“It has been the particular happiness of the United States, that during a war so long, so dangerous, and so important, Providence has been graciously pleased to preserve the life of a general, who has merited and possessed the uninterrupted confidence and affection of his fellow-citizens. In other nations, many have performed eminent services, for which they have deserved the thanks of the public. But to you, sir, peculiar praise is due. Your services have been essential in acquiring and establishing the freedom and independence of your country. They deserve the grateful acknowledgments of a free and independent nation.”
This honorable reception was grateful to the feelings of Washington, for, next to the approval of his God and his conscience, he coveted that of his country. Congress had already voted him a rarer honor, an honor such as the senate of old Rome was fond of conferring upon the heroes of the commonwealth. On the seventh of August they had—
“Resolved (unanimously, ten states being present), That an equestrian statue of General Washington be erected at the place where the residence of Congress shall be established,” and a committee appointed for the purpose reported a plan for a pedestal to support the statue, with historical basso relievos upon it, and an appropriate inscription. But this statue, like many other monumental testimonials, ordered by the old Congress, was never made. Washington submitted to the unpleasant operation of having a plaster-cast taken from his face, to be sent to the sculptor in Europe who should be employed to execute the statue; but the cast was broken, and as he would not submit to the manipulations again, the effort was abandoned.
On the third of September the definitive treaty for peace was signed at Paris, and by a proclamation dated the eighteenth day of October, 1783, all officers and soldiers of the continental army, absent on furlough, were discharged from further service; and all others who had engaged to serve during the war, were to be discharged from and after the third of November.
On the second of November, Washington, yet at Rocky Hill, issued his last general orders, in which he addressed his soldiers as a father speaking to his children, and bade them an affectionate farewell.[5]
He then waited quietly for the British to evacuate New York city, that he might go thither with a few troops that would remain in camp under Knox, take formal possession, and then hasten to the seat of Congress and resign his commission of commander-in-chief of the American armies into their hands.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] The following is a copy of the notification: “A meeting of the field-officers is requested at the public building on Tuesday next at eleven o'clock. A commissioned officer from each company is expected, and a delegate from the medical staff. The object of this convention is to consider the late letter of our representatives in Philadelphia, and what measures (if any) should be adopted to obtain that redress of grievances which they seem to have solicited in vain.”
[3] The following is a copy of the address:—"GENTLEMEN: By an anonymous summons, an attempt has been made to convene you together; how inconsistent with the rules of propriety, how unmilitary, and how subversive of all order and discipline, let the good sense of the army decide. In the moment of this summons, another anonymous production was sent into circulation, addressed more to the feelings and passions than to the reason and judgment of the army. The author of the piece is entitled to much credit for the goodness of his pen, and I could wish he had as much credit for the rectitude of his heart; for, as men see through different optics, and are induced by the reflecting faculties of the mind to use different means to attain the same end, the author of the address should have had more charity than to mark for suspicion the man who should recommend moderation and longer forbearance; or, in other words, who should not think as he thinks, and act as he advises.”
When Washington had concluded this paragraph, he paused, took out his spectacles, begged the indulgence of the audience while he put them on, and observed, “You see I have grown gray in your service, and am now growing blind.” The effect was electrical, and many an eye was moistened by tears called forth by the incident. He then proceeded:—