The Mother of Washington and Her Times

by Sara Agnes Rice Pryor

Washington's Reception at Trenton.

And so—on and on—until at Elizabeth Point he entered the barge with white satin canopy, which was to bring him to New York. Parties of ladies and gentlemen followed the barge singing pæans of welcome. In his diary that night he records, "The display of boats, the songs, the instrumental music, the decorations of the ships, the roar of cannon, the loud acclamations filled my mind with sensations as painful (considering the reverse of this scene which may be the case after all my labors to do good) as they are pleasing."

For, after all, he was a sad man. He had surrendered his soldier's dream of home and peace. He had parted with his aged mother, and knew that he could not minister to her in her last few months of life. He was too great a man to permit such things as these—applause, laurel, songs, salvos of artillery—to fill his heart or even his imagination with pleasure.

She heard it all! Doubtless her mental commentary was her old refrain: "This is too much praise! George has only done his duty."

The world still shares—still marvels at—the worship of Washington then and now. As Lecky says, "He entered the scene as only a conspicuous member of the planter aristocracy, his mind not quick or original, no brilliancy of wit, entirely without the gift of eloquence, with few accomplishments, no language except his own, nothing to dazzle or overpower." Moreover, he had not a university training at home or abroad, and no foreign travel to enlarge his vision. His was the splendid triumph of character—character inherited and fostered in the formative years of his life by a faithful mother. No one can read the just eulogy of the accomplished nineteenth-century English writer, without perceiving the close resemblance—in temperament and character—between the two.

"Those who knew him noticed that he had keen sensibilities and strong passions; but his power of self-command never failed him, and no act of his life can be traced to personal caprice, ambition or resentment. In the despondency of long-continued failure, in the elation of sudden success, at times when the soldiers were deserting by hundreds and malignant plots were formed against his reputation, amid the constant quarrels, rivalries and jealousies of his subordinates, in the dark hour of national ingratitude and in the midst of the most intoxicating flattery, he was always the same calm, wise, just and single-minded man, pursuing the cause which he believed to be right without fear or favour or fanaticism."

In short, he triumphed over all through the strength of a character, firm as a rock, which no storm could shake or dislodge. The English writer himself marvels at the unchallenged worship of the world, and he thus explains it. "He was in the highest sense a gentleman and a man of honour. It was always known by his friends, and it was soon acknowledged by the nation and by the English themselves, that in Washington, America had found a leader who could be induced by no earthly motive to tell a falsehood or to break an engagement or to commit a dishonourable act."

Whatever may be the deep, underlying cause of the idolatry of the American people, it certainly inspires all classes of men. He is the star to which all eyes gratefully turn—the wise and unlettered, rich and poor. Other heroes are, and deserve to be, admitted into their hearts: but they jealously hold for him the chiefest, holiest place.

"See here, do you expect to get to heaven?" was asked of a peculiarly profane lad—a "hard case"—who indignantly answered: "Course I do! Don't you suppose I want to see General Washington?"