by Ron Chernow
That the slaves at Mount Vernon could move about without supervision runs counter to the common view of slavery as a system enforced only by the daily terror of whips and shackles. Like other major planters, Washington owned more slaves than his overseers could effectively monitor, and so the only way to control a captive population was to convince them that runaways would be severely punished. Virginia had perfected a system of terror for capturing fugitive slaves. Under a 1748 law, a master could seek out two justices of the peace and have them issue a proclamation against runaways. To give the slaves fair warning, the proclamation had to be posted on church doors throughout the county. If the slave still didn’t surrender, the law said that “it shall be lawful for any person . . . to kill and destroy such slaves by any ways or means, without accusation or impeachment of any crime for the same.”34
If Washington, with few exceptions, avoided inflicting harm on captured runaways, he showed notable zeal in hunting them down, and the problem consumed considerable time. The scholar Philip Morgan has computed that Washington had forty-seven runaway slaves over the years, or 7 percent of the total population.35 A year after his marriage Washington pursued a runaway named Boson and wound up paying a ten-shilling bounty to a slave from another plantation who recaptured him. Many slaves who fled were favorites of George and Martha Washington, who invariably reacted with a sense of shock and betrayal. In his diary for 1761, Washington recorded deep concern for the fate of a slave named Cupid, who had recently arrived from Africa, scarcely spoke English, and had contracted pleurisy. The master made a point of dropping in to inquire after Cupid’s health and in one diary entry wrote anxiously that “when I went to bed, I thought [Cupid] within a few hours of breathing his last.”36 Notwithstanding this special care, Cupid subsequently ran away with three other slaves named Peros, Jack, and Neptune. On August 11, 1761, Washington placed a fugitive slave advertisement in the Maryland Gazette, noting that they had escaped “without the least suspicion, provocation, or difference with anybody, or the least angry word or abuse from their overseers.”37
Washington’s description of the four slaves showed that he didn’t see them as an indistinguishable mass but as a collection of distinct individuals. Of Peros he said that he was thirty-five to forty years old, had a “yellowish complex[ion] with a very full round face and full black beard,” and wore “a dark colored cloth coat, a white linen waistcoat, white breeches and white stockings.”38 He added that the runaway slave spoke decent English, had shed much of his African dialect, and was “esteemed a sensible, judicious Negro.”39 Of Cupid, Washington noted that “the skin of his face is coarse and inclined to be pimply.”40 Two of the slaves showed recent African ancestry, having been scarified by their tribes. Jack had “cuts down each cheek bearing his country marks,” while Neptune had “his teeth straggling and filed sharp.”41 Washington offered a forty-shilling reward for the recovery of all four men.
Unless they proved repeat offenders, Washington usually forgave runaways who were brought back to Mount Vernon. He accepted the return of the “sensible, judicious” Peros without reprisals, only to have him flee again in 1770. In general, Washington didn’t have the stomach for the more odious forms of punishment. On occasion, however, he resorted to the grisly penalty of selling refractory slaves in the Caribbean, where they faced hard labor and almost certain death as they toiled in sweltering sugarcane brakes. In July 1766 Washington meted out this unspeakable fate to a “healthy, strong” young slave named Tom whom he described as “both a rogue and runaway.”42 He assigned him to Captain Josiah Thompson, whose schooner Swift was sailing for St. Kitts. Washington told the skipper to keep Tom handcuffed until they got to sea and that if he was “kept clean and trimmed up a little when offered to sale,” he might reap a good price.43 From the proceeds, Washington hoped to receive one hogshead of molasses and one of rum, along with a barrel of limes and a pot of tamarinds. On at least two other occasions, Washington exported recalcitrant slaves to the Caribbean and brandished the threat of doing so to intimidate others.
In colonial Virginia the property of debtors, including slaves, was often sold at tavern lotteries, amid a jovial, high-spirited atmosphere, as a way of making partial repayment to creditors. In December 1769 Washington cosponsored a lottery in Williamsburg for the estate of one Bernard Moore, who had defaulted on a large loan from the Custis estate. For ten pounds, a sporting investor could purchase a chance to win parcels of Moore’s land or some fifty-five slaves divided into thirty-nine lots. The most desirable male slaves were sold with their families intact, while other slave families were broken up indiscriminately. It is hard to imagine anything that more starkly contradicted Washington’s stated policy of preserving slave families than raffling them off in this public manner. With some justice, Henry Wiencek has written that Washington “reached a moral nadir” with the Bernard Moore lottery.44 The editors of Washington’s papers have noted that in the 1760s he “frequently bought tickets for lotteries,” although the Bernard Moore case seems to be the only one in which he acted as an organizer.45
Fortunately, such notorious cases were the exception. George and Martha Washington worked in close proximity with their slaves and knew many of them individually. That George Washington acknowledged the humanity of some slaves is seen in his remarkably affectionate, long-standing relationship with his manservant William Lee. At a slave auction in 1768, Washington paid top dollar to a Mrs. Mary Lee of Westmoreland County for two mulatto brothers, William and Frank Lee, and then groomed William (also called Billy or Will) as his personal servant. A dark-skinned mulatto, Billy Lee was a short, compact, powerfully built young man with a gift for gab, a rich fund of anecdotes, and a wealth of opinions. A real dare-devil as a horseman, he shadowed Washington in every major activity of his life and was an indispensable asset during the foxhunting season. Billy Lee combined in his person the job of Washington’s valet, butler, and waiter. Whether Washington was trotting off to the House of Burgesses, the Continental Congress, or Valley Forge, Lee was the trusted aide in attendance. A New England visitor noted his singular place among Washington’s slaves: “His servant Billy, the faithful companion of his military career, was always at his side.”46 Lee was one of the few slaves allowed the dignity of a last name, confirming his special standing.
Slavery was woven into every aspect of Mount Vernon life, even for visitors. “Everyone felt himself at home and had a negro servant to wait on him and supply his wants,” wrote an admiring English visitor.47 Often the first sight that greeted visitors was slave children playing near the front of the mansion, and Washington frequently grumbled that they disturbed his shrubs. He had a dozen house servants outfitted in livery ordered from Robert Cary in London. Breechy served dinner while Doll cooked it, assisted by the scullion Betty. Jenny and Mima washed and ironed, while Betty and Moll assisted Martha with sewing. Mulatto Jack served as general handyman. Never an idle mistress, Martha Washington oversaw a sewing circle of slaves who manufactured much of the estate’s clothing. She kept this up even in later years, when one visitor painted this domestic scene: “Then we repaired to the old lady’s room, which is . . . nicely fixed for all sorts of work. On one side sits the chamber maid with her knitting, on the other a little colored pet, learning to sew, an old, decent woman with her table and shears cutting out the negroes’ winter clothes, while the good old lady directs them all, incessantly knitting herself.”48 Martha Washington treated the slaves well and became fond of many of them but tolerated no shirkers and expected loyalty and affection from her favorites.
A master of the profitable use of time, Washington listed his monthly doings in his diary under the rubric “Where and how my time is spent.” Whether for business or social occasions, his punctuality was legendary, and he expected everyone to be on time. In his business dealings, he boasted that “no man discharges the demand of wages or fulfills agreements with more punctuality than I do.”49 Preoccupied with timepieces throughout his life, Washington aspired t
o stand at the center of an orderly, clockwork universe. He accorded the sundial a central spot on his mansion lawn, as if to suggest that everything hinged on the proper allotment of time; invariably he glanced at it when returning home from rides. As president, he loved to employ his leisure time by strolling over to see his Philadelphia watchmakers. “No one ever appreciated better than General Washington the value of time and the art of making use of it,” recalled a French businessman.50 His love of ritual, habit, and order enabled him to sustain the long, involved tasks that distinguished his life. “System in all things is the soul of business,” he liked to say. “To deliberate maturely and execute promptly is the way to conduct it to advantage.”51
Washington benefited from the unvarying regularity of his daily routine and found nothing monotonous about it. Like many thrifty farmers, he rose before sunrise and accomplished much work while others still slept. Prior to breakfast, he shuffled about in dressing gown and slippers and passed an hour or two in his library, reading and handling correspondence. He also devoted time to private prayers before Billy Lee laid out his clothes, brushed his hair, and tied it in a queue. Washington liked to examine his stables before breakfast, inspect his horses, and issue instructions to the grooms. Then he had an unchanging breakfast of corn cakes, tea, and honey.
After breakfast Washington pulled on tall black boots, mounted his horse, and began the prolonged circuit of his five farms, where he expected to find hands hard at work. Once again, he was a diligent boss, not a gentleman farmer. Each day he rode twenty miles on horseback and personally supervised field work, fence construction, ditch drainage, tree planting, and dozens of other activities. An active presence, he liked to demonstrate how things should be done, leading by example. One startled visitor expressed amazement that the master “often works with his men himself, strips off his coat and labors like a common man.”52 Washington couldn’t bear anything slovenly. “I shall begrudge no reasonable expense that will contribute to the improvement and neatness of my farms, for nothing pleases me better than to see them in good order and everything trim, handsome, and thriving about them,” he advised one estate manager. “Nor nothing hurts me more than to find them otherwise and the tools and implements laying wherever they were last used, exposed to injuries from rain, sun, etc.”53 No detail was too trivial to escape his notice, and he often spouted the Scottish adage “Many mickles make a muckle”—that is, tiny things add up.54
Washington made sure that he returned for dinner precisely at 2:45 P.M. when the first bell sounded for the large midday meal. According to legend, the clatter of his approaching hooves often coincided with the bell’s loud clang. Washington then washed, dressed, powdered his hair, and appeared in the dining room by the stroke of three. He preferred a dinner of fish from the Potomac and typically ate with a hearty appetite. In this heavy-drinking era, he could polish off three or four glasses of an amber-colored wine known as Madeira without being thought a heavy drinker. The cloth was then removed, and Washington would lift his glass with his habitual toast to “All our friends.” He then retired to his library before a light supper. Before going to bed at nine o’clock, he would often read aloud to the family from the newspaper or from sermons on Sunday evenings or join in a game of cards or backgammon.
To maintain a detailed grasp of his vast operations, Washington kept comprehensive records long before such bookkeeping was commonplace. Being a farmer, he scratched out a daily log of the weather, but his record keeping went far beyond such basics. “He also makes copious notes in writing relative to his own experiments, the state of the seasons, nature of soils, effect of different kinds of manure, and everything that can throw light on the farming business,” wrote his later aide David Humphreys.55 Everything was perfectly sorted, classified, and slotted in his compartmentalized mind and books. Washington’s contemporaries recognized that this compulsive note taking, this itch to record his every action, went to the very essence of this well-regulated man. “You would be surprised to find what a uniform life he leads,” wrote John Hancock’s nephew after a visit to Mount Vernon. “Everything he does is by method of system . . . He keeps a journal where he records everything . . . he is a model of the highest perfection.”56
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Prodigy
LONG BEFORE he achieved great fame or renown, something about Washington’s bearing and presence bedazzled people. In common with other well-bred boys of his day, he probably wore a corset as a small child, which pulled his shoulders back and thrust his chest out, giving him added dignity. Like a figure strutting on a stage, he never lounged or slouched and seemed as comfortable in a ballroom as on a battlefield. Properly appareled on all occasions, he never allowed people to see him in a neglected state, much less undressed, and ordered clothes that gave him elegance with freedom of movement. In ordering a suit from London, he admonished his tailor to “make it in the best taste to sit easy and loose, as clothes that are tight always look awkward and are uneasy to the wearer.”1 In the manner of European royalty, he never seemed to hurry. The impression fostered by his imposing physique, joined with his upright, virile carriage and natural aplomb, marked him out as a natural leader.
Much of the power of Washington’s presence derived from his fluid gait, the antithesis of the stiff, wooden image Gilbert Stuart grafted on the American imagination. The quintessential man of action, he moved like a national icon long before he became one. The sculptor William Rush recalled his smooth, unruffled movements: “I have been in battle immediately under his command. I have viewed him walking, standing, sitting. I have seen him at a game of ball for several hours,” and in all these activities he exhibited “the most manly and graceful attitudes I ever saw.”2 Washington was, quite simply, a sight to behold. “So tall, so straight!” one servant remembered. “And . . . with such an air! Ah, sire, he was like no one else!”3 At Williamsburg, he exuded a special splendor with his ceremonial sword riding on his hip, while showing the light, confident tread of the military man. If much of this gracefulness came naturally to Washington, some of it likely came from strenuous youthful efforts to form himself for polite society as he acquired the easy manner and erect posture that distinguished a gentleman.
George and Martha Washington were a sociable couple who entertained an unending cavalcade of guests at Mount Vernon. During the seven years before the American Revolution, they fed (and frequently housed) an estimated two thousand guests.4 One visitor murmured his approval at how cordially Washington had treated him “as if I had lived years in his house.”5 Washington was an excellent host of a certain sort. He was congenial without being deeply personal, friendly without being familiar, and perfected a cool sociability that distanced him from people even as it invited them closer. He never felt the urge to impress people. As John Marshall wrote, “He had no pretensions to that vivacity which fascinates, and to that wit which dazzles.”6 He knew the value of silence, largely kept opinions to himself, and seldom committed a faux pas.
Very concerned with winning the approval of others, Washington tended his image with extreme care, suggesting a self-conscious insecurity about how people perceived him. Peter Henriques has commented on Washington’s “intense fear of failure” and the hundreds of times the word approbation crops up in his letters.7 Since he struck people as stern and grave, pleasant and affable at once, he seemed to embody Benjamin Franklin’s maxim “Let all men know thee, but no man know thee thoroughly.” People sensed the turbulent, buried emotions within him and occasionally glimpsed their raw power. One stage actor who visited Mount Vernon said that Washington had “a compression of the mouth and [an] indentation of the brow . . . suggesting habitual conflict with and mastery over passion.”8
During the American Revolution, some officers claimed that they never saw Washington smile. If he seldom submitted to belly laughs, he was never as dour as legend claims. Said one perceptive former slave: “I never see that man laugh to show his teeth—he done all his laughing inside.”9 If la
ughter didn’t come readily to Washington, it could be coaxed out of him after several glasses of wine, when he fell into the uproarious spirit of a dinner party. James Madison later noted that while Washington didn’t tell funny stories, he responded when others did: “He was particularly pleased with the jokes, good humor, and hilarity of his companions.”10 Washington was also more unbuttoned at the theater. “You would seldom see a frown or smile on his countenance, his air was serious and reflecting,” wrote one observer, “yet I have seen him in the theater laugh heartily.”11
Acutely aware of being a provincial subject in a remote corner of the British Empire, Washington sometimes sounded an apologetic, self-deprecating note when writing to London. When he invited his British factor, Richard Washington, to visit Mount Vernon, he said, “We have few things here striking to European travelers (except an abundant woods) but a little variety, a welcome reception among a few friends, and the open and prevalent hospitality of the country in general.”12 With his emphasis on self-improvement, Washington trained himself to play the gentleman in polite drawing rooms and among the highly educated. People sensed something a bit studied about his behavior and suspected, correctly, that the manner was partly learned. The British ambassador’s wife noted that he had “perfect good breeding and a correct knowledge of even the etiquette of a court,” but how he had acquired it, “heaven knows.”13 Washington exemplified the self-invented American, forever struggling to better himself and rise above his origins.
