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GEORGE WASHINGTON
INTRODUCTION
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GEORGE WASHINGTON
INTRODUCTION
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GEORGE WASHINGTON
INTRODUCTION
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GEORGE WASfflNGTON
INTRODUCTION
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have endeavored to place his deeds in the clearest light, and left
them to speak for themselves, generally avoiding comment or
eulogium. W e have quoted his own words and writings largely, to
explain his feelings and motives, and give the true key to his policy; for never did man leave a more truthful mirror of his heart
and mind, and a more thorough exponent of his conduct, than he
has left in his copious correspondence. There his character is to
be found in all its majestic simplicity, its massive grandeur, and
quiet colossal strength. He was no hero of romance; there was
nothing of romantic heroism in his nature. As a warrior, he was incapable of fear, but made no merit of defying danger. He fought
for a cause, but not for personal renown. Gladly, when he had
won the cause, he hung up his sword, never again to take it down.
Glory, that blatant word, which haunts some military minds like
the bray of the trumpet, formed no part of his aspirations. To act
justly was his instinct, to promote the public weal his constant
effort, to deserve the 'affections of good men' his ambition. With
such qualifications for the pure exercise of sound judgment and
comprehensive wisdom, he ascended the presidential chair.
"There for the present we leave him. So far our work is
complete, comprehending the whole military life of Washington,
and his agency in public affairs, up to the formation of our Constitution. How well we have executed it, we leave to the public to
determine; hoping to find it, as heretofore, far more easily satisfied
with the result of our labors than we are ourselves. Should the
measure of health and good spirits, with which a kind Providence
has blessed us beyond the usual term of literary labor, be still continued, we may go on, and in another volume give the presidential
career and closing life of Washington. In the meantime, having
found a resting-place in our task, we stay our hands, lay by our
pen, and seek that relaxation and repose which gathering years
require."
Bancroft wrote to Irving about volume four, calling it "the most
vivid and the truest" portrait of Washington that had "ever been
written." And Prescott wrote to him on August 7, 1857, "I have
never before fully comprehended the character of Washington;
nor did I know what capabilities it would afford to his biographer.
Hitherto we have only seen him as a sort of marble Colossus, full
of moral greatness, but without the touch of humanity that would
give him interest. You have known how to give the marble flesh
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color, that brings it to the resemblance of life. This you have done
throughout; but it is more especially observable in the first volume
and in the last." By the "last" Prescott meant the fourth.
Troubled by weariness, insomnia, catarrh, shortness of breath
and fear of night, Irving found it very difficult to work on volume
five. Pierre writes that on September 18, 1858, " H e gave me the
first six chapters, some of which he had been taking to pieces and
put together again. I read them, and recommended some rejections, to which he acceded. Told me he had got through the labor
of constructing his fifth volume, but wanted to handle certain
parts. Sometimes the way in which a thing should be done flashed
upon him as he was going to bed, and he could not recall it the
next morning. When in the mood, everything came easy; when
not, the Devil himself could not make him write." In October,
Irving, ill with "intermittent fever," was anxious about retaining
his mental powers long enough to finish the task, and apprehensive that "the pitcher might have gone once too often to the
well," as Pierre put it. Irving told his nephew, "I do not fear
death, but I would like to go down with all sail set."
In January 1859, experiencing increasing shortness of breath,
dreading to be alone in his bedroom at night, haunted by the notion he would not be able to sleep, feeling extremely nervous and
anxious, Irving was muddling again, as he called it, with the final
volume. In February he referred to his bedroom as his "haunted
chamber" because it seemed to him that brooding phantoms
perched, like Poe's raven, above the door. Once, when he entered
the room with Pierre at about eleven in the evening, he begged
Pierre not to leave but to "stick" by him, saying it was a great
comfort to him to know that he was there with him. On March 15
he put the finishing touches on the last chapter of the biography.
Next day, depressed, he had much difficulty breathing. On the seventeenth he asked Pierre if the final chapter had been set in type
the previous night "Yes," Pierre said. Irving remarked, "Well, I
never got out a work in this style before, without looking at the
proof-sheets. In better health, I could have given more effect to
parts; but I was afraid to look at the proofs, lest I should get
muddling." His health fluctuated in the spring. In April he wrote
a moving "Author's Preface" for the fifth and final volume.
"The present volume completes a work to which the author had
long looked forward as the crowning effort of his literary career.
INTRODUCTION
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the British light troops and the American riflemen which continued for about two hours, when the former retired to their main
body. In the meantime Stirling's position had been strengthened
by the arrival of Captain Carpenter with two field-pieces. These
were placed on the side of the hill so as to command the road and
the approach for some hundred yards. General Grant likewise
brought up his artillery within three hundred yards and formed his
brigade on opposite hills, about six hundred yards distant. There
was occasional cannonading on both sides, but neither party
sought a general action.
Lord Stirling's object was merely to hold the enemy in check;
and the instructions of General Grant, as we have shown, were not
to press an attack until aware that Sir Henry Clinton was on the
left flank of the Americans.
During this time De Heister had commenced his part of the
plan by opening a cannonade, from his camp at Flatbush, upon
the redoubt at the pass of the wooded hills where Hand and his
riflemen were stationed. On hearing this General Sullivan, who
was within the lines, rode forth to Colonel Hand's post to reconnoiter. De Heister, however, according to the plan of operations,
did not advance from Flatbush but kept up a brisk fire from his artillery on the redoubt in front of the pass, which replied as briskly.
At the same time a cannonade from a British ship upon the battery at Red Hook contributed to distract the attention of the
Americans.
In the meantime terror reigned in New York. T h e volleying of
musketry and the booming of cannon at early dawn had told of
the fighting that had commenced. As the morning advanced and
platoon firing and the occasional discharge of a field-piece were
heard in different directions, the terror increased. Washington was
still in doubt whether this was but a part of a general attack, in
which the city was to be included. Five ships-of-the-line were endeavoring to beat up the bay. Were they to cannonade the city or
to land troops above it? Fortunately a strong head-wind baffled all
their efforts, but one vessel of inferior force got up far enough to
open the fire already mentioned upon the fort at Red Hook.
Seeing no likelihood of an immediate attack upon the city,
Washington hastened over to Brooklyn in his barge and galloped
up to the works. He arrived there in time to witness the
catastrophe for which all the movements of the enemy had been
concertcd.
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but out of reach of the musketry and encamped there for the
night. 5
The loss of the Americans in this disastrous battle has been
variously stated but is thought, in killed, wounded and prisoners,
to have been nearly two thousand; a large number, considering
that not above five thousand were engaged. The enemy acknowledged a loss of 380 killed and wounded. 0
T h e success of the enemy was attributed in some measure to the
doubt in which Washington was kept as to the nature of the intended attack, and at what point it would chiefly be made. This
obliged him to keep a great part of his forces in New York and to
distribute those at Brooklyn over a wide extent of country and at
widely distant places. In fact, he knew not the superior number of
the enemy encamped on Long Island, a majority of them having
been furtively landed in the night some days after the debarkation
of the first division.
Much of the day's disaster has been attributed also to a confusion in the command caused by the illness of General Greene. Putnam, who had supplied his place in the emergency after the enemy
had landed, had not time to make himself acquainted with the
post and the surrounding country. Sullivan, though in his letters
he professes to have considered himself subordinate to General
Putnam within the lines, seems still to have exercised somewhat of
an independent command and to have acted at his own discretion,
while Lord Stirling was said to have command of all the troops
outside of the works.
The fatal error, however, and one probably arising from all these
causes consisted in leaving the passes through the wooded hills too
weakly fortified and guarded, and especially in neglecting the eastern road, by which Sir Heniy Clinton got in the rear of the advanced troops, cut them off from the lines and subjected them to a
cross fire of his own men and De Heisters Hessians.
This able and fatal scheme of the enemy might have been
thwarted had the army been provided with a few troops of light
horse to serve as videttes. With these to scour the roads and bring
intelligence, the night march of Sir Henry Clinton, so decisive of
the fortunes of the day, could hardly have failed to be discovered
and reported. The Connecticut horsemen, therefore, ridiculed by
5
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On the 29th there was a dense fog over the island, that
wrapped everything in mystery. In the course of the morning General Mifflin, with Adjutant-General Reed and Colonel Grayson of
Virginia, one of Washington's aides-de-camp, rode to the western
outposts in the neighborhood of Red Hook. While they were
there a light breeze lifted the fog from a part of the New York Bay
and revealed the British ships at their anchorage opposite Staten
Island. There appeared to be an unusual bustle among them.
Boats were passing to and from the admiral's ship, as if seeking or
earning orders. Some movement was apparently in agitation. The
idea occurred to the reconnoitering party that the fleet was preparing, should the wind hold and the fog clear away, to come up the
bay at the turn of the tide, silence the feeble batteries at Red
Hook and the city, and anchor in the East River. In that case the
army on Long Island would be completely surrounded and entrapped.
Alarmed at this perilous probability, they spurred back to
headquarters to urge the immediate withdrawal of the army. As
this might not be acceptable advice, Reed, emboldened by his intimacy with the commander-in-chief, undertook to give it. Washington instantly summoned a council of war. The difficulty was already apparent of guarding such extensive works with troops
fatigued and dispirited and exposed to the inclemencies of the
weather. Other dangers now presented themselves. Their communication with New York might be cut off by the fleet from
below. Other ships had passed round Long Island and were at
Flushing Bay on the Sound. These might land troops on the east
side of Harlem River and make themselves masters of King's
Bridge, that key of Manhattan Island. Taking all these things into
consideration, it was resolved to cross with the troops to the city
that very night.
Never did retreat require greater secrecy and circumspection.
Nine thousand men, with all the munitions of war, were to be
withdrawn from before a victorious army encamped so near that
every stroke of spade and pickaxe from their trenches could be
heard. The retreating troops moreover were to be embarked and
conveyed across a strait three-quarters of a mile wide, swept by
rapid tides. The least alarm of their movement would bring the
enemy upon them and produce a terrible scene of confusion and
carnage at the place of embarkation.
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