Martha Washington (22 page)

On September 9, accompanied by two aides, George galloped sixty miles out of the way to arrive at Mount Vernon late on a golden autumn afternoon. The first sight of his cherished home in more than six years must have filled his heart with joy, as he examined the ongoing construction and noted time's effects on frame buildings. For the first time, he set eyes on the four grandchildren, including his latest little namesake.

He spent three nights at home, dictating letters to militia, state, and county officials to repair the road to be used by the army, to shore up the fords for the use of the wagons, and to rush supplies to the new front. He himself wrote to Lafayette of their imminent arrival with a gleeful postscript: “I hope you will keep Lord Cornwallis safe, without Provisions or Forage untill we arrive. Adieu.”

The French generals and their suites followed close behind. They spent their days plotting, planning, and trying to foresee enemy action. Martha was in her element, seeing that the house servants made up sufficient beds, put out soap and towels, warmed water to clean off the dust of the road, and prepared meals that more than made up for the skimpy rations at New Windsor. Washington's aide Jonathan Trumbull recorded, “An elegant seat and situation: great appearance of opulence and real exhibitions of hospitality and princely entertainment.”

When the generals rejoined their troops on the march, Jack Custis decided to go along. Family lore and nineteenth-century romanticism to the contrary, Jack doesn't seem to have been appointed as an aide. Rather, he was an observer without duties, free to visit family and friends in the neighborhood. He spent a night at Pamocra, visiting his uncle Bat Dandridge and his grandmother Fanny Jones Dandridge, who lived with the family; she had started to show “her great Age [seventy-one].” He also looked in on his aunt Betsy Dandridge Henley and inquired after runaway slaves from Mount Vernon, many of whom had died of want in the Williamsburg neighborhood. His sole comment on the siege of Yorktown, begun on September 28, was that “the General tho in constant Fatigue looks very well.”

Washington may have been cheated of the attack on New York, but Yorktown turned out to be a fine replacement. For once, fortune smiled: the French fleet and both American and French troops arrived at the same time at the same place, and they besieged Yorktown, where Cornwallis and his army were securely trapped. This time, the British navy wasn't able to come to the rescue. On October 17, after less than three weeks of bloody bombardments, attacks, sorties, scant rations, and lack of reinforcements, an enraged Cornwallis signaled for terms to end a hopeless situation. Two days of negotiation ensued, with the British attempting to dictate terms while Washington put them firmly in their place.

On October 19, Cornwallis and his eight thousand men marched out—the officers to be sent home in exchange for captured American officers, the soldiers to be imprisoned in camps in Virginia and Maryland. A treasure trove of weapons, ammunition, artillery, equipment, boats, and Cornwallis's literal war chest filled with hard money fell into American hands. Yorktown was the culminating moment of the American Revolution. After that, it was all over but the shouting—but not anytime soon.

Disposition of American brigades, British and German prisoners, the wounded of both sides, and all the booty; reports to Congress, far-flung military officers, and state officials; inspection of all the work in progress; plans for the future—Washington didn't stop for days on end. That summer, Congress had sent peace commissioners Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, John Jay, and Henry Laurens to join John Adams in France. Besides sending a copy of the capitulation and “a summary return of prisoners and cannons” to Congress, Washington sent another copy directly to Franklin in Paris on a French frigate dispatched by de Grasse to avoid delay. As he wrote, “Recent intelligence of Milit[ar]y Transactions must be important to our Ministers in Europe at the present period of Affairs.”

Sometime during the siege, Jack Custis contracted a “camp fever,” probably typhus, which was endemic in the crowding and filth of army camps. Washington had him taken to nearby Eltham to be nursed by the Bassetts. Typhus was nowhere near as dangerous as smallpox, and his stepfather probably wasn't particularly worried as he continued preparations to return north. Far from recovering, however, Jack sank deeper into illness and fever. A messenger was sent to Mount Vernon to fetch Martha and Nelly, who rushed to his bedside.

Washington finished off his many tasks and left for Eltham to visit Burwell Bassett on November 5. To his surprise, his wife and daughter-in-law were there. He barely had time to see Jack Custis one last time before the young man died, three weeks short of his twenty-seventh birthday. Jack hadn't achieved much in his short life. He hadn't done well at his studies or farming and had never considered a profession or the military. In the years since he had taken over his great estate, it had fallen considerably in value through his own inept management and through the dishonesty of a trusted friend. His three years' service in the General Assembly had been undistinguished.

But he was a loving and lovable son and husband, and his mother and wife grieved deeply for him. Although frequently exasperated by his fecklessness, George also cared for Jack, and his sorrow was intensified by worry for Martha, who was stunned at the loss of her last child. To outlive all four of her children was a terrible burden for such a loving mother.

There was no question of Washington's leaving for Philadelphia until he had taken care of his wife. Congress would have to wait. Jack was buried in the private cemetery at Eltham, with the family in attendance. Martha's brother Bat agreed to administer the estate for Nelly; George couldn't take on that responsibility during wartime. The sad cortege returned to Mount Vernon while George took a side trip to Fredericksburg to call on his mother, whom he hadn't seen since before the war.

When he discovered that Mary Washington was out of town on a visit, he left five guineas for her and went on home. Although she publicly complained of her poverty with the most embarrassing regularity, George was always generous with his mother, and she was very comfortably fixed in her town house. While she finally thanked her son for the money, the letter was otherwise a model of selfishness. Without a mention of Yorktown, she begged him to build her a cabin over the mountains. She did send her love to Martha, adding, “I would have wrote to her but my reason has jis left me.” She didn't mention Jack's death.

George stayed at Mount Vernon for a week before leaving for Philadelphia, where he planned to meet with congressmen and other politicians. As he wrote Nathanael Greene, “I shall attempt to stimulate Congress to the best Improvement of our late Success.” Otherwise, he feared that they might “fall into a State of Langour and Relaxation.” Despite the great victory, George III might prove as obstinate as ever. The war wouldn't be over until a treaty was signed.

Yorktown was on every American's lips. Rather than stay at home in her sorrow, Martha decided to go with her husband for the comfort of his presence. This trip was a reprise of 1775, with escorts, addresses, and cheering crowds. Philadelphia, as usual, outdid every place in its welcome. In addition to the usual celebratory illumination of lanterns and candles placed on windowsills, large transparent paintings, lit from behind, covered many windows like glowing shades. Patriotic and allegorical themes ran riot.

Washington's meetings with Congress were generally successful, as they heeded at least some of his advice about improved military and civilian organization. They agreed to keep and supply an army in the field for the immediate future. The British still held two of the new nation's largest ports—New York and Charleston. Everyone wanted to entertain the hero. Martha also attended some functions, but without her usual zest. George described these “parties of pleasure” as “nearly of a sameness” and “too unimportant for description.” He was there to prevent any congressional backsliding before peace was actually achieved.

Business finally accomplished, the Washingtons and their escort left Philadelphia on March 22, 1782, stopping at several encampments before arriving at headquarters a week later. Their new home was a sturdy Dutch farmhouse, a one-story building of stone, at Newburgh, New York, on a hill with a beautiful view of the Hudson River. The largest room in the house was a dining room. To a French visitor, a smoking fireplace and the oddity of the room—seven doors and only one window—were worthy of comment. During the day, a small room was used as a parlor; with the addition of a cot, it became a guest room.

Martha went home in midsummer to look after her grandchildren and widowed daughter-in-law. George hoped to join her there later in the year but found the temper of the army too sullen to allow him to leave. Guests stopped for a visit at Mount Vernon as freely as ever.

Washington's hoped-for summer campaign came to nothing in 1782. He had too few troops, and the French fleet was defeated by the British, with de Grasse taken prisoner. The British Parliament voted against further war, opening peace negotiations with the American commissioners and withdrawing troops from the inland south. Only on the frontier did the violence continue. In November, a preliminary peace treaty was signed; and in December, the British evacuated Charleston. But they still had an army in New York.

During 1782 and 1783, negotiations for the final treaty dragged on endlessly in Paris, with both British enemies and French allies attempting to hobble the new nation and her potential for full independence and growth. Washington would not abandon his post until a treaty was officially signed and ratified. Frustrated and bored, he sent for Martha to keep him company; in December 1782, she came back to the same Dutch farmhouse in Newburgh. All was anticlimax and tedium. One by one, the aides resigned and returned to their own affairs. As Washington wrote, “Time passed heavily on in this dreary mansion in which we are fast locked by frost and snow.” A month or two could easily pass without news from Paris. Their mission accomplished, the French troops went home after emotional farewells.

Neither Congress nor the states had done well by their soldiers and officers. Accepting the sacrifice of years of their lives, civilian authorities hesitated to take unpopular measures to raise money to pay the military back wages (sometimes very far in arrears), assure promised pensions, or care for the disabled. There had been several mutinies or near mutinies by enlisted men in the last couple of years, but now even some officers were starting to murmur about asserting themselves while they were still armed and had troops under their command. On March 10, 1783, an unsigned address was circulated among the officers, calling for a meeting to assert their right to fair treatment. A pamphlet was also distributed that was a virtual call to use military force against Congress.

Washington's general orders the next day were firm, expressing his “disapprobation of such disorderly proceedings” and requesting an official meeting on March 15. The temper of that meeting was rebellious even after their commander walked in and made some introductory comments. But when he started to read his prepared remarks, he had to put on his glasses, and as he did so he said, “Gentlemen, you will permit me to put on my spectacles, for I have not only grown gray, but almost blind, in the service of my country.” The right words at the right time broke the possible mutiny; loyal officers took over and worked out a compromise with Congress.

Martha was with him during this stressful time, supporting him as he mediated the estrangement between the army that had been treated so shabbily and the Congress (and civil authority) to which he had committed his loyalty. In the next months, he granted furloughs generously, particularly to disaffected troops, keeping them out of trouble and anticipating that they would be demobilized at home. In April 1783, news of an armistice and a provisional peace agreement arrived at camp.

That summer, Congress left Philadelphia when unpaid troops marched in the streets. They reconvened at Princeton, New Jersey, and summoned Washington there. He postponed their departure until late August 1784 because he still had military affairs to wind up in New York and because Martha was again “exceedingly unwell.” He had no intention of moving until her health allowed her to make the journey with him. He finally left Knox in command on the Hudson River and moved his headquarters to Rocky Hills, New Jersey, four miles north of Princeton. He and Martha moved into the home of Judge Berrien, a two-story frame building with piazzas on a hill a short distance from the Millstone River.

The only soldiers there were Washington's aides and his guards, whose tents dotted the lawn before the house, along with their captain's marquee. A young painter enjoyed visiting the house, where he made a crayon drawing of the general. He wrote, “I was quite at home in every respect at head-quarters; to breakfast and dine day after day with the general and Mrs. Washington, and members of congress, and noticed as the young painter, was delicious.”

Martha finally went back to Mount Vernon in early October, “before the weather and roads shou'd get bad,” to prepare for their homecoming. The Revolutionary years of crowded accommodations and jolting coaches would be over very soon, she hoped, and she and her “Old Man” could resume their peaceful life.

At last, at long last, in November, the final treaty arrived and Washington could go home. Congress had adjourned on November 4, to reconvene at Annapolis on November 26. Washington disbanded the bulk of the army and made plans to reoccupy New York City when the British finally left. Washington and Clinton rode at the head of a small force into the city on November 25. New York was a shambles, much worse than Boston had been. In more than seven years' occupation, trees and bushes had been chopped down, fences and small buildings torn to pieces—all consumed as fuel for British fires.