The Leadership of George Washington
How America’s Indispensable Man Became the Hero of Our 'Ongoing' American Revolution
Recently, I gave a lecture to teachers on how I feel schools should focus their instruction when it comes to teaching George Washington. The elephant in the room being slavery, I for one welcome such conversations. Far too many professional educators feel trapped or lacking confidence when it comes to discussing the contradictions of the Founders, particularly Washington; for all the great deeds he did, he still owned human beings as property. But before we get to this crucially important topic, we must first begin with why George Washington is worth discussing to begin with. Yes, slavery is as necessary as any topic, but Washington is not to be remembered now, as he was then, primarily for owning slaves. It were the several key decisions and actions he took during his lifetime of service to the continent and the country where we must begin our profile of him. For if we begin elsewhere, the positives that were certainly achieved will never be accepted. And worst of all, the nuances and contextualization for such practices and behaviors we now find reprehensible will not be correctly understood. This is why, for our understanding, we must start with Washington’s leadership. Only from there can we peel back the layers and better understand the man, flesh and blood, and what he achieved and failed to achieve in his lifetime.
There were moments where George Washington rose to the occasion when circumstances outweighed what one man could be expected to perform. These are the stories, some familiar, others not, that helped shape the image of Washington the hero, or of Washington the living deity in his own time. Early Americans looking for role models had found one in the victor of America’s first war, even if the man himself did his best to understate such ridiculous acclaims to fame. That’s not to suggest Washington, the man, did not enjoy the accolades that came his way. For him, it was a lifelong balancing act of espousing a personal commitment to stoicism while performing civic virtue in public.
To understand what made Washington tick, we first have to understand his upbringing. Born to a wealthy planter family in Tidewater Virginia, Washington’s father Augustus died when he was just a boy. The young George’s older half-brother Lawrence served as a replicant father figure in the ensuing years. Lawrence was a military man, serving in the Virginia militia, and was worshipped by George. After a brief campaign, Lawrence contracted tuberculous and the two whisked away to the tropical climate that Barbados in the Caribbean promised as a potential cure. This was to be the only time Washington ever left North America. It is also the time where he contracted smallpox. Surviving the deadly disease, the experience likely gave the future commander immunity when the Continental Army’s ranks were being decimated by it.
Lawrence Washington passed away from his sickness soon after returning to Virginia. Once again, George was without a father figure. The teenager turned to books on history and philosophy. He particularly took to studying Roman history and became a disciple of stoicism, perfected by Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, the practice of suppressing emotion and passions, and living to serve a greater purpose. Another element of Roman history that Washington would embody is the story of Cincinnatus, the Roman farmer-turned-general who twice led an army to put down internal threats to the Roman Republic. After winning both contests, Cincinnatus relinquished power, handing it back to the Senate, and returned to his farm. The 2000 motion picture Gladiator, starring Russell Crowe, borrowed elements of this story. These virtues became pillars of the Enlightenment, which Washington’s personality continued to harness as he developed into a young man. Meanwhile, Mary Ball Washington, George’s mother, prohibited him from joining the British Navy, crushing the teenager’s first dreams. Washington turned to land surveying, and within two years became one of Virginia’s premiere surveyors. This early talent allowed Washington to explore the vast, unchartered American wilderness, honing his survival skills and becoming an expert horseman and hunter along the way.
The French and Indian War essentially began in 1754 because of George Washington. After ambushing a French detachment and then hauling up the impromptu log-built Fort Necessity in western Pennsylvania, the newly commissioned Virginia militia Major in defeat signed a decree that was written in French (which he could not read) that basically claimed Washington was admitting to assassinating French diplomats (something he had not knowingly done and would not have agreed with). Nevertheless, this single act brought forth the entire Seven Years War that became a world conflict. Washington would survive the war, serving under ill-fated General Edward Braddock as an advisor, before quitting the service in 1758. Unable to gain a commission in the British Army because he was a colonist, Washington instead returned to his inherited estate of Mount Vernon where he would wed widow Martha Parke Custis.
Fast forward now to December 1776. This is perhaps the darkest period in American history. The joyous occasions of ridding Boston of the British Army and then signing the Declaration of Independence had been turned upside down on the patriots and supporters for the new nation. Washington’s Continental Army, a size of about 13,000 troops in August, were badly defeated at Brooklyn Heights and then through a series of blundered stands around New York. The army limped through New Jersey, shedding deserters and others who’d lost hope in the American Cause. By the time the army reached the western banks of the Delaware River in Pennsylvania, Washington’s forces dithered to about 4,000, half of whom were incapacitated due to sickness or fatigue. It would be in the weeks of December 1776 that General Washington dug deep within himself and became the leader the country needed. Desperate, and knowing that what remained of his army was about to walk home on January 1 when their enlistments expired, the commander in chief, whose chestnut-colored hair was now showing signs of gray from the daily stress, decided to attack. The last words Washington wrote in his diary in the early hours of December 26 were, “victory or death,” the watch words for the coming attack on Trenton, New Jersey, but also the understanding that this was it. There was no tomorrow. Without victory, the army would go home and the war would be over. The Americans crossed the Delaware and surprised the much depleted Hessian garrison on the morning of the 26th. It completely stunned the British command at New Brunswick, New Jersey. Recrossing the river with prisoners, Washington was pleased of the successful venture. Indeed, it was the shot of adrenaline everyone needed. But it had not stopped many within the army from declaring their intentions to leave at the end of the year.
December 31, 1776, would be the first real test of Washington’s command. On this day, he would not be leading his troops into battle. Instead, Washington had to muster his army before him and plead with them to remain into the new year. If he failed to convince the army to stay, his leadership would be shattered, Trenton would have been for nothing, and who knows what the British Army would do. On the banks of the Delaware River, the Continental Army lined up as Washington approached them on his favorite horse, Blueskin. Like a scene truly out of the movie Braveheart, the general addressed his men. He understood their desire to return to their homes because many were creeping towards financial ruin by not being home. He offered to pay each man out of his own pocket if they agreed to stay. He then called for those willing to stay to step forward. Not a single American soldier did. Disgusted, Washington rode down the line past the last man. He then stopped, reeled his horse, and trotted back. Washington scanned the many faces and found the right tone in his second address.
“My brave fellows, you have done all I have asked you to do, and more than can be reasonably expected; but your country is at stake, your wives, your houses and all that you hold dear. You have worn yourselves out with fatigues and hardships, but we know not how to spare you. If you will consent to stay one month longer, you will render that service to the cause of liberty, and to your country, which you probably can never do under any other circumstances.”
This time, when asked, nearly every man stepped forward. Washington had struck the right nerve: patriotism. Like William Wallace in Braveheart, he appealed to the possible day of looking back with regret for failing to fight when they could have. The Americans decided to stay on into 1777. Two days later, the Continental Army would recross the Delaware River and attack Trenton for a second time. Out-maneuvering the British under the command of Charles Cornwallis, the Americans moved northeast to Princeton. On the morning of January 3, detachments of the British Army ran into the Americans coming up the old Pike wagon road. After Gen. Hugh Mercer was mortally wounded by bayonet strikes, it looked like the American lines would break. Instantly, Washington appeared and rode out into the center of the battlefield. A subordinate covered his face with his cap thinking Washington would surely be shot dead off his horse. After the British cannon and volley fire ceased, the officer was relieved to see the American commander still astride, barking orders and rallying his troops with his saber in hand. Washington would lead the American counterattack that won the field and the Battle of Princeton. Chasing the British soldiers back through Princeton, he was heard to scream, “It’s a fine fox chase, my boys!”
For American history, there is perhaps no greater story than the Ten Crucial Days narrative. It shows how close we all came to losing the war and our country. The miraculous turn around between December 26 and January 3 is not lost when one reads for themselves just how close we came to defeat. Indeed, after Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown in 1781, he reportedly told Washington that history shall forever remember him for his victories at Trenton and Princeton. But Washington would be remembered for other deeds during the war that are typically ignored by teachers, making them unknown to students, and forgotten by the public. The speech on December 31, 1776 is one such deed. Had he failed, American history likely would be a footnote in the annuals of world events. The next great test of Washington the leader came in the last months of the Revolutionary War. Only this time it did not involve the British Army, but a threat from within his own ranks.
We must remember how the United States government functioned before the Constitution was ratified in 1788. Prior to this, we had the Articles of Confederation, enacted in 1777 and finally ratified in 1781. Under the Articles, the United States was essentially a collective of sovereign states that shared limited resources and responsibilities at the national level. To pass legislation, each state held a single vote. For matters of taxation and collecting money for the war effort, the Confederation Congress, much like the Continental Congress before it, could only ask the state legislatures to forward money. It had no authority to directly raise taxes. This created immense challenges during the critical years of war, particularly with paying the officers and the soldiers of the Continental Army. The government tried to print notes on credit, known as Continentals, to cover it’s ballooning debt, but because the United States had no financial institutions and the government was not capable of supporting its credit, the notes became worthless by 1780. Meanwhile, many states simply refused to open its coffers and pay for the war effort; some states paid considerably more than others, creating some animosity during the Constitutional Convention when debating who owed what on the existing debt.
Mutiny was a real threat to the Continental Army. As we’ve seen, Washington had to maintain discipline and retain confidence in his soldiers, or face the possibility men would either desert or worse. A small band of soldiers in the Pennsylvania Line did in fact mutiny in 1781, but they were quickly put down by another regiment. Other instances occurred involving lower rank officers instigating such acts over poor conditions in the encampments or lack of payment for time already served. What made the events in March 1783 all the more serious was this time it wasn’t Continental regulars threatening mutiny, but Washington’s senior officer staff, among them some of his most trusted subordinates.
In the waning months of the Revolutionary War, the Continental Army remained encamped at Newburgh, New York. Since the British surrender at Yorktown in October 1781, both armies rarely engaged each other outside of smaller skirmishes. The big battles were over. As diplomats hammered out the peace treaty in Paris, the new challenge that presented itself was keeping the army occupied and intact with no enemy to fight. And what complicated matters more were the senior officers who became increasingly disgruntled that they hadn’t been paid the money they’d been promised by Congress. Back then, most officers were given commissions because of prior military service or their standing within the community. Many were wealthy enough to foot their own bills to pay for uniforms, horses and equipment. However, many were also losing money being away from their farms and businesses. Like the citizen soldier below them, without money coming in, they became resentful that their sacrifices were for nothing. By March 1783, a small group of senior officers at Newburgh began circulating a pamphlet that spelled out their feelings and intentions. Unless Congress met their demands, they would refuse to disband the army, and use it to march on Philadelphia where Congress was in session. They would use the army to force the hands of the government. If acted out, such a move would completely destroy the principles of the American Revolution.
Washington caught wind of the conspiracy, but played coy and remained indifferent. He certainly understood and sympathized with his officer’s complaints. But he steadfastly refused to endorse any attempts to use the army to threaten Congress. A meeting was called on the morning of March 15 by the senior staff, but Washington made it known he had no intentions of attending. Major General Horatio Gates, famed for the victory at Saratoga - and conspirator to oust Washington from command in the Conway Cabal - would preside over the meeting. With the officers assembled in the meetinghouse, Gates was about to begin when Washington walked into the room unannounced. The room was stunned. Gates gave the floor to the commander in chief, who upon turning to the gathered men saw the discontent visibly on their faces. Washington pulled a written statement from his breast pocket and read aloud his thoughts on the purposes of the army and civilian government. He further stated that they must remain patient and confident that Congress would honor their agreement to pay them. When he was finished reading, he sensed the mood in the room had not changed. The officers remained bitter and the speech had no effect whatsoever. Realizing he had failed, Washington reached into his pocket and pulled out a second letter. As he began, he abruptly stopped and slid his reading spectacles from his pocket. Many of the men had never seen him wearing glasses. As he did so, he said, “Gentleman, you must pardon me. I have grown old in the service of my country, and now find I am growing blind too.” Washington was never a strong speaker, and his voice cracked immediately. His hands visibly shook as he read from the letter. This time, Washington expressed his own personal sacrifice for the war, how he’d been with the army since Boston in 1775, and how he remained committed to winning the war on the principles they had fought for. As he read, the mood swiftly changed in the room. It wasn’t necessarily what Washington was saying that moved them. It was the sight of Washington, frailer and aged, looking and sounding vulnerable but remaining committed to the cause, that disarmed the plot. Officers were openly crying and nodding along with their general. When he finished and walked out, the senior officers immediately endorsed a letter stating their intentions to remain committed to Congressional authority. Once again, it was a speech by Washington that had saved the American Revolution from ending in disaster.
1783 would not end with the Treaty of Paris officially ending the war in victory and independence for the United States; it would see Washington commit the single greatest act in American history, and arguably in modern history. On December 23, before a packed hall in Annapolis, Maryland where Congress was seated, Washington resigned as commander in chief of the Continental Army. The officers who knew him best had long stated that the Virginian had no intentions of keeping power once the war was over. At the time, this seemed preposterous. No winning general in modern history relinquished power. Nearly all of them became dictators or kings. But that’s not who Washington was. Emulating his hero Cincinnatus, he had always intended to give up power when he held it. He could have easily kept it and ruled America as a dictator or a new monarch. Instead, he handed power back to the government, the civilian-elected government, thereby setting the precedent that the armies of the United States would be subservient and ruled by the elected bodies of government. The example he set by this single act reverberated throughout Europe. When told of it, King George III proclaimed Washington to be the greatest man in the world. In relinquishing power, he also set forth the very American principle that there is more to life than seeking such stations of power.
Of course, Washington would be in positions of power again before his life ended in December 1799. Enjoying ‘retirement’ after the war, he privately expressed his frustration with the Confederation Congress. In some letters, he sounds as angry as any of his officers were at Newburgh. During the three years of 1784-87, Washington, now the private citizen, remained intensely focused on seeing the American experiment succeed. What became clearer to him and the others who shared his concerns, among them Gouverneur Morris, Alexander Hamilton, Robert Morris, and James Madison, was that the Articles of Confederation did not work. The recession of the mid-1780s and Shays’ Rebellion in 1786 further worried these Founders that the country’s government was incapable of meeting the demands facing its citizenry. A convention was first called in Annapolis, Maryland in 1786, but only a handful of people showed up. However, the idea of calling a second meeting to address these concerns caught on, and soon the Philadelphia Convention was scheduled for May 1787.
Recall, the original inception was not to replace the confederation government. For one, this was illegal, especially because the Confederation Congress were not the ones calling for this convention. What would matter and carry the seriousness of this meeting would be who attended. And no one expected there to be a meeting of such importance without Washington at its head. If he refused, it likely would have splintered and evaporated in a matter of weeks without any proposals being taken seriously. Also, Congress might have tried to shut it down, even if the proceedings were to be kept secret and guarded from the public’s knowledge. No, Washington attending would give it legitimacy and signify the urgency of the convention’s calling. And the old war hero would not only have to attend, but he would have to preside, once again taking the leadership role. With Washington at the helm, other members would be satisfied and confident their presence and time were of the upmost importance. So it went. Washington was coaxed into presiding over the Constitutional Convention for the four and a half months it was in session. Allowing other members to debate on the floor, he usually remained silent during the day, leaving his political skills to persuading delegates at the evening meetings held in candle-lit taverns. During the proceedings, Benjamin Franklin, now the elder statesman and whose health was deteriorating, pondered the fate of the young nation one day sitting in the Main Hall of the Old Pennsylvania State House (now Independence Hall). Washington was seated at the front of the room in an ornamental chair with a sun carved into the headstock. Franklin the philosopher wondered if the image depicted a rising sun or a setting sun. Moving his eyes to focus on Washington, he settled on a rising sun, concluding the country would carry on and be prosperous. No doubt seeing Washington at the head of this business reassured him.
Once ratification was achieved, it became obvious who the nation’s first chief executive would be. Even when Washington downplayed his awareness of the public’s calling on him once again, he, too, understood only he - the singular American most citizens trusted - could lead the new American government. If faith and destiny were indeed what surrounded the mystique of Washington, he would now be tested once again to prove his ability to lead. In the first two years of his administration, his health (and the nation’s) was jeopardized by both a tumor on his upper hip that had to be surgically removed, and a bout with influenza, the latter of which became so serious in the spring of 1790 that New York newspapers began running ‘death watches’ for the president. Abigail Adams, then wife to Vice President John Adams, wrote that if Washington were to succumb and die, the Constitution might die with him. He survived and would begrudgingly serve two terms as the first president. His greatest achievements as president would be overseeing the establishing of the financial system proposed by Hamilton, remaining neutral in European affairs (which costed him a lot of his hero status in the partisan press), overseeing Western expansion into Ohio and the Great Lakes, helping design and personally manage the development of the future capital bearing his name on the Potomac River, and squashing the Whiskey Rebellion, which firmly established federal supremacy throughout the states. Exhausted, he finally stepped down in 1797 from the power that had continually been thrusted upon him.
Perhaps Washington’s last great act of leadership were the contents of his will. Though his Farewell Address rightly gets more attention, for it lays out his life’s dedication to serving his country, Washington’s will freed the enslaved people he owned as property. Where historians and academics have long disagreed over is just how stellar of an act this really was. Like many of his generation, Washington was slow to see chattel slavery as an evil. At a time when slavery was the norm throughout the world, only seldom few (John Woolman being an early example) were what we consider abolitionists prior to the American Revolution. But once the Revolution and the Declaration of Independence were thrusted upon the world, there was no going back from the liberties bound in universalism that it unleashed. Though Washington opposed black soldiers in the Continental Army until necessity demanded he changed course, in truth black Americans had served among the ranks of the army since Boston in 1775. By 1781, one eyewitness noted about one-fifth of the army assembled at Yorktown was black. Lost on many students and Americans is the fact that the Continental Army was fully integrated, and would be the first American army until the Korean War to be so.
Washington’s evolution on slavery changed during the war years for several reasons. While he remained committed to the Virginian gentry lifestyle that was rooted and supported by slavery, he also began feeling the economic burden of having too many as property he had to care for. He also refused to separate families who were intermarried throughout Mount Vernon and the surrounding plantations, citing it as inhumane. We know several of his junior officers in the army, most notably John Laurens, vocally supported arming runaway slaves in the South, something Washington never truly endorsed for obvious reasons. Yet he did begin to privately condemn slavery as morally indefensible with the principles the Revolution was establishing. We know the Marquis de Lafayette, Washington’s surrogate son, wrote to him in 1783/84 of the idea of freeing as many slaves as possible and establishing a free community on an island. Washington endorsed his spirit for change, but nothing came of the idea. Further private letters throughout the 1780s indicate Washington was growing uneasy with slavery, and hoped legislation would begin the gradual emancipation and end the practice. This was the belief of many of the Founders at the time. In truth, as much as the hypocrisy of their continued reliance and practice on the institution can be found, there are clear indicators that the mood right after the Revolution concluded showed the greatest promise for slavery’s demise. In 1784, Thomas Jefferson’s proposed Land Ordinance bill would have banned slavery from expanding into new states. It failed to pass by a single vote. Jefferson would later cite this failure as his greatest attempt to prove he was against slavery. For Washington, the contradictions were elevated during his presidency. He signed the Fugitive Slave Act of 1793, allowing armed mobs to rove through Northern states in pursuit of runaways, or anyone deemed to be one. Personally, the case of Oney Judge further erodes our trust in Washington’s sincerity of deposing himself of slavery. Yet his will leaves subtle clues into his true feelings.
It has been suggested by some historians that Washington’s inability to outright denounce slavery and free the people enslaved under him are complicated because of legal and familial reasons. Because most of his private correspondence between him and Martha was burned by her after his death, we cannot ever know how much they agreed or disagreed over the question of slavery. But there are clues that Washington hid his reservations from Martha and the Custis family, who were far more committed to preserving the lifestyle slavery afforded them. Washington also seems to have kept much of his personal feelings from his relatives. When he died, he purposely stated that the enslaved people he owned would be freed upon the death of Martha. To some, this seems to continue the contradiction. Why not free them immediately? Dr. William Allen, professor at James Madison University, states that if Washington had tried to free them upon his death, Virginia law would have kept them in limbo, passing them off to Martha, and possibly absorbing them into the Custis dower agreement. This would mean the people whom Washington owned might have been at jeopardy of never being freed, and worse, families might have been divided and sold off separately. As Dr. Allen explains, Washington knew all of these possibilities, and this is why he deliberately worded his will the way he did. By stipulating that the people under him should remain at Mount Vernon until Martha’s death, he was ensuring no legal action could be taken to divide the families or have them permanently sentenced to bondage.
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I realize this piece is a bit long. I have written about Washington several times and continue to find him fascinating. Long ago I moved beyond the powdered hair (never a whig) and stiff blandness of the era to embrace the human side of these people. Like all of us, no single person is without flaws and the many complex contradictions in both character and deeds. Words matter. Actions matter more. When it comes to the topic of slavery, Washington has plenty to answer for. His was a slow-moving philosophy that ultimately reckoned with the principles of the American Revolution: that they did not equate with the existence of chattel slavery. He was fully aware of his legacy and how history would judge him. A lover of history himself, it cannot be dismissed that these reflections did not play a major role in how and why he came to view slavery as wrong. How wrong we can never fully know. According to Jefferson, the war hero allegedly told him that if sectional tensions over slavery threatened to split the country, he would leave Virginia and settle in the free North. That anecdote is nice on the ears of many of us who look to Washington for so much, but we must remember that Jefferson was not above slandering his political rivals, including Washington. He very likely could have made up the remark as a way of slamming Washington as not being a ‘true Virginian.’ But those gripes aside, what cannot be discounted are the unimaginable hardships, headaches, and sacrifices he made during the war. And what must be remembered, and in my opinion, celebrated, are the heroic deeds Washington did to solidify why the American Revolution was unique, and why the United States of America would be different from any other country in human history. Don’t believe me? Look to Newburgh or Annapolis in 1783. Neither act required lifting a weapon of war. They required leadership.
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Last Thoughts
There are indeed times that try men’s - and all human’s - souls. Whether it be tests in academia or in the real world, life has a way of throwing wrenches at all of us, particularly when we’re juggling glass vases on a unicycle whose tire is deflated. As of late, I am constantly reminded why people like George Washington continue to matter. Sadly, most of this reminder comes from the fact that far too many Americans have absolutely no idea who Washington was or what he did to accumulate the histories pronouncing him as the country’s ‘indispensable man.’ For far too many citizens, Washington has become nothing more than a face on the one dollar bill or a symbol of America’s original sin of chattel slavery. Among Internet-historians and the activist class, none of them ever give examples of why Washington was so important in the country’s earliest years; on why his very life was the fragile balance of the entire American experiment.
For students of history, there is plenty to learn, manage and criticize about him. As always is the key to any study, it’s not the task to immediately assume one must like or dislike the subject. The only important point is to understand why that individual is worth knowing. One can be both critical and fascinated by an individual. That’s the beauty of learning about historical figures. Even some of the past’s worst examples of humanity continue to inspire us today in ways we often overlook or misunderstand. But it takes an even deeper dive to understand individuals in the contexts of their time, and learn how they made decisions and why they made choices we either admire or disagree with today.
As we all know, Monday-morning-quarterbacking is in of itself a human phenomenon that usually weakens the case of the critic. He should have known better. I wouldn’t have done that. One usually hears this among students reviewing materials about the Holocaust. Of course, we would all like to think that none of us would have gone along with Nazi Germany’s extermination of the Jews if we had been German citizens. But chances are many of us would have either been silent and looked the other way, or would have been complacent. That’s not to suggest any of us are secretly Anti-Semitic or Nazis. It’s only to point out that under certain societal conditions, the average person tends to flow with the current, not swim against it. History is littered with examples of civilizations endorsing barbarity. The brutalities of Maoist China saw young students brainwashed into murdering their parents. Native American groups kidnapped and raped rival tribal women as prizes of conflict. Colonial Americans viewed witchcraft as a real threat, and ordered the deaths of innocent people to combat it. African and Arab leaders sold each other’s people into slavery for centuries before the Portuguese arrived. But some of us feel the need to expel a sense of virtue-signaling; that none of us would ever have committed or endorsed such atrocities if given the choice. It’s an easy statement to make, especially when one is playing poker and holding all the face cards. The point of history is to understand the past, not to be morally outraged because you feel or know you can do better. That’s called progress. We should celebrate progress and continue in its direction. We should also recognize why knowing history truthfully, factually and objectively allows for that progress to be made in the first place.
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