He was the model farmer of his time. Though not a student in the ordinary acceptation of the term, he read a good deal on agricultural and kindred subjects, investigated the nature and character of his soils, and grew his crops on a scientific basis. Fond of flowers and trees, he was never weary of ornamenting his estate with the choicest specimens, native and foreign, that he could find. Life for him had flowed along in this tranquil way during a period of fifteen years when the first mutterings of the Revolutionary storm were borne to Mount Vernon. He was as eager to do battle for the rights of his country as any gentleman within the boundaries of the thirteen colonies. The war came, and he was chosen commander-in-chief. Before he departed for the scene of operations in New England, he gave his superintendent minute instructions in regard to the management of his property while he was absent. During the progress of the long struggle, he corresponded with him as frequently as possible, and an immense number of letters, written from the camp and his ever-shifting headquarters, many of them before and immediately after important engagements, attest the deep interest he took in the smallest matter connected with his beloved home. The manager is told what crops to sow in different fields; the precise spots on which young trees of different families should be planted, and what old and decaying ones should be cut down. We can see in these curious and interesting letters how deeply he was attached to every animate, and indeed inanimate, object on his estate, and how he yearned to be restored to them. Only once in the long eight years did he visit Mount Vernon. He was then on his way to lay siege to Cornwallis at Yorktown, and finally receive the sword of the best English general in America. To describe his outdoor life while in the army would be to re-tell the story of the Revolution.
At last the end came, and the foremost commander of his age, the liberator of his country, was again a private citizen and a country gentleman. Mount Vernon had suffered severely from his long absence, for his instructions had been imperfectly carried out. The soil was in many places exhausted by successive crops of tobacco, while the necessity for extensive repairs confronted him on every hand. He was fifty-one years of age. The work of restoring his estate to its former splendid condition was at once begun. He plunged into agriculture with all the ardor of his youthful days. In a letter to Lafayette, he describes his feelings at this time. “At length,” he writes, “I am become a private citizen on the banks of the Potomac, and, under the shade of my own fig-tree, free from the excitement of the camp and the busy scenes of public life, I am solacing myself with those tranquil enjoyments of which the soldier, who is ever in pursuit of fame, the statesman whose watchful days and sleepless nights are spent in devising schemes to promote the welfare of his own, perhaps the ruin of other countries (as if this globe were insufficient for us all), and the courtier, who is always watching the countenance of his prince in hopes of catching a gracious smile, can have very little conception.” Troops of friends and admirers visited him in his retirement and were entertained in a most hospitable manner.
In the autumn he began on a systematic plan to renovate his worn-out fields; each parcel of land was numbered, and the precise crops to be planted in it were set down several years in advance. This method proved so successful that he adhered to it during the remainder of his life. He next turned his attention to his grounds. Early in the spring he began with the lawn. To it he transferred the choicest trees in his forests, setting them out with evergreens and flowering shrubs intermingled in such a manner as to produce the most pleasing effect. The removal and replanting of each one received his personal attention, and from day to day he watched them with the greatest solicitude, keeping in his diary the record of their life or death. Next came the replenishing of his orchards and gardens. Fruit-trees of rare and valuable varieties were procured at whatever cost. Flowering shrubs were planted in abundance—in fact, nothing that could add to the beauty and decoration of Mount Vernon was left undone. The pruning-knife now took the place of the sword, and he never tired of wandering among his plants, cutting away useless branches and shoots which marred their beauty or hurt their growth. There was no law on the statute book against foreign contract labor, and he imported skilful gardeners to enable him to carry out his plans of improvement. His habits were most regular. He was out of bed with the sun, and the hours until breakfast were passed in his study, writing letters or reading. Breakfast over, his horse was ready at the door to take him on the round of his farms. If his guests wished to accompany him, or to make excursions into the surrounding country, horses for them also were led out. Returning from his fields, he again shut himself up in his study, where he remained until three o’clock, when dinner was announced. The remainder of the day and evening was given to his guests until ten o’clock, when he retired.
The repose of this fascinating life was not destined to be of long duration. With the close of the war the young confederacy found itself confronted with new difficulties and dangers. To meet them, and bring order out of the political chaos, there assembled that body of patriotic and illustrious men who, as the result of their deliberations, gave the world the constitution of the United States. Washington presided over their deliberations, and, in due time, his election to the Presidency followed. It was hard to be compelled again to leave Mount Vernon and to abandon all his cherished plans for its improvement. This entry is found in his diary in the summer of 1789: “At ten o’clock I bade adieu to Mount Vernon, to private life and to domestic felicity, and with a mind oppressed with more anxious and painful emotions than I have words to express, set out for New York, having in company Mr. Thomson and Colonel Humphrey; with the best dispositions to render service to my country in obedience to its call, but with less hope of answering its expectations.” He was loath to leave home for many private reasons, chief among which was his desire to pursue the system he had matured for the improvement of his estate. Since the war he had procured from England the best works on agriculture, and was impatient to put his ideas and theories into practical operation. Now all had to be given up, at least for four years, when, he hoped, the term of his second servitude in public life would come to an end. But what was to be done in the meantime? The seat of government was hundreds of miles away, and roads next to impassable except at certain seasons of the year, made communications tedious and difficult. He did the best thing possible, namely, to appoint a manager and leave with him instructions in writing for his guidance.
These instructions throw a strong light on the character of Washington, a light for which we might search in vain among the many volumes of his State papers, public addresses and private correspondence. His dearest interests were involved in the management of his property, and he naturally wrote with a freedom, directness and emphasis concerning it which he scarcely could have employed on any other occasion. In these simple memoranda, made when he was on the eve of assuming the highest honor his country could confer—an honor all the greater because of the transcendent ability and character it was supposed the position demanded—we can see, that while the world was ringing with the fame of his achievements, his innermost thoughts were occupied with those beloved fields on which he had lavished so much care. He intended that everything should run along in his absence precisely as if he were present. There is a military ring in the following sentences which reveals the old commander-in-chief: “One thing I cannot forbear to put in strong terms. It is that whenever I order a thing to be done it must be done; or a reason given at the time, or as soon as the impracticability can be discovered why it cannot be done, which will produce a countermand or a change. But it is not for the person receiving the order to suspend or dispense with its execution; and, after it has been supposed to have gone into effect, to be told that nothing has been done in it; that it will be done or that it could not be done—either of these is unpleasant and disagreeable to me, having been all my life accustomed to regularity and punctuality. Nothing but system and method are required to accomplish any reasonable requests.” Due notice that he will expect every man to do his duty at Mount Vernon while he is in New York is given as follows: “To request that my people must be at work as soon as it is light; work until it is dark, and be diligent while they are at it, can hardly be necessary, because the propriety of it must strike every manager who attends to my interests, or regards his own character, and he, on reflecting, must be convinced that lost labor is never to be regained.” His plan, or system, was very comprehensive. It contained instructions what to plant and where to plant it, not only for the year but for many years in advance. Every one of the five overseers was required to make a minute weekly report concerning the operations on the farm he had in charge. This was given to the manager and by him sent to the President. The work performed by the laborers and their condition, whether ill or well, were to be noted. The slightest incident or accident connected with everything on the estate—the stock, the crops, the trees, the fences, the farming implements—was to be made known to him. And, no matter how public business pressed, time and opportunity were found or made, during all the eight years of the Presidency, to consider and attend to the affairs of Mount Vernon. Each weekly report was closely examined and answered, sometimes at great length.
“STAY SIR! DO NOT KILL THAT REPTILE.”
This extract from one of his communications shows how closely he watched his slaves and how well he was acquainted with them personally: “What sort of sickness is Dick’s that he should have been confined with it for weeks? And what kind of sickness is Betty Davis’s that it should have a similar effect upon her? If pretended ailments without apparent causes or visible effects will screen her from work, I shall get no service out of her, for a more lazy, deceitful and impudent huzzy is not to be found in the United States than she is.” In another letter, he refers to a young negro whom he wished to have trained as a house-servant. “Put him in the house,” he says, “give him good clothes, so as to make him self-respecting, and a stout horn comb. Make him comb his hair, or wool, so that it will grow long.”
What a many-sided character Washington possessed! No President ever held the helm of state more firmly than he did during those eight years while the young Republic was beginning its career as a nation. The ablest men in our history as a people were then in public life, but he was the master of them all. He was supreme in a cabinet containing two men of such vast acquirements as Hamilton and Jefferson, and he ruled them as completely as he governed “Dick” and “impudent Betty Davis” down at Mount Vernon.
The summer months were usually spent on his estate, though not invariably. During the Presidency, he traveled a good deal in different parts of the country—Long Island, the Eastern States, and down South and out West. No man of his time probably knew the geography and topography of the country better than he did. As we have pointed out, the French-Indian war led him across the Alleghanies, and he twice again visited that region, less known then almost than the middle of Africa is to-day. He explored the middle of New York with De Witt Clinton, penetrated to the very centre of the Dismal Swamp, and took the field once more when the Whisky Insurrection broke out.