Soon after, the Declaration of Independence was published; but events inauspicious to the cause of the colonists now came onward in rapid succession. The defeat at Long Island filled their ranks with such dismay and consternation as put their general’s invincible resolution to a severe test. New York was straightway relinquished by them, with considerable loss; a defeat was sustained at Chatterton’s Hill; Fort Washington was lost; and General Lee was taken prisoner. This was a period to try the souls of those who had taken up arms against taxation without representation. Their operations had proved unexpectedly disastrous; their army had melted away till it seemed but a shadow of its former self; pardon had been proclaimed in the King’s name to all who would return to their allegiance. Many persons of wealth, consideration, and respectability, especially yeomen of strength and substance, had accepted it on the offered terms; but Washington remained firm and decided. His fortitude might not inaptly be compared to that house against which the waves beat, and the rain came, and the winds blew, but which fell not, for it was founded on a rock. He calmly represented to Congress the plight to which he was reduced; and the crisis being such as to silence all querulous opposition, neither the whisper of envy nor the voice of discontent was heard. Even timidity was overcome by fear. Indeed the members appear to have been animated by views similar to those which the elder consul, “an ancient man and wise,” is made to express when the thirty armies are described as on their way to Rome:
“In seasons of great peril
’Tis good that one bear sway;
Then choose we a Dictator,
Whom all men shall obey.”
And, accordingly, Washington was wisely invested with supreme authority and dictatorial powers. The army was completely reorganized; and its dauntless, but firm and prudent leader, resolved to cross the Delaware, and attack the foes on their own ground. On a December night he assailed and defeated them at Trenton; and pursuing his advantage, he gained an important victory at Princeton. Next year, however, the fortune of war again changed, and Washington fought unsuccessfully at the fords of the Brandywine and at the village of Germantown. In the former of these actions Lafayette, inspired with burning zeal for the American cause, displayed his courage as a volunteer, and was wounded in the leg while dismounting to rally the retreating troops by his voice and example.
Ere long the French king recognized the independence of the United States by a formal treaty; a battle was fought at Monmouth with partial success; and a French squadron arrived to aid the new allies of the Bourbons. Nevertheless, an assault made by the combined forces on Rhode Island proved a failure; and a projected expedition against Canada came to naught. An intended attack on New York had a similar termination, and a mutiny among the troops filled the public mind with alarm and consternation. Still the clear spirit of Washington rose superior to adversity, and his deep determination was not to be shaken by disaster.
Affairs, indeed, seemed now to be hastening to a crisis; but as the year 1781 advanced, they began to wear a more favorable aspect. The cheering news was brought by a French frigate that powerful assistance might be calculated on; and a combined attack was planned against New York, but relinquished owing to intelligence in regard to the sailing of the promised auxiliaries from St. Domingo. When they at length arrived, York Town, in Virginia, was besieged by the allied forces, and Lord Cornwallis obliged to surrender.
It now became evident that the unhappy war was approaching its termination; and the American army, with a prospect of being disbanded, began to complain of grievances. Besides, many of the officers looked with so little favor on republican institutions, that, wishing for some more vigorous form of government, they deputed one of their number to convey to Washington the suggestion, that they were not averse to his thoughtful brow being begirt with a diadem. He rebuked the idea with stern indignation, and requested that it might never again be alluded to.
In the spring of 1783, intelligence arrived that a treaty of peace had been signed at Paris, and that the independence of the United States had been acknowledged by the British Government. Shortly afterward, a cessation of hostilities was announced, and arrangements were made for the evacuation of New York. On a November morning, the English troops finally embarked; a long procession, with Washington at its head, made formal entry and took possession of the city. At his side—followed by the provincial functionaries, officers, senators, and citizens—rode the governor, who closed the proceedings of the memorable day with a costly banquet. Yet, however flattering to their pride as a new nation, the ceremony was not altogether unsuggestive of melancholy considerations. The chief, the greatest, the most conspicuous actor in it, must have been conscious of mixed feelings; and it was natural that, a few days later, when parting with his warlike associates, his emotion should have been visible. He had conducted a great civil war; he had triumphed where the most sanguine might, without reproach have despaired; and he had throughout, without an interval, exhibited high mental dignity. He had earned the position of a prince, and the proud title of “Father of his country;” won for himself glorious renown, and achieved national independence for millions. But it was impossible to look for a moment to the future, enveloped as it then was in uncertainty, without recollecting—perhaps not without a sigh—that America was no longer a portion of that mighty empire on which the sun never sets; reared by Saxon sagacity, and sustained by Norman valor; constituted by the toil of the wise, and consecrated by the blood of the brave; and to whose immemorial institutions he had lately been as much attached as the inhabitants of Kent or Northumberland.
When Washington resigned the command of that army with which he had outmanœuvred the tactics of successive generals, and brought a war with the most powerful nation in the world to a triumphant issue, he was still in his fifty-first year; but he had a right to believe that his long and continuous services entitled him to repose. He had affluence and station; he did not covet power; and he looked forward to the enjoyment of calm, contemplative retirement, till, in God’s appointed time, he should sleep with his fathers. He therefore went to Mount Vernon, devised schemes of internal navigation for developing the resources and extending the commerce of the country, and seems even to have indulged in prophetic visions of that vast trade which has since crowded the docks of Liverpool and stocked the warehouses of Manchester. It was then that he had the satisfaction of welcoming the visit of Lafayette, whose friendship he highly esteemed, and whose former services he duly appreciated. They parted with mutual regret; never to meet again.
While planting his grounds, pruning his fruit-trees, improving his property, receiving complimentary visits, answering courteous congratulations, and preparing peacefully to descend the pathway of life, under the shadow of his own vine and fig-tree—envious of none, and determined to be pleased with all—Washington became painfully aware that the system of government then existing did not meet the wishes and requirements of the American public. Indeed, some were so apprehensive of fatal consequences, that they were gradually inspired with the desire of receiving, from among the royal families of Europe, a prince who should wear a crown, exercise sovereign sway, and control the conflicting elements then making themselves felt for evil. To pour oil on the troubled waters, a Convention was appointed to devise a form of government calculated to give general satisfaction. Washington was chosen chairman; and, as such, affixed his name to the new constitution, which, though not coming up to the perfection of ideal theories, was ratified by the States and adopted by the people.
This scheme—in regard to which Franklin said, “I consent to it, because I expect no better, and because I am not sure it is not the best; the opinions I have of its errors I sacrifice to the public good”—provided for the election of a President. On this being known, all eyes were turned toward Washington, as the personage in every respect best qualified, by rank, station, and dignity, to occupy the eminence. His mind was, indeed, so tinged with the old leaven of aristocracy, that, in respect to military officers, he had requested that none but gentlemen should be considered qualified; but experience had taught him confidence in the aspirations of a free people. Every thing conspired to fit him to appear as the representative of various parties, to check the prevalence of extreme opinions, and to “stay the plague both ways.” When the day appointed for the important business arrived, he was unanimously elected; and yielding with unfeigned reluctance to the public voice, he became the first President of the United States. In this trying situation, his singleness of purpose and stainless integrity shone forth with unparalleled lustre. He ruled in truth and sincerity—not to aggrandize himself, but to benefit his country. Though ungifted with the brilliant qualities which dazzle an ambitious people, and disdaining the demagogic arts too often employed to mislead them—his sound judgment, steady mind, and powerful understanding, enabled him to deal with the difficulties he had to encounter, and avoid or remove the obstacles that came in his way. He piloted the vessel he had launched through troublous times. With a firm hand and a bold heart he maintained the balance between the contending factions, exhibited a resolution not to be overcome or overawed, and in 1796 retired from the position to which he had imparted dignity with the respect, sympathy, and veneration of all parties and all nations.