Part 16

"At the time I speak of, he stood in profound silence and had the statue-like air which mental greatness alone can bestow. As he turned to enter the building, and was ascending the staircase to the Congressional hall, I glided along unseen, almost under the cover of the skirts of his dress, and entered into the lobby of the House, which was in session to receive him.

"At Washington's entrance there was a most profound silence. House, lobbies, gallery, all were wrapped in deepest attention. And the souls of the entire assemblage seemed peering from their eyes as the noble figure deliberately and unaffectedly advanced up the broad aisle of the hall between ranks of standing Senators and members, and slowly ascended the steps leading to the Speaker's chair.

"The President, having seated himself, remained in silence, and the members took their seats, waiting for the speech. No house of worship was ever more profoundly still than that large and crowded chamber.

"Washington was dressed precisely as Stuart has painted him in full-length portrait--in a full suit of the richest black velvet, with diamond knee-buckles and square silver buckles set upon shoes japanned with most scrupulous neatness; black silk stockings, his shirt ruffled at the breast and waist, a light dress sword, his hair profusely powdered, fully dressed, so as to project at the sides, and gathered behind in a silk bag ornamented with a large rose or black ribbon. He held his cocked hat, which had a large black cockade on one side of it, in his hand, as he advanced toward the chair, and when seated, laid it on the table.

"At length thrusting his hand within the side of his coat, he drew forth a roll of manuscript which he opened, and rising, read in a rich, deep, full, sonorous voice his opening address to Congress. His enunciation was deliberate, justly emphasized, very distinct, and accompanied with an air of deep solemnity as being the utterance of a mind conscious of the whole responsibility of its position, but not oppressed by it. There was ever about the man something which impressed one with the conviction that he was exactly and fully equal to what he had to do. He was never hurried; never negligent; but seemed ever prepared for the occasion, be it what it might. In his study, in his parlor, at a levee, before Congress, at the head of the army, he seemed ever to be just what the situation required. He possessed, in a degree never equaled by any human being I ever saw, the strongest, most ever-present sense of propriety."

In the early part of Washington's administration, great complaints were made by political opponents of the aristocratic and royal demeanor of the President. Particularly, these complaints were about the manner of his receiving visitors. In a letter Washington gave account of the origin of his levees: "Before the custom was established," he wrote, "which now accommodates foreign characters, strangers, and others, who, from motives of curiosity, respect for the chief magistrate, or other cause, are induced to call upon me, I was unable to attend to any business whatever; for gentlemen, consulting their own convenience rather than mine, were calling after the time I rose from breakfast, and often before, until I sat down to dinner. This, as I resolved not to neglect my public duties, reduced me to the choice of one of these alternatives: either to refuse visits altogether, or to appropriate a time for the reception of them.... To please everybody was impossible. I, therefore, adopted that line of conduct which combined public advantage with private convenience.... These visits are optional, they are made without invitation; between the hours of three and four every Tuesday I am prepared to receive them. Gentlemen, often in great numbers, come and go, chat with each other, and act as they please. A porter shows them into the room, and they retire from it when they choose, without ceremony. At their first entrance they salute me, and I them, and as many as I can talk to."

An English gentleman, after visiting President Washington, wrote: "There was a commanding air in his appearance which excited respect and forbade too great a freedom toward him, independently of that species of awe which is always felt in the moral influence of a great character? In every movement, too, there was a polite gracefulness equal to any met with in the most polished individuals of Europe, and his smile was extraordinarily attractive.... It struck me no man could be better formed for command. A stature of six feet, a robust but well-proportioned frame calculated to stand fatigue, without that heaviness which generally attends great muscular strength and abates active exertion, displayed bodily power of no mean standard. A light eye and full--the very eye of genius and reflection. His nose appeared thick, and though it befitted his other features, was too coarsely and strongly formed to be the handsomest of its class. His mouth was like no other I ever saw: the lips firm, and the under jaw seeming to grasp the upper with force, as if its muscles were in full action when he sat still."

Such Washington appeared to those who saw and knew him. Such he remains to our vision. His memory is held by us in undying honor. Not only his memory alone, but also the memory of his associates in the struggle for American Independence. Homage we should have in our hearts for those patriots and heroes and sages who with humble means raised their native land--now our native land--from the depths of dependence, and made it a free nation. And especially for Washington, who presided over the nation's course at the beginning of the great experiment in self-government and, after an unexampled career in the service of freedom and our human-kind, with no dimming of august fame, died calmly at Mount Vernon--the Father of his Country.

FOOTNOTES:

From "Heroes Every Child Should Know." Copyright, 1906, by Doubleday, Page & Co.

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WASHINGTON'S LAST DAYS

BY ELIZABETH EGGLESTON SEELYE

Once more before he died Washington was called into public life for a short time. President Adams had sent three commissioners to France. The French Minister, Talleyrand, treated them ill, and sent secret agents to them to let them know that nothing would be done until they paid large bribes. The three Americans sent home cipher dispatches in which they told how they had been received. President Adams thought best to publish these dispatches, putting the letters X, Y, and Z in place of the names of the secret agents. These papers came to be known as the X, Y, and Z dispatches, and they caused great excitement in America. The cry was, "Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute," and the war spirit rose very high. Everyone wished Washington to be the leader in case there should be war with France. President Adams accordingly wrote to Washington, asking him to accept the command of the new army which was to be formed. Washington accepted, on condition that he was not to be called into service unless there should really be war, and that he should be allowed to name the chief officers who were to serve under him. He wished to put a young and able man second in command--for old officers seldom make good ones--so he chose Hamilton first, then Pinckney, and then Knox. Adams disliked Hamilton, and tried to place Knox second in command, as this old officer thought his due. There was some trouble between Washington and Adams on this point, but Adams was forced to give way to the great leader. Washington went to Philadelphia in the fall of 1798, to work over army plans with his major-generals. It seemed possible that he might have to lead the Americans against one of Napoleon's great armies. But though he made careful preparations, Washington did not believe that there would be war. He thought, however, that preparing for war would be the best way to bring about peace. And so it proved; for no sooner did Talleyrand see that the Americans were really aroused than he caused it to be intimated to the American Minister at Holland that he would treat another envoy better. Adams accordingly sent one to France, and war was finally averted, though the news of the settlement did not reach America until after the death of her great General.

Washington had said, "I am of a short-lived family, and cannot remain long upon the earth." In fact, his sister and all of his brothers except one died before he did. According to his usual careful habits, he made out a long paper, in which he planned how his estates should be managed for several years, with a rotation of crops. He finished this paper only four days before his death. The day before he was taken ill he walked out with his nephew, Lawrence Lewis, who was married to Nelly Custis and living at Mount Vernon, and talked to him about building a new family vault. "This change," said he, "I shall make first of all, for I may require it before the rest."

On the 12th of December, 1799, Washington made the tour, as usual, of his plantations. The weather was very bad. There was rain, hail, and snow falling at different times, and a cold wind blowing. It was after three o'clock when he returned. Mr. Lear, his secretary, brought him some letters to be franked, for he intended to send them to the post office that afternoon. Washington franked the letters, but said that the weather was too bad to send a servant out with them. Lear noticed that the General's neck appeared to be wet, and that there was snow clinging to his hair. He spoke to him about it, but Washington said that he was not wet, as his greatcoat had protected him. He went to dinner, which was waiting for him, without changing his clothes. The next day he complained of a sore throat, and remained in the house in the morning, as it was snowing hard. In the afternoon, however, he went out to mark some trees which he wished cut down, between the house and the river. He was quite hoarse by evening. He sat in the parlor, however, with Mrs. Washington and Lear, reading the papers which had been brought from the post office. He read some things aloud in spite of his hoarseness. At nine o'clock Mrs. Washington went to the room of her granddaughter Nelly, whose first child had recently been born. The two gentlemen continued to read the papers, and Washington seemed cheerful. Once he became excited over some political event, and used some of the strong words he could command on occasion. Before they went to bed, Lear advised the General to take something for his cold.

"No," said Washington; "you know I never take anything for a cold. Let it go as it came."

During the night, however, he had a chill, and awoke Mrs. Washington, telling her that he felt ill. She wished to get up, but he would not allow her to do this, lest she should take cold. When the servant came into the room to make a fire at daylight, Mrs. Washington sent for Lear, and got up herself. The General was now breathing with difficulty, and could scarcely speak. Lear sent for Dr. Craik, and meantime Washington told him to send for Mr. Rawlins, an overseer, to bleed him. Rawlins came soon after sunrise, and trembled at the prospect of opening a vein on the great man's arm. "Don't be afraid," said Washington; and when the vein had been opened, he added, "the orifice is not large enough." Mrs. Washington did not approve of the bleeding before the doctor came, but Washington said, "More, more." It was a universal remedy in those days, but it brought no relief to the sufferer.

During the day three doctors arrived. Washington was bled three times; blisters were applied to the throat and the feet; all that medical science could do in that day was tried, but without success. The disease was an acute laryngitis, and could have been relieved only by tracheotomy, which was not practical in the South, though it had been tried in Philadelphia at an earlier date. About half-past four in the afternoon the sick man asked Mrs. Washington to go downstairs and fetch two wills from his desk. He looked at them, and asked her to burn one of them, which she did. Lear now came to his bedside and took his hand.

"I find I am going," Washington said to him. "My breath cannot last long. I believed from the first that the disorder would prove fatal. Do you arrange and record all my late military letters and papers. Arrange my accounts and settle my books, as you know more about them than anyone else, and let Mr. Rawlins finish recording my other letters which he has begun."

Washington asked Lear whether he thought of anything else that ought to be done; he had but a very short time, he said, to remain with his friends. The secretary answered that he could think of nothing, and that he hoped the General was not so near his end as he thought. Washington smiled, and said that he certainly was, "and that, as it was a debt which we must all pay, he looked on the event with perfect resignation."

Sometimes he seemed to be in pain and distress from the difficulty of breathing, and was very restless. Lear would then lie down upon the bed and raise and turn him as gently as possibly. Washington often said, "I am afraid I shall fatigue you too much"; and when the young man assured him that he wished for nothing but to give him ease, Washington replied:

"Well, it is a debt we must pay to each other, and I hope that when you want aid of this kind you will find it."

He noticed that his servant, Christopher, had been standing most of the day, and told him to sit down. He asked when his nephew Lewis and his adopted son Custis, who were away from home, would return. When his lifelong friend, Dr. Craik, came to his bedside, he said: "Doctor, I die hard, but I am not afraid to go. I believed from my first attack that I should not survive it. My breath cannot last long." The doctor was unable to answer from grief, and could only press his hand.

He afterward said to all the physicians: "I feel myself going. I thank you for your attentions; but, I pray you, take no more trouble about me. Let me go off quietly; I cannot last long." He continued to be restless and uneasy, but made no complaints, only asking now and then what time it was. When Lear helped him to move, he gave the secretary a look of gratitude. About ten o'clock at night he made several efforts to speak to Lear before he could do so. He finally said: "I am just going. Have me decently buried; and do not let my body be put into the vault in less than three days after I am dead." Lear nodded, for he could not speak.

"Do you understand?" asked Washington.

"Yes."

"'Tis well," said the dying man.