There were colonists who lived there, they had just fought for the land, and the king—God save the king, indeed, from himself—proclaimed that they could not settle there. So much for the war, and so much for the Crown’s interest in colonial settlements.
The proclamation itself did not last long and was inevitably pointless, as treaties with the Indian nations and with tribes in 1768 made the initial issue by the king unnecessary.
George Washington himself was affected, angry even, and several years later took charge of securing two hundred thousand acres—as was promised—for his troops at Fort Necessity. He called it a “cursory manner” in a letter to Governor Norborne Berkeley, Baron of Botetourt, but in private he must have been seething.10
THE REVENUE ACT OF 1762 WAS IMPOSED TO STOP ILLEGAL COLONIAL TRADE of molasses and other goods between so-called smugglers and the French, who circumvented customs agents. This spurred, over the next five years, act after act of more taxes and restrictions levied by Parliament on the colonies. British soldiers searched houses with impunity, infuriating the colonists.
In 1763, the Customs Act was similarly intended to increase enforcement against molasses smugglers. British naval warships often blockaded ports of trade, with ships of the line unyielding over colonial harbors.
In 1764, the Sugar Act, replacing the ineffective and earlier Molasses Act, placed a smaller tax on sugar and molasses to 3 pence per gallon, instead of the previous 6 pence. It was a noble intention to some, bitter medicine to others. Richard Jackson, a member of the House of Commons and correspondent of Benjamin Franklin, supported it, though he proposed an even smaller tax of 1.5 pence per gallon. Franklin, writing from Philadelphia, however, was cautious, saying, “If it is not finally found to hurt us, we shall grow contented with it; and as it will, if it hurts us, hurt you also, you will feel the Hurt and remedy it.” He noted it was making “a great Stir among our Merchants, and much is said of the ill Effects.”11 But with the drop, which was still deemed unnecessary, came stricter penalties and enforcement previously unseen.12
In 1765 the infamous Stamp Act was imposed. This was one of the most notorious—and perhaps the most egregious—of all the acts in the 1760s against the colonists. “The most momentous act of the Grenville ministry is not mentioned in the correspondence between the King and his minister,” wrote historian John Brooke. It was not outrageous to the high and mighty Britons.13 The other acts were more or less annoyances in comparison. The Stamp Act was purely internal, the first of this series, making it a wholly colonial affair.
What protests there were from the colonies before its passage—and there were many—were unheeded. “We might as well have hindered the sun’s setting,” wrote Franklin in his autobiography.14
The disastrous effect of the Stamp Act could not be understated. It was immediate and outrageous. Writing in 1785, John Andrews, in his book of the Revolution, wrote that “this famous act has justly been considered as the prelude and occasion of all the subsequent storms. . . . Its arrival in America threw immediately the whole continent into flames.”15
This one called for stamp duty on newspapers and all legal documents, enforced by tax collectors. This included land grants, surveys, legal letters and documents, mortgages, birth certificates, and bank loans, all of which were to be taxed at over 3 shillings per page. Other documents like warrants and grants were also included. Attorney licenses received the heaviest tax, at 10 pounds. For the first time, organized opposition to the Stamp Act specifically, and England generally, was heard throughout the colonies.
It was all-encompassing, affecting both the well-to-do and the more modest of colonists. For surveys with smaller tracts of land, the tax added up. For example, “a modest 200 acre plot in Virginia, worth about six pounds Virginia currency, would have required stamps on the grant, the warrant to survey the land, and the registration of the land. This amounted to three shillings, three pence sterling, or five shillings, three pence Virginia currency, slightly more than 4 percent of the purchase price,” wrote Claire Priest.16
The tax was not necessarily the issue, though it certainly added fuel to the fire between Parliament and the colonies. The tax was ineffective and rage-inducing, but it was ultimately just about money. The underlying issue was the colonists’ identity and value for the Crown and for Parliament. Who they were in law versus who they were in practice. The issue, in short, was that there was no consent or consensus with the colonists. This was, again, a wholly internal tax, and should have been decided by fellow colonists, not some distant legislature. The Virginia House of Burgesses had pleaded with the king not to break this tradition, but it was to no avail. The Stamp Act gave rise to the rallying cry “no taxation without representation.” This issue went back decades; no colonist represented them in the House of Commons. Franklin noted as such in 1754 in a letter to Governor William Shirley of Massachusetts.17
George Washington was an outspoken critic of the Stamp Act, saying it “engrosses the conversation of the speculative part of the colonists, who look upon this unconstitutional method of Taxation as a direful attack upon their Liberties.” He continued in the letter, wondering “who is to suffer most in this event—the Merchant, or the Planter.” It was a multipage dispatch to the London-based Robert Cary & Company disparaging the legislation, written by an uncharacteristically furious Washington.18
To Francis Dandridge, a relative of Martha Washington’s in London, he wrote a similar letter that same day.19
It ignited a flame in the colonies, and as opposed as Washington was, there were others more provocative, more telling in their intent. Patrick Henry, a fellow Virginian, was one such agitator, a man Thomas Jefferson compared to Homer. “Tarquin and Caesar each had his Brutus,” Henry exclaimed to the House of Burgesses on March 30, 1765, “Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the Third . . .” Aghast shouts of “Treason!” echoed through the chamber, interrupting his speech. One delegate, George Johnston of Alexandria, stood next to Henry in support.20
Henry was said to have replied, “If this be treason, make the most of it!”21
THE STAMP ACT WAS REPEALED BY PARLIAMENT IN EARLY 1766, WITH THE caveat that Parliament still had the power to assert laws on the colonies, with or without permission. But it was too late. The repeal of the Stamp Act nonetheless left a bitter taste in the mouths of many colonists.
Up north, in Boston, Massachusetts, the center of ideas and events that sparked so much of the coming decade, was an organization called the Sons of Liberty. This group’s idea of taxation without representation spread far and wide in the thirteen colonies. In Virginia, in May 1766, a group four hundred strong met at Hobbs Hole—currently known as Tappahannock, Virginia, with the Rappahannock River only a stone’s throw away. The Virginia Gazette, with the subtitle “Open to ALL Parties, but Influenced by None,” published this group’s full-page announcement. It affirmed loyalty to King George III, but noted that they, in the interest of the people of America, would not follow the Stamp Act. “The Stamp-Act does absolutely direct the Property of the People to be taken from them without their Consent,” it said, “expressed by their Representatives, and . . . in many Cases it deprives the British American Subjects of his Rights to Trial by Juries.” These Sons of Liberty wanted no Virginian or colonist to give an inch to Parliament. Yielding even a little in the law would acknowledge that Britain had a right to tax without consent.22
Whatever tremors there were in 1763—if one couldn’t feel them then—could certainly be sensed now.
JOIN, or DIE. Franklin’s political drawing of a colonial snake with a severed body from a decade earlier took on a life of its own.
PARLIAMENT LEARNED NOTHING. UNDER THE CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER and former president of the Board of Trade Charles Townshend, it passed the Revenue Act of 1767, known as the Townshend Act. This act imposed a new tax on glass, paints, paper, and tea. It was another slap in the face of colonial independence. Even Benjamin Franklin, a man of intelligence and knowledg
e in philosophy and political thought, was puzzled. “The Sovereignty of the King is therefore easily understood,” he wrote that year. “But nothing is more common here than to talk of the Sovereignty of Parliament, and the Sovereignty of this Nation over the Colonies; a kind of Sovereignty the Idea of which is not so clear, nor does it clearly appear on what Foundations it is established.”23
The outrage in the colonies—Boston, again, primarily, a hot spot for revolutionary thought—was so great that in 1768, British troops were ordered in to enforce the law. As with the Stamp Act, the Revenue Act was partially repealed in April of 1770, except for the 3 pence-a-pound tax on tea, which remained. “Even this trifling impost kept alive the jealousy of the colonists, who denied the supremacy of the British legislature.”24 It was clear Parliament had no desire to help or even support the colonists.
Back at home in Virginia, the House of Burgesses passed, in secret, a measure directly and explicitly condemning the British Parliament. Voted and passed on May 16, 1769, it stated in no uncertain terms “that the sole Right of imposing Taxes on the Inhabitants of this his Majesty’s Colony and Dominion of Virginia, is now, and ever hath been, legally and constitutionally vested in the House of Burgesses . . . with the Consent of the Council, and of his Majesty, the King of Great-Britain, or his Governor for the Time being.” Other resolves included the right of Virginians to plead directly to the King, as well as the complaint of being tried in England.25 George Washington was among the signers.
Governor Berkeley dissolved the House of Burgesses immediately upon receiving word of the measure. In response, the dissolved members went to Anthony Hay’s Raleigh Tavern in Williamsburg, where they signed the Virginia Nonimportation Resolutions, a lengthy document of eight points. Summarily, it was to boycott all taxed material, including slaves, wines, or any other goods deemed appropriate. “Some Measures should be taken in their distressed Situation,” it read, as a direct disobedience of the governor’s power. George Washington, again, signed the pledge. So did Thomas Jefferson, Henry Taylor, Richard Henry Lee, and many others, all members of the House.26
Even before the resolution, many in the colonies were thinking beyond laws . . . and even beyond the sovereignty of the king. It was clear to many that these past years were nothing but proof of the difference between the Mother Country and colonies. So it was time to fight back.
Washington himself thought so, with an added caution. To wit, in a letter to wealthy planter, friend, and neighbor George Mason in early April 1769:
At a time when our lordly Masters in Great Britain will be satisfied with nothing less than the deprivation of American freedom, it seems highly necessary that something shou’d be done to avert the stroke and maintain the liberty which we have derived from our Ancestors; but the manner of doing it to answer the purpose effectually is the point in question.
That no man shou’d scruple, or hesitate a moment to use a[r]ms in defence [sic] of so valuable a blessing, on which all the good and evil of life depends; is clearly my opinion; Yet A[r]ms I wou’d beg leave to add, should be the last resource.27
This was a tougher stance than previously seen by Washington, much more explicit. The tension was becoming more than just an annoyance or an outrage. It was becoming a call to arms. But not yet. He was going through an evolution of thought—as were many colonists by 1769.
TENSIONS FLARED ON MONDAY, MARCH 5, 1770, A MONTH BEFORE THE REPEAL of the Townshend Act, when a rabble of Boston colonists and a misunderstanding of orders under British captain Thomas Preston led to the death of five and the injury of more. British soldiers were poorly, if at all, paid, and had to cast about for jobs. Boston’s unemployed resented them, and mocked the British in their red uniforms, “Hey, bloodback! Hey, lobster for sale!” Colonists, young and old, mostly poor, pelleted snowballs and taunted the 29th British Regiment to fire on them. Words and insults were exchanged, someone gave the order to fire, and three colonists were killed instantly; two more died of their wounds soon after. A melee ensued, and the scene was a bloody carnage. Paul Revere’s engraving of the Boston Massacre soon after was a hit, depicting sneering and shaded redcoats firing upon the helpless, unarmed civilians, as they begged for their lives, contorted, blood flowing onto the streets. It was the first major piece of propaganda of the colonies that rebutted the Empire. The term “massacre” was immediately thrown about.
The Virginian Gazette reported on the massacre on April 5, a month later, from an account of an unknown person who was there. The story took three pages, meaning most of that week’s paper. A week earlier, the Gazette had noted a rumor spreading in Williamsburg about the attack, that “a fray happened lately at Boston, between some of the inhabitants and some of the soldiers, and that the latter fired upon, and killed several of the former. . . . We hope there is no truth in this report, and if there is, a few days will clear it up.”28
A few days later, it was cleared up. The author of the April 5 article counted the dead, describing them. Samuel Gray, killed immediately, with “the ball entering his head and beating off a large portion of his skull.” There was a black man, a dock worker named Crispus Attucks, also killed, with “two balls entering his breast, one of them [in] the right lobe of his lungs.” There was James Caldwell, a “mate of Capt. Morton’s vessel,” shot in the back. There was Samuel Maverick, a seventeen-year-old, shot through the stomach, who died in agony the morning after. Patrick Carr, an Irish immigrant, died two weeks after a ball went through his hip. Others were critically injured: Christopher Monk and John Clark, both about seventeen years old, who were shot above the kidney and above the groin, respectively; John Green, a tailor, shot under the hip; Robert Patterson, shot in the arm; David Parker, a young boy apprentice to a wheelwright, shot in the thigh.29 Despite the relatively impassive tone of the paper—it tried to keep to the facts—it still painted a scene of carnage, blood in the snow of Boston. Later, attorney John Adams successfully defended the British soldiers in court, attacking the rioting mob as “saucy boys.”
THESE YEARS OF PARLIAMENTARY ACTS, TAKEN TOGETHER, SPARKED AN UNDERLYING, seething anger among those in the colonies. Perhaps it had always been there—and the 1760s just uncovered it. Perhaps the inability of Parliament to listen to the colonies exacerbated it; on the other hand, perhaps it was the colonies’ growing refusal to help debt-heavy Britain.
But there was a distinct identity emerging, one separating from the Crown and from Europe. An identity that was distinctly American. And Mary and George Washington were in the heart of it, in the heart of Virginia, where soon, war would come.
AFTER THE REPEAL OF MOST OF THE TOWNSHEND ACT, THE COLONIES FELL into relative calm. A new British prime minister, Frederick North, saw fit to ease some tension. But just some. People continued to go about their days, gossiping as before. They continued to view news and events of England with interest, and any curiosity with a sense of importance.
One such curiosity was Maria Theresa, of Chester, England, a twenty-seven-year-old woman who was described as “the amazing Corsican Fairy, who has had the honour of being shewen three times before their Majesties.” The Virginia Gazette wrote about the woman, calling her the “most astonishing part of the human species . . . She is only 34 inches high, and weighs but 26lbs. A child of two years of age has larger hands and feet.”30
With all the tension and cultural upheaval brewing, people in the colonies still were consumed with curiosity. Not even a year had gone by since the Boston Massacre, and news of an unusually small woman in England took more space than some advertisements for land.
SUCH WAS THE WORLD OF MARY WASHINGTON AT THE FREDERICKSBURG house. The interest and all-encompassing anger affected many colonists, from plantation owners to lawyers to merchants to townsfolk. One could not avoid hearing news of the Boston Massacre or the effects of the Stamp Act.
Or, perhaps, she heard the news, and simply didn’t care. Taxes were a way of life, and the underlying philosophy of independence and sovereignty did not regist
er as important to her. The Crown was the Crown, Parliament was Parliament; it didn’t matter if it was across the ocean or not. Mary had a reputation of being anti-autonomous to her own adult children; perhaps she thought autonomy of the colonies was not something with which she concerned herself.
So says biographer Virginia Carmichael: “She had been taught since childhood to look upon England as good and great. England was the Mother Country who wanted prosperity for her colonies. Still, here was George, Fielding, her other sons, Hugh Mercer, and even her beloved Dr. Mortimer, the family physician, opposing England’s policies.”31
HER RELATIONSHIP WITH HER ELDEST SON, DESPITE THE TURMOIL IN THE colonies and his increasingly hardened political views, did not wane. He stayed with his mother at her newly moved-in house in April 1772, though he did not dine with her, and he gave her 8 pounds to assist his brother Charles.32
Again, in September 1772, George stayed in Fredericksburg with his mother for three days, meeting Charles, his sister and brother-in-law Betty and Fielding Lewis, and fellow veterans of the French and Indian War. On the last day, he gave Mary 30 pounds “in the presence of my Br. Charles” for some unspecified reason.33 If she had been complaining about the move, perhaps it was a little cash to tide her over. In November, he again gave her 15 pounds, though he did not stay at her place, bedding instead at the home of Colonel Henry Lee.34
Every time he visited Fredericksburg, he made a conscious effort to visit his mother.
ACCORDING TO THE TEA ACT OF MARCH 1773, COLONIAL TEA COULD BE PURCHASED only from the British East India Company. The company was financially strapped but had warehouses full of tea in London. Parliament imposed the act to help them out of their monetary difficulties. This hit a nerve with the already agitated Americans. The tea tax of the Townshend Act was still in force, and the usual means of smuggling via the Dutch was no longer viable with the tightening British trade. Within the year, on December 16, Boston residents, dressed as Native Americans, boarded three East India Company ships under the cover of darkness, and dumped their entire cargo, up to 342 chests. It was as much a protest against an injustice as a practical means stopping the shipment of cargo.35
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