Mary Ball Washington

by Craig Shirley

  All praise aside, George was still human—and thus susceptible to anger and frustration. One such instance was before the Battle at Monmouth in June of 1778. With Washington on one end and Henry Clinton and Charles Cornwallis on the other, the battle led to over one thousand casualties. It was a frustratingly complicated battle that ended up testing General Washington’s resolve—and vocabulary. General Charles Scott of Virginia, a fellow Patriot participant, confided to a friend, “Never have I enjoyed such swearing before, or since. Sir, on that ever-memorable day he swore like an angel from Heaven.”55

  AS FOR MARY AT THIS TIME, HER AGE WAS A DETERRENT TO ANY ACTIVE role in the war, one way or another. She could not, like many wives, go on caravans with the army, as was popular during the later years of the war. The problem of hitching a ride with the men was so troublesome that Washington had issued around twenty-five orders regarding this. “Any woman found in a wagon contrary to this regulation is to be immediately turned out,” read one. It was a source of frustration for the general.56 His mother wouldn’t go this route.

  Her Fredericksburg house continued to be her place of residence, and whether she, in her age, went out to the bustling port city or stayed put inside, alone, was up to anyone’s imagination. George Custis believed her to still be a self-sufficient widow, doing her own gardening, her own duties, without the apparent need of neighbor, friend, or family member. Some inhabitants remembered her still visiting Ferry Farm, her place of residence for so many decades.57

  Most recent historians have completely disregarded any hagiographical portrait of the woman, in which she was painted as the grandmother and redeemer of America. There was a certain romanticism in these works, which gave the impression that she was without sin. “The mothers and wives of brave men must be brave women,” Mary supposedly said during the Revolution, according to Sara Pryor.58 Yet some historians now go far in the opposite direction, painting her as almost the fiercest Loyalist in the colonies. Documents exist saying as such. The Comte de Clermont-Crevecoeur, Jean François Louis, a major French ally who visited Fredericksburg in July 1782, wrote that he and his party “went to call on [Mary] but were amazed to be told that this lady, who must be over seventy, is one of the most rabid Tories. Relations must be very strained between her and her son, who will always be the right arm of American freedom.” The Comte’s implication of Mary’s beliefs was made even more clear; he noted that as amazing as it was, it wasn’t uncommon: “In many families you find two brothers, or sometimes a father and a mother, holding opposite opinions. One is a defender of liberty, while the other is a confirmed Loyalist. What evils result from this division of opinion, which disturbs the union and sows discord in the midst of families who should be happy together!”59 Another very early biography of Washington—published in 1807—said the mother of George was “so far from being partial to the American revolution that she frequently regretted the side her son had taken.”60

  Was Mary, the mother of George, a fierce Loyalist? The diary entry should close all matters. But Michelle Hamilton, manager of the Mary Washington House in Fredericksburg, shrugged off the Comte’s diary. “I think we found the one person in town who didn’t like the Washington family,” she said.61 Douglas Freeman—who Hamilton said “made up some facts” about Mary—notes that Washington never really had affection for his mother, which he called “the strangest mystery of Washington’s life.”62 Was it because of irreconcilable differences during the most important stage of the colonies, and their independence?

  In reality, there was probably a grain of truth in the Comte’s gossip. Mary was entrenched in the status quo. It makes sense that the persistent old matriarch would have been a royalist by default. However, given her lack of political activism, the Comte’s claim that she was “one of the most rabid Tories” must surely be an overstatement. Mary’s royalism was that of a small-T tory.

  But in accounts of Mary’s beliefs, the shift between completely loyal mother to “rabid” Loyalist Tory gained steam in the late nineteenth century, when funding and news of a monument dedicated in downtown Fredericksburg to her was hitting the presses. The whispers and gossip had always existed, however, much to the anger of some. Mary Terhune, who heard this view espoused more and more during her writing, called it a “rumor” and a “calumny.”63 She cited many biographers, some more reliable than others in modern histories, who personally knew her or knew someone who, in turn, personally knew her. For instance, George Custis, Mary’s great-grandson, said it was an “absurdity of an idea which, from some strange cause or other, has been suggested, though certainly never believed.” Writing in 1860, Custis unabashedly stated that no proof, “not the slightest foundation,” existed for this claim. He did not believe that Mary was a Loyalist, nor, important to note, did he believe she was a Patriot. “Like many others, whose days of enthusiasm were in the wane, that lady doubted the prospects of success in the outset of the war, and long during its continuance feared that our means would be found inadequate. . . . Doubts like these were by no means confined to this Virginia matron.”64

  In reality, what loyalty she had to the Crown would have been more practical than ideological. For sixty years of her life, she lived under the royal banner of the king of England, under the Parliament of Great Britain. For sixty years, she had accepted the king as monarch, as leader of both state and church. Why should that change? France and Spain had kings, as did Russia, as did the Holy Roman Empire, as did the Papal States. All of the European superpowers had royalty, so why shouldn’t the colonies? There was no need for a revolution when she’d lived all her life, well into a mature age, without one.

  “She probably was a Loyalist in the beginning of the war,” Michelle Hamilton admitted. “I think she is on the fence. She is a woman. She didn’t see this as her role in this society. Revolutions against the British Empire don’t go well. She’s living when she hears stories of the second Jacobite Rebellion, where all the Highlanders are wiped out.”65

  As the years went by, and this new discomfort became a way of life, Mary would have become more accepting of the situation. Certainly, her world was more involved in the war. On Christmas Day, 1776, her son crossed the frozen and dangerous Delaware River in a surprise raid on the German mercenaries in nearby Trenton. Tales say that Hugh Mercer himself, Mary’s onetime physician and neighbor who bought Ferry Farm in what seemed like a lifetime ago, and who loved the fight more than medicine, suggested the perilous journey. The next day, Washington led several thousand troops to victory at the Battle of Trenton against the surprised Hessians with minimal casualties, though among the wounded was James Monroe, future fifth president of the United States.66

  Mary would’ve been the perfect conduit between the south and the north, hearing news of her son’s victories and failures. Said Benson Lossing: “Madam Washington was now in the direct line of communication . . . and she was in the constant receipt of news concerning the progress of the struggle at all points.”67 And though he then wrote on about a constant stream of couriers arriving at her house with letters from George (of which none are known to exist), women would have flocked to her, hoping for any word of their family and friends. Given the stature conferred on the mother of George Washington, no greater presence or woman of importance existed in Fredericksburg than Mary Washington.

  IN MID-JANUARY 1777, SHE WOULD HAVE GOTTEN WORD, ALONG WITH ALL OF Fredericksburg, that neighbor Hugh Mercer, brigadier general of the Continental Army, was repeatedly bayoneted and stabbed at Princeton, New Jersey, succumbing to his wounds nine days later. Five days after his death, on January 17, the Virginia Gazette reported it with great dread, though they “hoped” it was not confirmed.

  It was, however, very true. And the day before the Gazette published that piece, Mercer was interred with military honors in Philadelphia: with “the honours due to his merit, as a soldier, a patriot, and a friend to the rights of mankind. A numerous concourse,” said the Gazette, “of people attended the awful solemnity.”68


  When Mary and the city heard of the news, it was a great loss. Mercer, as a physician and surgeon, had treated everyone in the region, from the well-off plantation owners to the dispensable slaves.69 The town of Fredericksburg and the colonies mourned, as Mercer was a popular citizen of both. His importance to Fredericksburg never dwindled, either; in 1906 a larger-than-life bronze statue was erected in the town, depicting him with saber and hat in hand. But when Mary heard of his death, the man who very possibly, six years earlier, saved her life from an illness, was she feeling her son was next in line to lose his life? George had been there in that same battle.

  Would George, her son, even survive?

  DEATH WAS BUT ONE OPTION FOR HER SON. THERE WERE MANY OTHER POSSIBLE conclusions, of course. It could have crossed Mary’s mind: that her sons, her neighbors, her relatives both close and distant, were traitors. Traitors to the mightiest empire in the world, which had both the supremacy of the army and the navy and, some said, religion. Many knew that, recognized it, and embraced it. If they had failed, their penalty would have been the gruesome death of being hanged, drawn, and quartered. Some were only hanged, such as colonial spy Nathan Hale, whose last words in September 1776, “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country,” were inspirational for the rebels in the early stages of the Revolution. But as the war continued, and more resentment grew in England, the punishments became even harsher. And George Washington, as the leader of these rebels—had he been captured, had he lost, had he made a command mistake—would have suffered an unimaginable death.

  Perhaps he would have been whipped before death, very biblically. The whip and cat-o’-nine-tails striking his bare back and buttocks, each snap echoing. “At the first blow,” a certain Private Alexander Somerville wrote decades later, “I felt an astonishing sensation between the shoulders under my neck, which went to my toenails in one direction, my finger-nails in another, and stung me to the heart as if a knife had gone through my body.”70

  WHATEVER HER PERSONAL THOUGHTS ON INDEPENDENCE FROM THE Crown, Mary still cared about her son and his safety. Some historians painted this as too controlling, as if a mother’s fears for her son somehow dissipated after a certain age.

  One story had been passed on through generations from her descendants. In historic Fredericksburg, now overlooking a tennis court and the sacred cemetery, right near her memorial, is Meditation Rock. This rock, sharply jutting out from the hillside, was one of Mary’s favorite spots. She was keen on taking her grandchildren there, reading passages from the Bible, especially the creation of the universe and the world, the great flood of Noah, and other stories of the miracles of God in nature. “There was a spell over them as they looked into grandmother’s uplifted face,” said one of her grandchildren decades later, recalling that time in his own youth. There was a “sweet expression of perfect peace.”71 Here, Mary was at peace.

  During the Revolution, that peace was disrupted across the colonies. One couldn’t hide from it. But Mary tried to get away, somehow, from the thought of her son leading men to their deaths, the cause for freedom and independence or not. A nearby plaque at the spot summarized this importance for Mary: Here, during the Revolution, she prayed “for the safety of her son and country.” Here, she spent hours, looking into the sunset each night.

  And so Mary sat here, hands clasped, praising the Lord for the safety of her own son. Some previously called the site Oratory Rock, emphasizing the communication with God at this spot. Heaven opened up for Mary here. Here, at Meditation Rock, she got away from the world, from noisy Fredericksburg, from her home or her daughter’s nearby plantation. Here she was with nature as God created it.

  As Mary prayed on Meditation Rock, perhaps, at the same hour, her own son, hundreds of miles away, was likewise praying. It was this same faith she passed on to her children that was evidently vital to their lives. Mary Thompson, historian at Mount Vernon, believed there is strong evidence—both written and oral—that George Washington devoted time daily to pray in private.72

  In April 1777, George, stationed in New Jersey, wrote to fellow Virginian and longtime correspondent Landon Carter. He hoped that “the God of Armies may Incline the Hearts of my American Brethren to support, and bestow sufficient Abilities on me to bring, the present contest to a speedy and happy conclusion, thereby enabling me to sink into sweet retirement, and the full enjoyment of that Peace & happiness wch will accompany a domestick Life is the first wish, & most fervent prayer of my Soul.”73

  AT THE CLOSE OF 1777, A WINTER STORM WAS THREATENING THE REBELS. The Continental Army had to seek safety near British-controlled Philadelphia, and on December 18 was ordered to build huts from fallen trees at Valley Forge. Huddled in the cold, twelve thousand men stayed until June of 1778.74 Conditions became unbearable, with thousands losing their lives due to disease and frostbite. One of the men who survived was Henry Cone of Connecticut. About thirty-one years old at the start of the Revolution and at the time unmarried (he would marry Waitstill Champion in 1785), Cone immediately enrolled in the 1st Connecticut Regiment, participating in early major battles such as the Siege of Boston and the Battle of Bunker Hill. Later discharged, he next enlisted in the 3rd Connecticut Regiment on November 24, 1776. A year later, he was suffering at Valley Forge; again he survived. He and so many others had experienced their worst days here. (Cone, in 1781, lost an eye to smallpox, proving that even under the worst conditions, he would continue to fight.)75

  IN THESE INTERVENING YEARS, FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES WOULD VISIT Mary, staying and dining with her, as they inquired about George’s whereabouts and safety and health. George himself was constantly “impeded” by all the crowds and audiences that wished to see him and touch him.76 Such a devotion would have naturally spilled to the Fredericksburg mother. After the capture of Morristown, and the victory of the two battles at Trenton and the battle at Princeton by Washington, neighbors visited her to relay the news.

  She replied not with outright praise or elation, but instead with unusual calm: “George appeared to have deserved well of his country for such signal services. But, my good sirs, here is too much flattery! Still, George will not forget the lessons I have taught him—he will not forget himself, though he is the subject of so much praise.”77 But with each victory came new recruits and volunteers and more support for Washington from the countryside and the congress.

  SUCH STORIES AND TRADITIONS IN WHICH SHE CALMLY REPLIED TO NEIGHBORS celebrating the victory, sitting in her chair at her house, with barely any emotion, could do more harm than good. Historian Rupert Hughes, writing in 1930 in his multivolume work of the general, put it simply: “The denial of a trace of elation after such a crisis amounts almost to denying that Washington had a mother at all. It orphans him.” Truly, such news would have been more than a simple hand wave dismissing the whole matter. Hughes argued that this description of an almost drone-like response, with no emotion, was about as biting as anything he had ever published.78

  When George wasn’t on her mind, her house and livelihood were. A smallpox epidemic continued ravaging the colonies, and in order to be immune, people were told to inoculate themselves. Fielding Lewis successfully did so, yet Betty contracted the disease, very mildly. Mary, however, did not want to be exposed. “Mrs Washington underg[oes] great uneasiness for fear she should take it,” wrote George Weedon. “She cannot be persuaded to Innoculate, tho’ it has been, and is now in almost every House in Town & Country.”79 At such an age, to be deliberately introduced to the disease would surely have been a death sentence. Mary thought so, at least, and whether Fielding and his wife convinced her to be inoculated is unknown.

  If she was sick, she soon recovered and was in her old fighting spirits again. In December of 1778, she wrote a letter to Lund Washington, who was overseeing Mount Vernon (“Munt Vernon,” Mary wrote) in George’s absence, asking for 40 pounds of cash; the corn crop at her Little Falls quarter nearby had failed. “The plantation thear is terruable,” she wrote
. With corn at 5 pounds a barrel, she could not afford much. Within a couple of weeks, she received the money.80

  The requests would soon come to a head.

  THE YEAR WAS 1781: IT HAD BEEN SIX YEARS SINCE THE START OF THE REVOLUTION, five since the Declaration of Independence. Battles had been won and lost; thousands of men had died, been wounded, been captured. Though the fight was almost over, there was still a pivotal port in Virginia—and that was Yorktown. A push in early 1781 from the British forces, led by Charles Cornwallis, into the Virginia Colony from the south, proved an unexpected success.

  The war was again getting closer to home than Mary or George or Martha would have perhaps wanted. “My good son should not be so anxious about me,” Mary was said to have declared when hearing of the advancing British, “for he is the one in danger, facing constant peril for our country’s cause. I am safe enough; it is my part to suffer, and to feel, as I do, most anxious and apprehensive over him.”81

  That was oral tradition—legend—that had her report in such a selfless way. But in reality, there were more pressing matters for her, and that was her well-being.

  She had been suffering, crops failing, her health declining. So she petitioned not her son, who was up north fighting, but the Virginia House of Delegates itself.

  Her eldest son did not see it that way. He saw it as fiercely embarrassing. Worst of all, Mary did not tell her son she was going over his head. George had to learn it from someone else, from Benjamin Harrison, speaker of the Virginia House of Delegates, via a letter on February 25. She had either gone to or written the House some time earlier, pleading with them that she was out of money, and needed to pay her taxes. It almost came to a vote, but Harrison stopped the proceedings, noting that he had supposed George “would be displeased at such an application.” He called the entire matter “an interesting subject.”82