Martha Washington (33 page)

The British minister's wife thought Mrs. Washington's heart seemed a little melted, “as she never expects to see Philadelphia again.” She was wrong. Just a week before they left forever, Martha wrote about their last season in Philadelphia and her hopes for retirement: “The winter has been very sevear hear . . . but is now moderating and drawing to a close, with which the curtain will fall on our public life, and place us in a more tranquil theater.”

Beginning during the Revolution, certain letters like this one—to accomplished women like Mercy Warren or Eliza Powel or her official responses to tendered gifts—were drafted for her by Washington and later by Lear. She then copied the drafts and signed them as her own. But the formal correspondence with its consciously literary turns of phrase lacks the charm of her own letters to intimates. Those were affectionate, down-to-earth, and frequently lightened with self-deprecating humor—much like the lady herself. Whatever sentiments she asked her ghostwriters to express, she wasn't a woman to sign anything she didn't mean.

Remaining only long enough to attend the inauguration of John Adams as president on March 4, 1797, the Washingtons bade farewell to their friends in Philadelphia. As he wrote to his wife back home in Massachusetts, Adams understood that Washington was well out of an unpleasant situation and that he, Adams, had gotten himself well into it. Neither of them, however, quite realized that Abigail Adams would also be fair game for partisan criticism.

Aided by Tobias Lear, Bat Dandridge remained behind to see to the cleaning of the mansion for the Adamses, the packing of the furniture and other things they were taking home, and the sale or distribution as gifts of items not wanted for Mount Vernon. George and Martha loaded the children, young Lafayette and his tutor, aides, slaves, Nelly's dog, Frisk, and a parrot, and mountains of baggage into two groaning coaches. The overflow—ninety-seven boxes, fourteen trunks, forty-three casks, thirteen packages, three hampers, and ever so much more—was sent by ship. Despite a very heavy cold and cough, Martha Washington refused to hear of any delay in setting off for Virginia.

One absentee surprised her as much as the earlier flight of Oney Judge. Their chief cook, a slave named Hercules, called by the children “Uncle Harkless,” disappeared from the house on the day they were scheduled to leave for Virginia. Although liked and valued by all the family, he apparently had not relished the role of enslaved old retainer. His flight, however, didn't affect Martha in the same way as Oney's; she didn't love him as she did the young woman. Although Washington continued halfheartedly asking his friends to be on the lookout for Hercules for a few months, he was gone forever. A good cook never had to search too far for employment.

It took them a week to get home, and their progress was impeded by the crowds who came out to honor the retiring president. Militia troops escorted them, kicking up clouds of dust, and everywhere people in carriages, on horseback, and on foot appeared along their route, as Nelly observed, “to
see, & be seen
& Welcome My Dear Grandpapa.”

Like many later First Ladies, Martha Washington was exhausted by the calls on her time and angered by the attacks on her husband. After the doubtful pleasures of the presidency, she left for Mount Vernon as though they were departing for the promised land.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

G
rape vines and fig trees appear more than twenty times in the Old Testament as emblems of peace, plenty, and contentment. For Martha and George Washington, familiar as they were with the King James version of the Bible, two verses were especially potent symbols for their retirement and often appeared in their correspondence. The book of First Kings described a sort of earthly paradise under the wise and powerful rule of King Solomon: “And Judah and Israel dwelt safely, every man under his vine and under his fig tree” (1 Kings 4:25). The book of Micah prophesied a day when there would be no more war and men would “beat their swords into plowshares.” In the next verse, that peace was described: “But they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree; and none shall make them afraid” (Micah 4:3-4).

For a tired old soldier who had just returned from eight years of vicious political warfare, the vision of a place where he could sheathe his sword and turn his hand to the plow was pretty close to heaven. Even more so for Martha. As much as George had suffered from the Republicans' newspaper attacks, Martha had suffered twice as much for her husband because she was helpless to protect him. The second term had been hell.

When they arrived home on March 15, 1797, they found Mount Vernon much as it had been at the end of the Revolution—the absence of its owners had led to deterioration and dilapidation, but this represented a new challenge for the intrepid pair. As Martha exulted: “We once more (and I am very sure never to quit it again) got seated under our own Roof, more like new beginners than old established residenters, as we found every thing in a deranged [state], & all the buildings in a decaying state.” George threw himself into a whirlwind of construction, garden plans, and farming—complaining about the neglect while clearly enjoying himself mightily.

Martha reorganized the housekeeping. She had grown accustomed to having a steward in the presidential mansion and at sixty-five no longer wanted to oversee all the housekeeping herself. After she discovered that a steward or housekeeper from Philadelphia would demand outrageous wages to move south, she made do with a local woman, who worked under her direction.

Martha also half-jokingly appointed Nelly, now a sprightly girl of eighteen, as the “deputy housekeeper.” Nelly relished her informal household training and helped entertain guests by playing the harpsichord, singing, and conversing amiably. By her own account, she was also “deputy nurse” for ailing members of the family. Her duties weren't so onerous, though, that she couldn't spend weeks at a time with her sisters in the future federal capital, becoming known as Washington City, or with friends in Alexandria, attending dances, parties, and the theater. The purpose of these visits, of course, was to introduce her to society and to help find a suitable husband.

One possibility was close at hand. Depending on the course the French Revolution took, George Washington Lafayette might once again be very eligible indeed. Nelly was furious when she heard that Philadelphia gossip had linked their names. As she wrote a friend, “The opinion of the wise (that
friendship
alone cannot exist between two young persons of different sexes) is very
erroneous &
ridiculous
. . . . I shall ever feel an interest & sincere regard for
my young adopted Brother
[he was seventeen to her eighteen]—but as to being
in love with him
it is entirely out of the question.” Martha would never have encouraged a romance that would take her darling adopted daughter across the sea. To a woman who dreaded ferry rides, an ocean voyage would have been impossible.

The care and feeding of nieces was still one of her amusements. With the loss of Fanny Bassett Washington Lear, she invited another Fanny for a long visit. Fanny Henley, her sister Betsy's daughter, was about Nelly's age; she came to stay for several months one year and came back the next year to spend time with Eliza Law and Patty Peter.

As it had been following the Revolution, Mount Vernon was again flooded with guests. When the Washingtons were at home, visitors couldn't be far behind. All of them wrote about their gracious reception by Martha and Nelly. In the winter, the ladies would be found in one of the small parlors. In summer, they were more likely to be sitting in the wide hall, cool and breezy with both outside doors open.

Guests always commented favorably on Martha's looks, even though she was in her mid-sixties. One observed that “she retains strong remains of considerable beauty.” As always, though, it was her character and conversation that they found especially attractive. Her account of the family was given “in a good-humored free manner that was extremely pleasant and flattering.” She was praised for lacking any “affectation of superiority in the slightest degree” To sum it all up: “Mrs. Washington is a very agreeable, lively, sensible person.”

Having lived through the most stirring days of American history, Martha thought of herself almost as a historical resource and was always glad to guide visitors about Mount Vernon. An impressed guest said, “Mrs. Washington is one of the most estimable persons that one could know, good, sweet, and extremely polite. She loves to talk and talks very well about times past.” To another guest, she inquired for news, remarking that although she was no politician, she liked to read the newspapers. As she sat knitting, doing needlepoint, and netting, she freed George to go about his business. But no one felt slighted. A lady remarked: “The extensive knowledge she has gained in this general intercourse with persons from all parts of the world has made her a most interesting companion, and having a vastly retentive memory, she presents an entire history of half a century.”

With Washington's encouragement, Gouverneur Morris managed to negotiate the release of Lafayette, his wife, and the girls from the prison at Olmutz. The most filial son imaginable, young George demanded to leave for France to be reunited with his family. He and the tutor left for New York in October 1797, where he boarded a ship and safely joined them in exile. Only later were they able to go back to France and recover a portion of their family estates.

Meanwhile, the latest French government, the Directory, waged undeclared war on American ships at sea and treated American representatives disgracefully, demanding bribes from them to see the foreign minister. Despite Republican excuses for this behavior, war was looming. Alexander Hamilton and other Federalists in opposition to John Adams tried to draw Washington into the fray, and he became ever more convinced that France and her American supporters could destroy the constitutional government.

The hostile talk that went on at Mount Vernon about the French is obvious from a letter Nelly wrote at the time: “Were I drowning & a
straw
only in sight, I would as soon think of trusting to that
slender support
. . . as place the smallest dependence upon the stability of the
French republican
government. Neither would I trust the life of a
Cat
in the hands of a sett of people who hardly know religion, humanity or Justice, even
by name
.”

In July 1798, President Adams named Washington commander of the American army to counter French aggression. His acceptance was reassuring to most of the nation, even though he would take the field only in case of an invasion. Against the president's wishes, he appointed Hamilton as his second in command. Washington made only one six-week trip to Philadelphia (no doubt to Martha's relief) to organize the new army. The threat of war slowly dissipated as Adams sent representatives to treat with France the following year, and it ended completely when a treaty was signed.

To everyone's happiness, Tobias Lear returned as a neighbor and personal secretary. His business had failed, and he now lived at River Farm, the 360 acres of Mount Vernon that Washington had promised to his nephew. It was Lear's rent-free for life, after which it would pass to George Augustine and Fanny's children.

Despite Martha's assistance, George still found that the constant stream of guests interfered with his reading and correspondence. He invited one of his sister Betty's sons, Lawrence Lewis, to live at Mount Vernon and serve as an unpaid deputy host, which allowed him to withdraw into his study in the evenings.

The arrival of Lawrence, a childless widower twelve years Nelly's senior, solved the problem of her marriage. They became engaged in late 1798 and married on Washington's birthday the following year. In a candlelit ceremony, he gave away his adopted daughter, dressed at her request in his Revolutionary uniform. Customs had changed in Virginia, and a sort of honeymoon had become fashionable. A few days after their marriage, the Lewises set off on a round of family visits, stopping by to look at White House while they were in New Kent County.

When they returned to Mount Vernon five months later, Nelly was pregnant, and she and Martha put their heads together. They had missed each other during the separation. Although Lawrence owned land in Frederick County, the Lewises wanted to continue living at Mount Vernon. When George was finally made aware by his wife of this desire, he agreed—ostensibly to please Martha, but he had also missed Nelly. He offered them two thousand acres of the estate, which Lawrence could begin farming at once. Three miles away, there was a lofty hill with a view of Mount Vernon where they could build their own home. No one expected that move to be anytime soon.

Aside from the general infirmities of age, Martha and George were both in good health, now the last survivors of their own large families. His last brother, Charles Washington, died that fall; his sister, Betty Lewis, had died in 1797. Martha's much younger sister Betsy Henley also died in 1799. Yet both of them were full of plans for the future. He was reorganizing Mount Vernon to make it more easily manageable, and the great-grandchildren were very much on her mind, not to speak of Betsy's daughter Fanny Henley.

In late November, Nelly gave birth to Frances Parke Lewis after an extended and painful labor. Like all the women of her time, she had gathered her women: her grandmother, mother, sisters, house servants, and a midwife were with her for the birth. Because her labor had been so difficult, Nelly was ordered to stay in bed for some weeks until she fully recovered. Early in December, her brother and husband rode off to New Kent County to look over Wash's extensive property there. Tobias Lear remained behind to keep the ladies company and assist Washington.