidding familiarity or the smallest liberty; although it is certain that neither he nor his mother were conscious of the impression made upon others.
Her daughter, Betty Lewis, lived at "Kenmore," the elegant mansion near Fredericksburg, and entreated her to come to her "to be taken care of," but she said, "My wants are few in this life, and I feel perfectly competent to take care of myself." She elected a home of her own very near "Kenmore," preferring to be independent. Thence she was driven every day by "old Stephen" in her phaeton to her farm across the river, whence she brought seeds and cuttings for her town garden and a jug of water from the spring out of which her husband and children had drunk. Old Stephen witnessed with glee her method of dealing with her overseer. The latter ventured one day to depart from her instructions, and she called him to account.
"Madam," said the agent, "in my judgment the work has been done to better advantage than if I had followed your instructions."
"And pray, sir, who gave you the right to exercise any judgment in the matter?" she asked; "I command you, sir! There is nothing left for you but to obey."
Fredericksburg was in the direct line of communication between Williamsburg and the headquarters of the army. Couriers were perpetually passing to and fro, and many were the respectful letters "honored madam" received from the great commander.
With the coming of these couriers came repeated tidings of loss and defeat. She heard about the battle of Long Island, the long days and nights in the saddle; of the defeat at White Plains; of how the militia quitted and went home; of the Princeton victory, where her loved neighbor, Hugh Mercer, died in her grandson's arms; of the heavy loss at Brandywine and Germantown, where her near neighbor, the son of plucky John Spotswood, fell dangerously wounded into the hands of the enemy; of the misery at Valley Forge; of Howe's occupation of Philadelphia; of General Gates's great victory at Saratoga—perhaps of the cabal against her son, when the victorious general was preferred by some to him. Perhaps her son may have written, or some of Morgan's borderers written to their friends, of their march from the Shenandoah to Boston with "Liberty or Death" embroidered in white letters on their hunting-shirts; how General Washington had met them as he was riding along his lines; how Morgan had saluted with the words, "From the right bank of the Potomac, General!" how the great commander had leaped from his horse, and with tears in his eyes shook hands with each one of them.
"The night was dark and he was far from home!"
Or, perhaps, those watching, waiting women on the Rappahannock heard of how the Virginian, George Rogers Clarke, had begged powder and men, and gone out to shut and guard the back door of the country; how they had waded in freezing water, fasting five days and nights, holding their muskets above their heads as they struggled on; how, finally, ready as they were to give up, a little drummer-boy had mounted the shoulders of a tall soldier, and beat the vigorous "Charge," rallying and inspiring their fainting spirits. Or, it may be, that some messenger among the fleet couriers had come from Wheeling, Virginia, and could tell of Elizabeth Zane, the brave young girl, who volunteered to cross a plain under Indian fire, and bring a keg of powder from a house in town to save the stockade in which her people were hiding; how she ran across the plain, found and fetched the powder, and saved the day.
"These noble legends," says Esten Cooke, "are the true glories of American history; the race lives in them and is best illustrated by them. It was a very great race, and faced peril without shrinking, down to the very boys and girls; and what the long years of the future will remember is this heroic phase, not the treaties and protocols of American history." It was the spirit behind our little army that compelled events and carried it triumphantly to the glorious result.
It is said that Mary Washington never tolerated an expression of complaint or despair during these trying times. She would rebuke it by saying, "The mothers and wives of brave men must be brave women." Mr. Custis says that, "Directly in the way of the news, as it passed from North to South, one courier would bring intelligence of success to our arms; another, 'swiftly coursing at his heels,' the saddening reverse of disaster and defeat. While thus ebbed and flowed the fortunes of our cause, the mother, trusting to the wisdom and protection of Divine Providence, preserved the even tenor of her life, affording an example to those matrons whose sons were alike engaged in the arduous contest; and showing that unavailing anxieties, however belonging to nature, were unworthy of mothers whose sons were combating for the inestimable rights of man and the freedom and happiness of the world.
"During the war the mother set a most valuable example in the management of her domestic concerns, carrying her own keys, bustling in her household affairs, providing for her family, and living and moving in all the pride of independence. She was not actuated by that ambition for show which pervades lesser minds; and the peculiar plainness and dignity of her manners became in no wise altered, when the sun of glory arose upon her house. There are some of the aged inhabitants of Fredericksburg who well remember the matron as seated in an old-fashioned open chaise; she was in the habit of visiting, almost daily, her little farm in the vicinity of the town. When there she would ride about her fields, giving her orders, and seeing that they were obeyed.
"Hers was a familiar form in Fredericksburg during the Revolution, and its people showed her every respect as she walked the streets leaning on her cane. Devout and worshipful she appeared every Sabbath at church at the appointed hour; and while the armies under her son were struggling for our freedom, the knitting needles were busily plied, and from her home went forth her modest contributions of supplies for him and his soldiers."
Her biographers love to dwell upon her preternatural serenity. This serenity did not serve for dark hours only. She was not surprised when the tide turned, and the waves of triumph were borne to her feet. When her neighbors thronged her with plaudits and praise of her noble son—their idol and hers—she restrained their extravagant words, saying quietly: "George seems to have deserved well of his country, but we must not praise him too much. George has not forgotten his duty!"
When the news reached Fredericksburg of the victories of Trenton and Princeton (in that ten days' campaign which Frederick the Great called the most brilliant in the annals of war) friends gathered around her with congratulations upon the great achievements of her son. She received them with calmness, observed that it was most pleasurable news, and that George appeared to have deserved well of his country for such signal services, and continued, in reply to the congratulating patriots (most of whom held letters in their hands, from which they read extracts), "but, my good sirs, here is too much flattery—still George will not forget the lessons I early taught him; he will not forget himself, though he is the subject of so much praise."
Among the traditions which still linger around Fredericksburg is one illustrating her perfect calmness, trust, and self-control. George Kiger, the courier, having at a time of great anxiety ridden hard to deliver a packet to her from headquarters, was dismayed to see her drop it unread into one of her unfathomable pockets, simply remarking, "It is all right—I am well assured of that." Bursting with curiosity, and mindful of the crowd which had assembled at her gate to hear the news, Kiger suggested: "There may have been a battle. The neighbors would like to know." Thereupon she fished up the packet, glanced over it, and announced, "There has been a victory!" adding, in the fulness of her heart, "George generally carries through whatever he undertakes."
In relating this we are reminded of the despatch once handed to General Washington while he was sitting for his portrait. He read it apparently unmoved and in silence. It announced the surrender of Burgoyne's army!
As the long years passed heavily away she had need of more than her own strong nature to sustain her. She must seek for strength not her own. "She was always pious," says Mr. Custis, "but in her latter days her devotions were performed in private. She was in the habit of repairing every day to a secluded spot, formed by rocks and trees, near her dwelling, where, abstracted from the world and worldly things, she communed with her Creator, in humiliation and prayer."
This favorite resort of hers, sometimes called "Oratory Rock," was a spot on Colonel Lewis's estate, sheltered by climbing vines from observation. Oratory Rock was a knoll on the "Kenmore" grounds which during her life overlooked the Rappahannock. The river has since forsaken its bed there, and flows in another channel. It was to this spot, made lovely by shade trees and flowing vines, that she repaired daily for meditation and prayer, returning home soothed and strengthened. She often expressed her gratitude for these serene hours, and desired that she might be buried upon the spot, where she had received such consolation.
Oratory Rock.
And who can tell what heavenly messengers visited this great spirit and ministered unto her? At her feet flowed the Rappahannock, over which her son when a lad had thrown a stone. She could remember how his heart had swelled with pride,—that heart now breaking at the falling away of friends, the desertion of soldiers, the disasters on the Hudson and Long Island. Who can doubt that the tears of the great commander fell upon his mother's heart! Her life had been one of anxiety, trouble, and strife. It was now almost over! She knew of the end, only that for her it was near! It was then that whispered words may have floated on the mists of the gathering twilight: "In the world ye shall have tribulations! Fear not! I have overcome the world."