“When General Washington delivered his farewell address, in the room at the southeast corner of Chestnut and Sixth streets, I sat immediately in front of him. It was in the room Congress occupied. The table of the speaker was between the two windows on Sixth street. The daughter of Doctor C——,[116] of Alexandria, the physician and intimate friend of Washington, Mrs. H——,[117] whose husband was the auditor, was a very dear friend of mine. Her brother Washington was one of the secretaries of General Washington. Young Dandridge, a nephew of Mrs. Washington, was the other. I was included in Mrs. H—— 's party to witness the august, the solemn scene. Mr. H—— declined going with Mrs. H——, as she had determined to go early, so as to secure the front bench. It was fortunate for Miss C—— [118] (afterward Mrs. L——)[119], that she could not trust herself to be so near her honored grandfather. My dear father stood very near her. She was terribly agitated. There was a narrow passage from the door of entrance to the room, which was on the east, dividing the rows of benches. General Washington stopped at the end to let Mr. Adams pass to the chair. The latter always wore a full suit of bright drab, with lash or loose cuffs to his coat. He always wore wrist ruffles. He had not changed his fashions. He was a short man, with a good head. With his family he attended our church twice a day. General Washington's dress was a full suit of black. His military hat had the black cockade. There stood the 'Father of his Country,' acknowledged by nations—the first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen. No marshals with gold-colored scarfs attended him—there was no cheering—no noise; the most profound silence greeted him, as if the great assembly desired to hear him breathe, and catch his breath in homage of their hearts. Mr. Adams covered his face with both his hands; the sleeves of his coat, and his hands, were covered with tears. Every now and then there was a suppressed sob, I can not describe Washington's appearance as I felt it—perfectly composed and self-possessed till the close of his address: then, when strong nervous sobs broke loose, when tears covered the faces, then the great man was shaken. I never took my eyes from his face. Large drops came from his eyes. He looked to the youthful children who were parting with their father, their friend, as if his heart was with them, and would be to the end.”
When Washington concluded his brief valedictory, Mr. Adams arose, took the oath of office, and then delivered his inaugural address, which he had prepared with much care—an address that had the rare good fortune of pleasing all parties. He sketched, with a few brief touches of a master's pencil, an outline history of the federal constitution, defined his own position in regard to it from the beginning, and then thus feelingly alluded to the retiring president:—
“Such is the amiable and interesting system of government (and such are some of the abuses to which it may be exposed), which the people of America have exhibited to the admiration and anxiety of the wise and virtuous of all nations, for eight years, under the administration of a citizen, who, by a long course of great actions, regulated by prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude, conducted a people inspired with the same virtues, and animated with the same ardent patriotism and love of liberty, to independence and peace, to increasing wealth and unexampled prosperity, has merited the gratitude of his fellow-citizens, commanded the highest praises of foreign nations, and secured immortal glory with posterity.
“In that retirement which is his voluntary choice, may he long live to enjoy the delicious recollection of his services, the gratitude of mankind, the happy fruits of them to himself and the world, which are daily increasing; and that splendid prospect of the future fortunes of his country which is opening from year to year. May his name be still a rampart, and the knowledge that he lives a bulwark against all open or secret enemies of his country's peace!”
The hearts of the audience had already been made tender by the farewell words of Washington; and this allusion to him, in the inaugural address of his successor, made tears flow copiously—“Scarcely a dry eye but Washington's, whose countenance was as serene and unclouded as the day,” wrote Adams to his wife.
With a little tinge of evident jealousy, Adams again wrote to the same correspondent, a few days afterward, saying: “It is the general report that there was more weeping than there has ever been at the representation of any tragedy. But whether it was from grief or joy, whether from the loss of their beloved president, or from the accession of an unbeloved one, or from the pleasure of exchanging presidents without tumult, or from the novelty of the thing, or from the sublimity of it arising from the multitude present, or whatever other cause, I know not. One thing I know, I am a being of too much sensibility to act any part well in such an exhibition. Perhaps there is little danger of my having such another scene to feel or behold.
“The stillness and silence astonishes me. Everybody talks of the tears, the full eyes, the streaming eyes, the trickling eyes, &c., but all is enigma beyond. No one descends to particulars to say why or wherefore; I am, therefore, left to suppose that it is all grief for the loss of their beloved.”
When Washington left the hall and entered his carriage, the great audience followed, and were joined by an immense crowd in the streets, who shouted long and loud as the retiring president and his suite moved toward his dwelling. The new president and all others were forgotten in that moment of veneration for the beloved friend, upon whose face few in that vast assemblage would ever look again. “I followed him in the crowd to his own door,” said the late President Duer, of Columbia college, “where, as he turned to address the multitude, his countenance assumed a serious and almost melancholy expression, his voice failed him, his eyes were suffused with tears, and only by his gestures could he indicate his thanks, and convey his farewell blessing to the people.”
The merchants of Philadelphia, to testify their love for Washington, gave to him a splendid banquet and other entertainments that evening, in the Amphitheatre, which had been decorated with appropriate paintings by Charles Willson Peale, who, twenty-five years before, had painted, at Mount Vernon, the first portrait ever drawn of Washington, in the costume of a Virginia colonel. One of the newspapers of the day thus describes a compliment that was paid to the first president on that occasion, which had been suggested and executed by Mr. Peale:—
“Upon entering the area the general was conducted to his seat. On a signal given the band played 'Washington's March,' and a scene, which represented simple objects in the rear of the principal seat, was drawn up and discovered emblematical paintings. The principal was a female figure as large as life, representing America, seated on an elevation composed of sixteen marble steps. At her left side stood the federal shield and eagle, and at her feet lay the cornucopia; in her right hand she held the Indian calumet of peace supporting the cap of liberty; in the perspective appeared the temple of fame; and, on her left hand, an altar dedicated to public gratitude, upon which incense was burning. In her left hand she held a scroll inscribed 'Valedictory;' and at the foot of the altar lay a plumed helmet and sword, from which a figure of General Washington, large as life, appeared retiring down the steps, pointing with his right hand to the emblems of power which he had resigned, and with his left to a beautiful landscape representing Mount Vernon, in front of which oxen were seen harnessed to the plough. Over the general appeared a Genius, placing a wreath of laurels on his head.”