Washington: A Life (29 page)

Having failed to learn its lesson with the Stamp Act, Great Britain again provoked colonial discontent in 1767 with the Townshend Acts, which placed duties on paint, glass, paper, and tea and buttressed the power of royal officials by freeing them from reliance on colonial assemblies for money. Hardening its stance toward the restive colonists, the Crown dispatched the HMS
Romney
to Boston, where radicals had a chance in May 1768 to ponder the political message carried by its fifty guns. In September British warships disgorged two regiments of redcoats, who marched through town to the beat of fife and drums and then pitched tents on the Common in a show of strength designed to intimidate local protesters.

Of late Washington’s attendance in Williamsburg had been haphazard, and he missed the debate in the burgesses that included vehement denunciations of the Townshend duties. The legislators cloaked their plea to the king in obsequious language, appealing to his “fatherly goodness and protection,” but the royal heart remained unmoved.
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Reflecting their tough position, officials in London sent to Virginia a new governor, Lord Botetourt, a peer of the realm with secret instructions to dissolve the Virginia assembly if it persisted in willful opposition to imperial wisdom. For all their ire over the Townshend duties, the burgesses still couldn’t resist the allure of an honest-to-goodness British aristocrat, and on November 2, 1768, Washington and fellow burgesses flocked to a festive welcoming dinner for the royal governor.

One can argue plausibly that the events of the winter of 1768-69 converted George Washington from a rich, disaffected planter into a rabid militant against British policies. Had he died before that winter, he would have left no real record of distinction, aside from youthful bravery in the French and Indian War. That winter changed everything, and he began to evolve into the George Washington known to history. Moving beyond the disputes over self-advancement that had preoccupied his younger, insecure self, he suddenly seemed a larger figure in the nascent struggle against British injustice. All his seething frustration in seeking a royal commission during the war; all his vocal disaffection with Robert Cary and Company; all his dismay over British policies that handicapped him as a planter and real estate speculator—these enduring complaints now crystallized into splendid wrath against the Crown.

That winter Parliament grew so disgruntled over colonial protests against its tax policy that it was proposed (though never executed) that the ringleaders be shipped to England and tried for treason under an old statute dating from Henry VIII’s reign. As word of this proposal spread, so did protest against the mother country. In early April Washington received a packet from Dr. David Ross of Bladensburg, Maryland, containing news of associations being set up in Philadelphia and Annapolis to boycott nonessential British imports as long as Parliament persisted in foisting unfair taxes on the colonies. The packet included plans for a comparable Virginia association, drawn up by a nameless writer. Washington sent it to his friend and neighbor George Mason, who turned out to be the author. A tall, bookish man trained in the law, Mason was more scholarly and less sociable than Washington. He inhabited a Georgian mansion called Gunston Hall, just south of Belvoir, which was in turn just south of Mount Vernon.

On April 5, 1769, Washington sent Mason a remarkable letter that gave both his private and his public reasons for supporting a boycott of British goods. Doubtless thinking of his own plight, he said a boycott would break the onerous cycle of debt that trapped many colonists, purging their extravagant spending. Before this the average colonial debtor was too weak to break this habit, “for how can I, says he, who have lived in such and such a manner, change my method? … besides, such an alteration in the system of my living will create suspicions of a decay in my fortune and such a thought the world must not harbor.”
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Washington provided here a key insight into the psychology of debt: fear that any attempt at a more frugal existence would disclose the truth about a person’s actual wealth.

In the letter, Washington made clear that his opposition to arbitrary taxation had much to do with setting a precedent against further mischief. Just as the British assumed the right to taxation, so “they may attempt at least to restrain our manufactories, especially those of a public nature.”
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Striking a militant tone, Washington suggested that he had moved beyond petitions and now preferred direct action, although not yet arms. He suddenly found a clear, spirited voice of protest, one that spoke of abstract rights instead of just personal advancement or economic necessity. “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[l]d be done to avert the stroke and maintain the liberty which we have derived from our ancestors.” In considering the best means to effect this, he balked at spelling out the treasonous word
arms
. “That no man shou[l]d scruple or hesitate a moment to use a—ms in defense of so valuable a blessing … is clearly my opinion. Yet a—ms, I wou[l]d beg leave to add, should be the last resource.”
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Noting the futility of sending more fawning petitions to the king, he said the only recourse was to starve British trade and manufactures.

In many ways, Washington’s letter to Mason foretells the success of the American Revolution: he tried to be law-abiding, endorsed incremental change, and favored violence only if all else failed. Unlike the French Revolution, the American Revolution started with a series of measured protests by men schooled in self-government, a long, exhaustive search for a diplomatic solution, before moving toward open rebellion. Later on, nothing incensed Washington more than the notion that the colonists had proved unreasonable during the run-up to war.

In the following weeks, Washington discussed with Mason his proposal for a nonimportation association for Virginia. Then on April 30 Washington headed to Williamsburg to present this plan to the burgesses. Until this point he had been a minor, often absentee, legislator, too taciturn and aloof to emerge as a major political force. One observer characterized him as “too bashful and timid for an orator,” while another described him as “a modest man, but sensible, and speaks little—in action cool, like a bishop at his prayers.”
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Now fired up with a newfound sense of leadership, Washington served on three standing committees, signifying an abrupt elevation in Virginia politics. In opening the new session of the burgesses in early May, Lord Botetourt reminded them of his royal auspices by riding to the capitol in a handsome coach behind a brilliant team of white horses. Held amid the uproar over the Townshend Acts, this spring session promised to be tumultuous and featured a surprising number of new members, including the lanky Virginian from Albemarle County, twenty-six-year-old Thomas Jefferson.

On May 16, with Washington present, the burgesses approved the sweeping Virginia Resolves, which contended that only they had the right to tax Virginians. They also insisted upon the right to petition the Crown for grievances and restrict trials for treason and other crimes to the colony itself. The next day, having heard enough seditious proposals from these upstart Virginians, Lord Botetourt had the sergeant at arms interrupt their session and summon them to a brief meeting in the council chamber, where he delivered an imperious message. “Mr. Speaker and Gentlemen of the House of Burgesses,” he began, “I have heard of your resolves and augur ill of their effect. You have made it my duty to dissolve you and you are dissolved accordingly.”
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This bald declaration shocked the assembled worthies into recognizing how little authority they wielded. They weren’t the ultimate source of power, which was doled out sparingly at the whim of the Crown. Once Lord Botetourt issued his decree, Washington and many other burgesses adjourned to the Apollo Room of the Raleigh Tavern to ponder “their distressed situation.”
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In this highly emotional gathering, Washington introduced the boycott scheme over which he and Mason had labored. The dissident members formed a committee, including Washington, that accepted the plan for a nonimportation association. The next morning the burgesses reconvened in the Apollo Room and affixed their signatures to the plan to boycott any British goods subject to taxes in America. For good measure, they threw in a lengthy list of untaxed goods to shun. This Virginia Association would remain in force until the Townshend Acts were repealed. Caught up in the giddy spirit of the moment, Washington purchased
Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania to the Inhabitants of the British Colonies,
an influential dissident pamphlet written by a wealthy Philadelphia lawyer, John Dickinson.

During this early period of discontent, Washington and his fellow burgesses danced a strange minuet with Lord Botetourt, alternating defiance with reconciliation. The day after signing the nonimportation agreement, Washington mentioned in his diary: “Dined again at Mrs. Dawson’s and went to the Queens birth night at the palace.”
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A proud, imposing building, the governor’s palace boasted marble floors and stacks of muskets mounted on black walnut walls; its ballroom glistened with portraits of the king and queen. That Washington and other burgesses would celebrate the queen’s birthday still seemed quite natural to them. As the
Virginia Gazette
commented, “The Governor gave a splendid ball and entertainment at the palace to a very numerous and polite company of ladies and gentlemen.”
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Nothing better illustrates the schizoid world of these unsettled legislators than the way they gravitated to the governor’s genteel ball despite the political passions smoldering underneath. Even among the most hypercritical burgesses, there existed as yet no sense of an irrevocable split from England.

In late July Washington seemed to rejoice at the chance to inform Robert Cary and Company that he was “determined to adhere religiously” to the new boycott agreement. In submitting an invoice of goods he wanted, Washington apprised his agents that nothing should be sent to him that appeared on the list of products taxed by Parliament “as I have heartily enter[e]d into an association” bound to boycott such goods.
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He welcomed the boycott as a chance to extend his far-reaching experiments in economic self-sufficiency at Mount Vernon. In the estimation of one observer, Washington “carried the scheme of manufacturing to a greater height than almost any man [in Virginia].”
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Washington remained a most unlikely revolutionary. When he was attending the burgesses that autumn, he, Martha, and her daughter, Patsy, traveled to Williamsburg in the glittering green coach, adorned with gilt-edged panels, that Washington had so painstakingly ordered from Robert Cary. The tone of this session was less confrontational than in the spring, and Lord Botetourt mollified members by supporting repeal of the Townshend duties, except for the fateful one on tea. His speech previewed a policy shift by the new administration, headed by Lord North, whose strategy was to undercut the dissidents by revoking the duties while retaining the one on tea to reaffirm parliamentary prerogative. This maneuver succeeded in cooling off the fervor of the Virginia Association, even after British grenadiers in early March 1770 fired on a disorderly crowd in Boston, killing five of them in what became known as the “Boston Massacre.”

The many contradictions of Washington’s world were on display in Williamsburg that spring. He attended the opening night of
The Beggar’s Opera
and a luxurious ball to honor the king’s birthday. Yet this same George Washington was dismayed that his fellow Virginians couldn’t curb their appetite for imported goods. He was disappointed in June when a new nonimportation agreement relaxed many restrictions, allowing imports of barley and pork, pewter and gold, boots and saddles. Eminently realistic, already equipped with fine political instincts, Washington recognized that this watered-down agreement was “the best that the friends to the cause cou[l]d obtain here.” At the same time he wished it were “ten times as strict” and frowned on it as “too much relaxed from the spirit with which a measure of this sort ought to be conducted.”
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Nevertheless that July Washington had no qualms about ordering from Robert Cary a pigskin saddle, gold jewelry, and other luxury items only recently proscribed.

 

 

GEORGE WASHINGTON BELIEVED FERVENTLY in the potential wealth of the western lands, a faith he touted in almost messianic tones. He had long maintained that the foremost Virginia estates were created “by taking up and purchasing at very low rates the rich back lands, which were thought nothing of in those days, but are now the most valuable lands we possess.”
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For Washington, land speculation was the ideal vehicle for amassing riches, a way to invest in his own future and that of the country, mingling idealism with profit. He continued to deplore the 1763 proclamation barring settlement beyond the Allegheny Mountains as both myopic and unworkable. When Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon completed their survey of the Pennsylvania-Maryland border, he foresaw that it would trigger a mad scramble for prime frontier acreage.

Washington didn’t shrink from secrecy and even sharp dealings in real estate, as can be seen in his strenuous efforts to expand his western holdings in the late 1760s. Hoping to purchase up to two thousand acres, he turned to an old ally from the Forbes campaign, Captain William Crawford, who lived in the Ohio Country. Washington wanted to scout out forbidden lands beyond the so-called Proclamation Line and didn’t think he could afford to wait, advising Crawford that anyone “who neglects the present opportunity of hunting out good lands and in some measure marking and distinguishing them for their own … will never regain it.” Crawford agreed to search out large parcels in partnership with Washington, who urged him to “keep this whole matter a profound secret,” lest other speculators discover their designs before they laid “a proper foundation for success.”
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