Doctor Craik became increasingly anxious for a consultant. Doctor Brown, he feared, might not arrive in time, and he requested that Dr. Elisha Cullen Dick be summoned. It was close to eleven o’clock when a messenger mounted and made off towards Alexandria. The lone physician turned again to the patient. A third bleeding was done. Still Doctor Craik saw sorrowfully there was no change. Near three o’clock Doctor Dick arrived. After he examined Washington and conferred briefly with Doctor Craik, the General again was bled. The blood came reluctantly, but the patient did not grow faint. About this time, Doctor Brown was shown into the sickroom. He stood at the bedside and felt the feeble pulse, then he and his colleagues withdrew. In a little while Doctor Craik returned and upon observing that Washington could swallow a little, prescribed a dose of calomel and tartar emetic. Still there was no change for the better.
In great distress from embarrassed respiration, Washington was exceedingly restless and repeatedly sought to change his position in bed during the long afternoon. Each time the watchful Lear would lie beside him, raise the weakened body and turn it with all the quiet strength he could muster. The General occasionally asked what time it was, and when he realized that Christopher had been standing all the while, Washington motioned him to sit down. About four-thirty he asked that Martha be called to his bedside. She came and at his request went downstairs and brought from his desk the two wills he said she would find there and handed them to him. Washington gave her one and asked her to burn it; this done, she went out with the other and placed it in her closet.
Lear then came back to the General’s side and took his hand. Washington said: “I find I am going, my breath cannot continue long; I believed from the first attack it would be 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.” He again was helped to his chair in the late afternoon, but in half an hour asked to be put back to bed. Doctors Dick and Brown then joined Doctor Craik for another look at their patient. Doctor Craik asked if he could sit up in bed, and Washington held out his hand to Lear. When he was raised from the pillows he addressed the doctors in a low, strained voice: “I feel myself going. I thank you for your attention. You had better not take any more trouble about me; but let me go off quietly; I cannot last long.”
Lear laid him gently down and the consultants left the room. Craik could not speak. He pressed Washington’s hand. Then, helpless in the shadow of approaching death, heartsick that there was no measure known to medical skill that now could stay the life that was ebbing, the physician friend sat by the fire “absorbed in grief.” Yet unreconciled to final retreat, the doctors rallied once more and about eight o’clock blisters were produced on the legs and feet, and soft poultices of wheat bran applied to the throat. Nothing changed, except that the breathing seemed less difficult. Washington still was restless and, with Lear’s help, moved his position constantly in an effort to get relief, though neither sigh nor word of complaint came from his lips. About the time the clock struck ten, Lear saw that the General wished to speak and leaned close in an effort to catch what the broken voice was trying to say. At length the words came: “I am just going. Have me decently buried, and do not let my body be put into a vault in less than two days after I am dead.” Lear nodded, unable to speak, but Washington looked at him directly and said, “Do you understand me?” Lear answered, “Yes, sir.” Washington spoke once more: “ ’Tis well.”
Martha kept vigil near the foot of the bed. Doctor Craik had returned to his chair by the fire. Christopher stood nearby and several other servants were gathered at the door. A little after ten, the General’s breathing became much easier and he lay quietly. Lear still held his hand. Then unexpectedly Washington withdrew it to feel his own pulse. There was a change in his countenance. On the instant, Lear spoke to Doctor Craik, who stepped to the bedside. In a moment Washington’s fingers slipped away from his wrist, Lear took the hand and again clasped it to his breast. Doctor Craik laid his hand gently over Washington’s eyes. There was not “a struggle or a sigh.” Almost as if he realized that everything now was in readiness for his last command, George Washington withdrew in the presence of Death.
Not a word was spoken until out of the stillness came Martha’s voice, firm and calm. “Is he gone?” she asked. Lear choked and silent, gestured that it was so. “ ’Tis well,” she said simply, echoing Washington’s last words, perhaps unconsciously. “All is now over,” she added. “I have no more trials to pass through. I shall soon follow him.” Martha’s fortitude reflected that of the General. The quietness with which he had borne his pain through the long day and she her sorrow made them the more poignant for those who merely watched and worked.
Lear kissed the cold hand he still held and laid it down. He walked over to the fire and stood there “lost in grief.” For him had come that moment when a dreadful reality is not yet real—acknowledged by the mind, but not yet accepted by the senses. Presently Christopher brought him the keys and other articles that were in Washington’s pockets, as Martha directed him to do. Lear, thus gratefully recalled to duty, wrapped them in the General’s handkerchief and went downstairs. Near midnight the General’s body was brought down to the drawing room and placed in front of the chimney-piece.
Early on the fifteenth Martha asked Lear to have a coffin made in Alexandria. Accordingly, Doctor Dick took the necessary body measurements. Lear noted them as follows: “In length 6 ft. 3½ inches exact. Across the shoulders 1—9—. Across the elbows 2—1—.” Lear conferred with Doctor Craik as to the proper fee for his consultants, and before their departure gave them each forty dollars. The faithful secretary then took up the sad and difficult task of preparing and dispatching letters about the General’s death. That evening Lear discussed the date for the burial with Doctor Craik, Thomas Peter, Thomas Law and Doctor Thornton. The physicians advised against waiting until the end of the week, as Lear suggested, so that distant relatives might gather. The time was set for Wednesday the eighteenth, with the understanding that in event of extreme weather that day the service would be held on Thursday. Lear sent notice of the plans to various friends and neighbors whom Martha wished advised and wrote to ask the Rev. Thomas Davis to read the service. Washington had made the “express desire” in his will that his interment be “in a private manner, without parade or funeral oration,” but it soon became clear that his wishes in this respect could not be carried out precisely.
On Monday the family vault was opened and cleaned. It was not to be sealed with brick after the funeral as formerly. Instead, Martha requested that a door be made, convinced “that it will soon be necessary to open it again.” Washington had specified in his will that the old vault, “requiring repairs, and being improperly situated besides,” be replaced by a larger one of brick, to be “built at the foot of what is commonly called the Vineyard Inclosure.” Just five days before his death, the General had pointed out the spot for the new vault to one of his nephews as they walked about the grounds and talked of various improvements the proprietor had planned. “First of all, I shall make this change,” Washington had remarked, and added, “for after all, I may require it before the rest.”
Mourning clothes must be made for the family, the overseers and the house servants. When word came that the Freemasons and the military would attend the funeral in a body, Lear began to arrange for the hospitality that would be expected. Forty pounds of cake, which would be served with a simple punch or a beverage from the Mount Vernon wine cellar, were ordered. Anderson went to Alexandria to procure a number of items, and the many preparations occupied many hands, all under Lear’s direction.
On the morning of December 17 the Adjutant from the Alexandria Regiment arrived to look at the ground over which the procession would pass. Early that afternoon a stagecoach drew rein at the door of the Mansion House. The mahogany coffin and the bier were carried from th
e coach to the room where the body lay. The head of the casket was adorned with the inscription, Surge Ad Judicium; about halfway down were the words Gloria Deo, and on a silver plate was inscribed: “General/ George Washington/ Departed this life on the 14th of December/ 1799, Aet. 68.” The case provided for the coffin was lined and covered with black cloth. Before the shrouded figure was placed against the folds of lace in the dark casket, Lear cut a lock of the General’s hair as a keepsake for Martha.
December 18 dawned fair, but when it became known that many of the military who were proceeding from Alexandria on foot could not arrive by twelve o’clock, the ceremony was postponed until afternoon. Persons from many miles around had begun to assemble by eleven that morning, and there on the lofty portico where the casket had been placed early that day, the General’s last visitors filed by for a last look at the familiar face.
About three o’clock, from Robert Hamilton’s schooner anchored close by in the Potomac, minute guns began their firing. At the same time the solemn procession began to move to the music of a dirge and muffled drums. At the head was the cavalry. The infantry followed, and the guard, all with arms reversed. Next came the band and after them the clergy. The General’s horse, accoutered with his saddle, holsters and pistols, was led by the two postilions, Cyrus and Wilson. Col. Thomas Blackburn walked alone just ahead of the bier, which was borne by four lieutenants of the Virginia militia. The six honorary pallbearers marched alongside, three to the left, three to the right. They were Cols. Charles Little, Charles Sims, William Payne, George Gilpin, Dennis Ramsay and Philip Marsteller. Close behind came the principal mourners: Eliza Law and her mother, Mrs. David Stuart; Nancy and Sally Stuart; Miss Fairfax and Miss Dennison; Thomas Law and Thomas Peter; James Craik and Tobias Lear; Bryan, Lord Fairfax, and his son Ferdinando. A large representation from the Masonic Order followed; next came the Mayor and Corporation of Alexandria; Washington’s farm manager James Anderson, and his clerk Albin Rawlins, walked just ahead of the overseers. All the other persons fell in to complete the long procession.
The cavalry took their places near the tomb and foot soldiers formed a line through which the rest of the procession passed. The bier was placed at the opening of the sepulchre. The Reverend Mr. Davis and Doctor Dick took their places at the head of the casket, and the family gathered at the foot. The voice of the minister was heard against the silence: “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. . . .” When he had read the Order of Burial from the Episcopal Prayer Book, Washington’s rector spoke a brief eulogy. Doctor Dick, Grand Master of the Alexandria Lodge, then stepped forward and with the assistance of the Reverend Mr. Muir, Chaplain, conducted full Masonic rites. As the ceremony ended, the minute guns repeated from the Potomac and echoed in the hills. From behind the vault came the answering boom of eleven artillery cannon. Then the company moved away.
1. Lawrence Washington. Painting attributed to John Wollaston. Courtesy of the Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association.
2. Martha Dandridge Custis. Painting by John Wollaston. Courtesy of Washington and Lee University.
3. Martha Washington. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. Courtesy of the Yale University Art Gallery, Mabel Brady Garvan Collection.
4. John Parke Custis. By the Kind Permission of E. L. R. Smith of Baltimore, Maryland, Owner of the Original.
5. The Washington Family. Painting by Edward Savage. Courtesy of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
6. Washington in 1777-1778. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. Courtesy of the Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association.
7. George William Fairfax.
8. Washington in 1787. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. Courtesy of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts.
9. Washington in 1796. The “Lansdowne” Portrait by Gilbert Stuart. Courtesy of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts.
10. Washington in 1785. Clay Bust for the Statue by Jean Antoine Houdon. Courtesy of the Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association.
11. Washington’s Election as Commander in Chief of the Continental Forces. From the Journal of the Continental Congress for June 15, 1776. Library of Congress.
12. Benjamin Lincoln. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. Independence National Historical Park Collection.
13. Anthony Wayne. Painting by Peter F. Rothermel, Based on the Study by John Trumbull. Courtesy of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania.
14. Charles Lee. Caricature by Benjamin Rushbrooke.
15. Joseph Reed. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. Independence National Historical Park Collection.
16. John Sullivan. Independence National Historical Park Collection.
17. Benedict Arnold. Engravings by B. Reading from the Drawing by du Simetiére.
18. Friedrich, Baron von Steuben. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. Independence National Historical Park Collection.
19. Jean Baptiste, Comte de Rochambeau. Courtesy of Musée Bonnat, Bayonne, France.
20. Marie Joseph, Marquis de Lafayette. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. Independence National Historical Park Collection.
21. Horatio Gates. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. Independence National Historical Park Collection.
22. Thomas Mifflin. Detail from the Painting by John Singleton Copley. Courtesy of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania.
23. Joseph Trumbull. Painting by John Trumbull. Courtesy of the Connecticut Historical Society.
24. Henry Knox. Painting by Edward Savage. Property of the American Scenic and Historic Preservation Society, New York City.
25. Nathanael Greene. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. Independence National Historical Park Collection.
26. Washington at Yorktown with Lafayette and Tench Tilghman. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. State House of Annapolis, Maryland.
27. Washington’s Welcome at Trenton Bridge, 1789. Engraving by T. Kelley. From Washington Irving’s Life of George Washington, vol. IV.
28. Edmund Randolph. A Copy by F. J. Fisher of the Painting by Gilbert Stuart in the State Capitol, Richmond, Virginia. Commonwealth of Virginia. Photograph by Dementi Studio.
29. John Jay. Portrait by Joseph Wright. Courtesy of The New-York Historical Society.
30. Alexander Hamilton. Painting by John Trumbull. By Permission of the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. Andrew Mellon Collection.
31. John Adams. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. Independence National Historical Park Collection.
32. John Marshall. By Permission of Mrs. Benjamin T. Woodruff of Charleston, West Virginia. Photograph by Dementi Studio.
33. Tobias Lear. Pastel by James Sharples. Collection of Anna Decatur Wright. Photograph Courtesy of the Frick Art Reference Library.
34. Thomas Jefferson. Painting by Charles Willson Peale. Independence National Historical Park Collection.
35. James Madison. Painting by Gilbert Stuart. Courtesy of the Bowdoin College Museum of Art, Brunswick, Maine.
36. James Monroe. Painting by John Vanderlyn. Courtesy of the Art Commission of the City of New York.
37. Major Pierre L’Enfant’s Plan for a “Federal City,” as Reproduced in the Columbian Magazine for March, 1792. The Papers of George Washington, Library of Congress.
Afterword: The Pen of Douglas Southall Freeman
When death came to Douglas Southall Freeman in Richmond on the thirteenth day of June, 1953, he was sixty-seven years old. He delivered his regular radio broadcast on the morning of the day he died, speaking like a father to his fellow Virginians in his familiar drawl, and, almost at the end, he finished the last chapter in this volume. Lying on his desk in his third-floor study at “Westbourne” was a framed quotation from Tennyson’s “Ulysses” which included these words:
Something ere the end,
Some work of noble note may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
This quiet man, whose tireless pen had traced the marches and described the battles of so many great Captains, did not have quite time enough to
finish his own last work of noble note. He lacked several months of living as long as George Washington did, and his own labors ended before he could carry that hero through his second term as President and bring him home to Mount Vernon for the rest and peace he so richly deserved and had so vainly sought. Douglas Freeman himself had long ago found the peace of an ordered life, but rest was the last thing on earth he wanted. Almost certainly he would have finished another and final volume and attained another major goal had he been permitted to fill out the biblical span of three-score years and ten. To his friends it is an even more important consideration that he would have been deeply happy in these continued labors.
Yet, if we disregard the mere tale of years and apply the measure of labor and achievement, he had lived several lives already. He himself gave no sign of a split personality, but for purposes of description we will say that he lived at least two lives—as an editor and as a historian. Either one of these would have been far too full for most mortals, but this incredibly effective man serenely proceeded from task to task with unhurried step. No one can fully explain how he did all that he did, for inner springs of power are invisible to the observer, but unquestionably he pursued clear-purposed goals through the tangles and perplexities of daily existence, and by mastering himself made himself the master of his destiny. He revealed a quality that he assigned to young George Washington: “the quenchless ambition of an ordered mind.” Also, he was a living illustration of certain truths that Thomas Jefferson proclaimed to his young daughter: “No person will have occasion to complain of the want of time who never loses any,” said that incessantly active Virginian. “It is wonderful how much may be done if we are always doing.”
Washington Page 128