Washington

by Douglas Southall Freeman

  With the appearance of the Farewell Address, the last of Washington’s immediate plans was completed. That same September 19 his coach began its Potomac journey. By the hour when Philadelphians had refolded their newspapers, the Chief Executive could reflect that President Washington had left the seat of government for the last time, that when his carriage moved southward again, its same passenger would be simply George Washington, Esq.

  If his hours were crowded during a month at Mount Vernon, they were filled primarily with plantation affairs. On October 5 the contract with James Anderson for a year was signed. The new manager was expected to take over on or before January 1. Correspondence was light and little that was burdensome came from Philadelphia. While relations with France still were critical, the President expected no encouraging word until Pinckney reached Paris. “A few months more will put an end to my political existence,” Washington observed to Landon Carter, “and place me in the shades of Mount Vernon under my vine and fig tree. . . .” On October 25 all was in readiness for Washington’s last presidential journey. The family set out that afternoon for the Federal City where, as usual, Washington would tarry for a conference with the Commissioners. The most persistent problem with respect to the future Capital City was that of obtaining money for continuance of building; but in spite of tedious business and discouraging difficulties with plans and with personalities, the Federal City was shaping steadily, if slowly, towards Washington’s ideal.

  It was October 31 when Washington reached the President’s house. The Chief Executive had expected to be “immersed in papers and preparing for the approaching session and busy scenes with Congress,” but the first major item that confronted him was a development in French affairs of such serious import that it had no rival in the rank of problems on his desk. Under date of October 27 Minister Adet had delivered a disturbing letter to the Secretary of State—and the Frenchman already had published the note in the Aurora, an act of indignity towards the United States. The purpose of the letter ostensibly was to transmit to the American government an extract from the arrêt declared by the French Directory on July 2, 1796, relative to its conduct towards neutral ships. “The flag of the Republic,” Adet declared, “will treat the flag of neutrals in the same manner as they shall suffer it to be treated by the English.” This measure, he added, was “dictated by imperious circumstance, and approved by justice,” for, in the face of British disregard for treaties, France suffered “real disadvantage” in holding its compact of 1778 with the United States. While the English continued to take American ships into port and “dragged from them Frenchmen and French property,” the Republic could not continue to abide by its promise to regard as American any English cargo found aboard American ships. Instead of employing every effort to enforce protection of their trade, Adet charged, the United States had negotiated a “treaty of friendship, navigation and commerce” with Great Britain—and the English went on with their seizures, and with impressment. Remonstrances had followed, but the French Minister’s dispatches went unanswered, Adet complained. If the United States desired respect for her neutrality, she should not suffer the English to sport with it; nor could Americans complain if France, “to restore the balance of neutrality to its equilibrium, shall act in the same manner as the English.”

  Pickering prepared his answer at once. In keeping with the manner of Adet’s communication, the letter was delivered to the Minister and the press simultaneously on the morning of November 5. Washington had approved the draft and acquiesced in the printing of it after consultation with the Secretary and others whose opinions he trusted. Pickering argued that the people expected an open reply to Adet, and the consensus was in favor of a prompt one. In the Secretary’s answer there was nothing new. Pickering stated the distinction between uncommitted powers whose conduct was governed only by the law of nations and those between whom some explicit agreement had imposed “special obligations.” In the twenty-third article of the Franco-American compact of 1778 it was plainly set forth that “free ships make free goods”; that the principle of reciprocity “was to operate at different periods. . . that is, at one time in favor of one of the contracting parties, and of the other at another time.” Now, the Secretary protested, France desired the United States “to gratuitously renounce this right.” In response to Adet’s complaint that certain remonstrances had gone unanswered, the Secretary asserted that they required no answer, the topic having been “officially and publicly discussed” already. Furthermore, the insinuations and “indecent charges” embodied in the notes were too offensive to deserve acknowledgment. In closing he called on Adet for an explanation of the inconsistent behavior of France and the real intentions of the Directory towards the United States.

  Washington faced long hours of work on his annual speech to Congress. As usual, he had requested his department heads to submit items for inclusion in the message, but he desired also Hamilton’s views on their views. All doubts as to the propriety of giving to Congress a full statement of French affairs were removed when, on November 21, there appeared in Claypoole’s paper an extravagant manifesto from Adet to the Secretary of State. Washington wrote Hamilton that day: “The necessity of bringing the matter before Congress is now rendered indispensable, and through that medium it is presumed it will make its way to the public with proper explanations.” The French Minister’s temerity and insolence more and more were reminiscent of Edmond Genet, whose rascality Washington had thought could not be exceeded.

  Representative Ames, now less active but not less astute, had predicted from his home in Dedham that Washington’s Farewell would “serve as a signal, like dropping a hat, for party racers to start. . . .” Both Republicans and Federalists had been conjecturing quietly—the one party fearful, the other hopeful that the present system in government might be preserved. The contest of principles was emblazoned in the gazettes as that of “monarchy versus Republicanism”; that of personalities fell to John Adams and Thomas Jefferson as the foremost contenders.

  The campaign in progress bore no resemblance to that of 1792. Republicans agreed that Aaron Burr should place with Jefferson; but intra-party differences among Federalists caused increasing mention of Thomas Pinckney over Adams. Hamilton and his friends were determined to sponsor Pinckney; New England Federalists remained just as determined to elevate Adams from his eight-year apprenticeship. While Adams and Pinckney appeared to have equal strength north of the Potomac, Pinckney was the more popular in the South and West. The clash of men, principles and parties promised to grow loud and spirited. States had varying days for their balloting and the final result ostensibly would not be known until electors voiced their preferences late in January. Prophets abounded, and Federalists were increasingly worried over Jefferson’s apparent strength and what should be done at this late hour to assure victory.

  Nothing claimed more of Washington’s thoughts than his annual message to Congress, and when the usual preliminaries of the open session were over he was ready. He arrived at the House of Representatives on December 7 to find the room and gallery filled “with the largest assemblage of citizens, ladies and gentlemen ever collected on a similar occasion.” This last of his Annual Addresses touched on a dozen subjects; its delivery took some thirty minutes. He began with a reassuring report on Indian affairs and the good prospect of continuing friendship. At last he could say that the posts in the Northwest were evacuated and that a final decision on the boundary of the St. Croix River, mentioned in the 1783 treaty, was in the making; other provisions both in Jay’s treaty and the pact with Spain were proceeding favorably. Liberation of Americans imprisoned in Algiers was the bright fact in an otherwise halting business with that country. Towards future protection of commerce and a secure neutrality, Washington proposed that the United States “look to the means, and . . . set about the gradual creation of a navy.” He advocated support and encouragement in the field of manufactures. In nothing was the President more earnest than in his perennial plea for a natio
nal university, and he recommended a military academy. Moreover, if good men were to be had for the administration of good government, then important public positions must offer better pay so that choice of able officers need not be confined to the wealthy. Brief reference to the harassment of American commerce in the West Indies brought the President to the last topic, a statement that a full review of French relations would be reserved for a special communication to Congress. Three days later the Senate waited on the President and responded in gracious form through its spokesman, Adams. The address of the House, delivered on the sixteenth, also was cordial and admiring, in spite of all the articulate William B. Giles of Virginia could do to make it otherwise.

  It was late December before a definite trend in the national election could be narrowed. Early in January, weeks before the electoral votes were counted officially, the results were known. John Adams had won the Presidency by a margin of three votes over Jefferson. Republicans found adjustment to the prospective executive order easy, in fact pleasant, and none seemed more elated than Jefferson. For Federalists, the victory was bittersweet. Jefferson’s Vice Presidency was the “formidable evil” Ames had feared. “Two Presidents, like two suns in the meridian,” he augured, “would meet and jostle for four years, and then Vice would be first.” Washington believed that Adams would pursue his own never-ending and most cherished policy to preserve the United States “in peace and friendship with all the world.” It was to be expected that the enemies of government would harass the administration in the future as in the past, but he was confident that the public weal would be well guarded; that even though “we may be a little wrong, now and then, we shall return to the right path with more avidity.”

  No diversion as 1797 opened could erase entirely the stings of personal abuse that seemed to increase towards the finish of the President’s official career. The apparent purpose was to effect an early end to present government through degradation of its first Chief Executive. Every other French inspired scheme having failed of its ultimate purpose, batteries had been levelled at the President. The epitome of the abuse was a composition by Thomas Paine—an open letter to Washington dated July 30, 1796. It had been brought from Paris to the eager presses of Bache. This industrious editor saw to it that Paine’s pamphlet had wide distribution. Whereas the letter was addressed to Washington, it was about him rather than to him and was meant for all eyes everywhere. Paine’s charges against Washington ranged from fraud to murder. So violent was his climax that, inadvertently, the words may have served Washington well:

  As to you, sir, treacherous in private friendship (for so you have been to me, and that in the day of danger) and a hypocrite in public life, the world will be puzzled to decide, whether you are an apostate or an impostor; whether you have abandoned good principles, or whether you ever had any.

  Washington probably would not have gone so far as to say with William Plumer that “censure from the depraved Payne [sic] is a better reward than his eulogium,” but he believed his best rejoinder to all Americans under the spell of France lay in his promised communication on French affairs. On January 19 the President sent to Congress documents relating to transactions between the United States and France since the early period of the current European war. His covering message was brief, but the documents were so voluminous that they were ordered to be printed without first being read in session. The presentation was the work of Pickering, but Washington had kept in close touch with his Secretary of State and cautioned him to be careful of his facts, his candor and expression, as every sentence would be scrutinized to find a basis for further charges. Washington had furnished Pickering with some excellent ideas for summary remarks in his September letter to Charles Cotesworth Pinckney, among them this:

  That this government . . . [being] conscious of its fair dealing towards all the Belligerent Powers; and wrapt up in its own integrity; it little expected . . . upbraidings it has met with. Notwithstanding, it now is, as it always has been, the earnest wish of the government . . . to be on the best and most friendly footing with the Republic of France; and we have no doubt, after giving this candid exposition of facts, that the Directory will revoke the orders under which our Trade is suffering, and will pay the damages it has sustained thereby.

  Business could not relieve the Chief Executive of excessive entertainment during the last weeks in office. Guest lists were longer, drawing rooms more crowded and dinners more frequent. To Washington, official hospitality was an important part of his presidential duty and he was careful not to neglect it. A variety of personal matters claimed attention also. In particular, he would need considerable cash to negotiate the final move from Philadelphia. Mount Vernon was often on his mind. He was pleased with his new manager’s ideas and encouraged his views; Anderson, he realized, had both ability and promise. Washington sought help from his dentist, Dr. John Greenwood, for the relief of discomfort and disfigurement caused by his artificial teeth. In anticipation of his homeward journey, he bought two draft horses to pull a light wagon loaded with trunks.

  Other preparations that centered on the President were in the making too, but for these he had no responsibility beyond the arduous role of honored guest for the whole of a day and evening. The occasion was the twenty-second of February—a great and yet a sad time for those who participated, because they knew it was the last birthday Washington would celebrate in Philadelphia. The city awoke to a general holiday, “ushered in by the ringing of bells and firing of cannon.” Schools were out, servants had liberty, uniformed militia strutted along the streets, artillery paraded and fired a midday salute. Washington received Congressmen, the Governor, the Pennsylvania Legislature in a body, and the Society of the Cincinnati. In the evening the President and Martha went to the “elegant entertainment” at Ricketts’ where there was a supper and dancing for some twelve hundred persons. These marks of affection and respect moved him more deeply than the sharpest strokes from Republican pens could cut.

  Had it been written in the statutes that the District of Columbia was to be Washington’s sole responsibility through all the years of his Presidency, he scarcely could have found the future seat of government more time consuming, but his faith in the final achievement of a worthy Capital endured every test. On March 3, the last day of his presidential authority, the “City of Washington” was an important item on his agenda. In the letter he wrote the Commissioners that day, every reference to the city bore his name, as if now to admit that he cherished the honor and wished to sanction his namesake for the acceptance of posterity.

  Mindful of the caution that had been his unfailing rule in official appointments, Washington took pains to advise his successor against undue sensibility with respect to John Quincy Adams. Washington wrote John Adams “in a strong hope that you will not withhold merited promotion . . . because he is your son. For . . . I give it as my decided opinion that Mr. Adams is the most valuable public character we have abroad, and that he will prove himself to be the ablest of all our diplomatic corps.” Then there were farewells to be written, good-byes to be said. The last strictly personal letters from President Washington went to Henry Knox and Jonathan Trumbull. His only regret on retiring, he wrote, was “at parting with (perhaps never more to meet) the few intimates whom I love. . . .”

  On the afternoon of March 3 Washington entertained at dinner “to take my leave of the President elect, of the foreign characters, the heads of departments, &ca.” The company was large; host and guests were gay. When the tablecloth had been removed, Washington filled his wine glass and, smiling at his guests, said: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the last time I shall drink your health as a public man. I do it with sincerity, and wishing you all possible happiness!” Suddenly the gaiety was gone and Bishop William White, who glanced at the wife of British Minister Robert Liston, saw that “tears were running down her cheeks.”

  Near noon on Saturday March 4 Washington walked alone to Congress Hall. As readily as he had assumed the bearing of Commande
r-in-Chief or the stately posture of President, he put on this morning the modest appearance of private citizen. Solemnity and dignity were the order of the day; firing of cannon marked the important hour. As the General came in sight at the door of the House, he was greeted with a burst of tremendous applause. Washington quickened his step as if to shorten the ovation and took his proper place. In a moment the hand-clapping swelled again as the straight figure of Jefferson entered the room. In his long blue frock coat, the Vice President seemed even taller than usual as he made his way down the aisle. Renewed and warm acclaim rose as the President of the United States approached. John Adams had just stepped from his new carriage wearing, quite in contrast to his customary simple mode, a pearl-colored broadcloth suit, a sword and cockade. He proceeded to the Speaker’s chair on the elevated dais. Every space in the room was filled, but the multitude was quiet as the ritual began. When his Address was finished, Adams stepped forward and Chief Justice Ellsworth administered the oath of office. The occasion is best described by the new President himself:

  A solemn scene it was indeed, and it was made affecting to me by the presence of the General, whose countenance was as serene and unclouded as the day. He seemed to me to enjoy a triumph over me. Methought I heard him say, “Ay! I am fairly out and you fairly in! See which of us will be happiest!”

  The first act of George Washington as once more a private citizen, was to call on the President of the United States. When the inaugural ceremony was over, he made his way to the Francis Hotel where Adams was lodging. A throng followed at respectful distance and watched as the General was lost to view within the building. Then suddenly, as if in answer to their unvoiced bidding, the door reopened and Washington turned to acknowledge the homage of the crowd. His eyes were wet with tears as he then slowly closed the door. Private citizen he might be, but the public still had a claim on its first President. The pageantry of the day was not yet over. In the evening Philadelphians honored him with a farewell dinner at Ricketts’ Amphitheatre. Although surrounded with homage, Washington knew that not all expressions on his retirement were those of appreciation. The Aurora published its pleasure at Washington’s exit and proposed the exit of Jay’s treaty also—the instrument by which, it asserted, Washington had provoked probable war with France. But positive evidences of approbation, both planned and impromptu, by their very intensity and earnestness more truly represented the measure of the man in the eyes of the people.