Henry Knox

by Mark Puls

  Many of the rebel settlers believed that the federal government had become as oppressive as the British before the Revolution and urged similar tactics to defeat the tax measure. The chief tax collector's home was set ablaze in an act of vandalism reminiscent of a colonial protest during the 1765 Stamp Act controversy. A U.S. soldier was killed in Pennsylvania, and the rebels pledged to form their own government and secede from the union.

  Washington thought that the U.S. government could not tolerate its laws to be trampled on and called out 12,900 militia troops from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Maryland, and Virginia on August 7. He warned the insurgents to disband and return to their homes by September 1 or the militia would force them to do so. In a proclamation issuing the order, he told the country of his "most solemn conviction that the essential interests of the Union demand it; that the very existence of Government, and the fundamental principles of social order, are materially involved in the issue.“30

  For nearly two decades, Knox had heeded every call to duty that his country had demanded. He had rushed to Washington's side at every summons, regardless of the costs to his family or private interests. But with his estate in need of urgent attention, Knox turned his focus away from his government duties and looked to his future. Despite Hamilton's grasping ambition, Knox went so far as to arrange for the Treasury secretary to take control of the War Department in his absence. Henry seemed to be anticipating leaving office and accepted even the risk of completely losing control of the department to Hamilton.

  Washington gave Knox permission to begin his furlough, writing him on August 8 at 8 P.M.: "I consent to your pursuing your plan, and wish you a good journey and a safe and speedy return.“31

  Knox reached Boston a little more than a week later. His son Henry arrived to discuss his ongoing problems at school. As father and son came together, both became overcome with emotion. Recalling the moment, Knox wrote to Lucy, who had remained in Philadelphia, on August 17: "I had one of the most affecting moments of my life. I intended to talk to him seriously about his errors, but my soul was too full for utterance and we wept in each other's arms for a long space. He saw my agony and I hope he will be more regular in the future.“32

  Knox stayed in Boston only a few days before venturing into the frontier wilderness to the site of his rising home in Thomaston. Along the way, he met with squatters who had taken up residence on his land. While he paid them for their work in clearing and cultivating the soil, he told them that they must vacate his property within the next year, when he planned to begin development.

  When he arrived at his future home along the St. George River, he was pleased to see that the builders had laid out the outlines of the foundation and frame for the structure. He seemed to picture himself in repose with Lucy and envisioned lavish dinners surrounded by friends and distinguished guests. He met with the builder, Ebenezer Dunton, and detailed plans for dozens of guest rooms in the mansion that he was to call Montpelier. The ceilings in the parlors would be thirteen feet high, and eleven in the chambers. Guests would enter the home into an ornate oval room, enveloped on both sides by staircases. Knox ordered twenty-four fireplaces to be built in the home, and directed that trees be planted near the house and scenic landscaping planted.

  As Knox lingered in the tranquility of his wilderness refuge, the whiskey crisis in the country was growing. A dispatch arrived from John Stagg, the chief clerk of the War Department, that reported that the Pennsylvania insurgent force had not dissipated at the threat of force, as Knox had hoped. The rioters had refused to return to their homes as the militia from various states gathered to deal with the unrest. Unlike so many crises in his past, Henry did not rush to the scene. For some reason, he remained at the Thomaston property even after his six-week furlough ended. He seemed to be emotionally or spiritually worn out from years of exhausting duty and personal sacrifice. His public ambition no longer drove him; instead he yearned for private solace in the distance wilds, far from exasperating political life.

  The Whiskey Rebellion, as it came to be known, still was not resolved. The rebels failed to desist by Washington's September 1 deadline. As Knox remained out of touch in Maine, on September 9, the president ordered the militia to march to western Pennsylvania and quash the insurrection. Virginia governor Henry Lee led the 12,900-man force with the aid of Alexander Hamilton, who seldom refused an opportunity to exercise power. Hamilton also dealt with all the logistical responsibilities that Knox should have handled.

  On September 25, Washington issued a final proclamation to the insurgents, threatening military coercion to force them to disband and reminding them that unlike British tyranny, the federal laws had been enacted by elected officials rather than a king: "[The] people of the United States have been permitted, under the Divine favor, in perfect freedom, after solemn deliberation, in an enlightened age, to elect their own Government.“33 Facing a large military force, the 8,000 insurgents began to disperse and return home.

  Washington wondered where his secretary of war could be in the midst of domestic turmoil after an absence of nearly two months. He sent Henry a mild rebuke for exceeding his furlough. "Hearing nothing from you for a considerable time has given alarm," Washington wrote on Tuesday, September 30, "lest some untoward accident may have been the cause of it.“34 Washington wrote Knox that he was leaving for Carlisle, Pennsylvania with Hamilton to rendezvous with the militia.

  Knox did not receive the letter at the time. Although he had emerged from his malaise, he was already on the road headed back to Philadelphia when the dispatch reached Maine. The impeccable timing that Knox had been blessed with all his life suddenly deserted him. As he traveled on the road to the nation's capital, Washington packed his bags and departed on his journey to confront the whiskey rebels without his secretary of war at his side. As both Knox and Washington traveled separate paths, communication between the two men faltered for the first time in Henry's long career. They seemed to be heading in opposite directions.

  On October 6, Knox arrived in Philadelphia and sent word to Washington, offering to join him in Carlisle. Knox's dispatch demonstrated that he was hopelessly out of step with the rest of the administration during the crisis.

  The rebellion was already subsiding. Washington wrote Henry that he had missed a great opportunity that might have been a historic highlight of his long military career. He likely would have been given command of the army had he returned in time. On October 9, Washington wrote to Knox: "It would have given me pleasure to have had you with me on my present tour, and advantages might have resulted from it, if your return, in time, would have allowed it. It is now too late."

  The president politely conveyed his irritation: "I am very glad to hear of your safe return. We were apprehensive something more than common had happened from no one having received a line from you for a considerable time before I left the city.“35

  Washington returned to the capital by Tuesday, October 28. The usual warmth and affection that Washington and Knox had shared cooled after the Whiskey Rebellion. Observers once compared their relationship as being as close-knit as a marriage. Now their lives diverged. Although Knox had made great sacrifices for his country during his career, Washington could not afford to be sympathetic. The president perhaps felt that his own happiness had been subverted by duty. The difference, however, between Knox and Washington was that the president had Mount Vernon, an established estate, to return to after he left office. Henry's holdings consisted of uncultivated land that had little value until it could be developed and thousands of acres he had leveraged on credit. Unlike Washington, Knox could no longer be absent from his land without risking financial ruin. And most important of all, Knox had children while the president did not.

  From the president's perspective, however, the needs of the country unquestionably came before those of any individual, and he had expected Knox to be attending his duties during the crisis in Pennsylvania.

  On December 5, Knox confided in Winthrop Sargent, th
e secretary of the Ohio Territory, that he would resign from the government before the beginning of the year. He worked frantically to put his office in order before his departure and provided Congress with a flurry of reports on the wide scope of projects under his direction, including updates on the ongoing work to erect federal forts along the frontiers and the project to build a line of coastal defenses for the nation's harbors. He also provided reports on the ongoing efforts to organize, arm, and train the state militias.

  He composed a detailed statement addressing the delays in the construction of the six frigates and the launch the U.S. Navy; his defensive tone reflected his frustrations in dealing with Congress. He pointed out that work had been postponed because funding for the project had not been made available until June 9, although the legislation was approved on March 25. The other obstacle had been the procurement of raw materials. Prior to the Revolution, the American colonies had relied on the British and its navy for protection and therefore the country lacked the infrastructure to build battleships. Knox was erecting the U.S. Navy from scratch. Few supplies were already stocked, and many of the raw materials had to be harvested, mined, or even planted in the earth and grown. He explained to Congress: "[The] wood of which the frames were to be made was standing in the forests; the iron for the cannon lying in its natural bed; and the flax and hemp, perhaps, in their seed. That the materials will be soon collected and the building vigorously pushed.“36

  During the Christmas holiday season, Knox told Washington of his plan to resign from the administration and to return to New England. Washington once again urged him to stay. But Henry had so often chosen duty and country over his family; he told Washington that he could no longer sacrifice the happiness of his wife and children. Two days after Christmas, Knox wrote a letter to Henry Jackson telling him to prepare for his arrival at the Maine estate: "I hope to be a free man on the first day of January, although both the measure and the time are strongly objected to."

  After spending a few moments reflecting on his long public career, Knox sat down and wrote out his formal resignation on December 28. He reduced his reasons to paper for Washington, again citing "the indispensable claims of a wife and a growing and numerous family of children, whose sole hopes of comfortable competence rest upon my life and exertions, will no longer permit me to neglect duties so sacred. But in whatever situation I shall be, I shall recollect your confidence and kindness with all the fervor and purity of affection of which a grateful heart can be susceptible.“37

  Washington responded two days later, acknowledging Knox's longstanding desire to return to private life and accepting his resignation without argument. "I can only wish that it was otherwise," the president wrote. "I cannot suffer you however, to close your public service without uniting with the satisfaction which must arise in your own mind from a conscious rectitude, my most perfect persuasion, that you have deserved well of your country.“38

  Knox picked up his last paycheck of $750 on December 31 and signed a receipt for the last time as "HKnox, Secretary of War." In the opening days of January 1795, an anonymous letter appeared in publisher John Fenno's quasi-official Federalist, Gazette of the United States, which announced Knox's departure from the administration.

  Among the changes which are likely to take place in the offices of our general government, there is none which we have greater cause to lament than the resignation of the Secretary of War. When we recall the services, which he has rendered his country, whether in a military or political vein, his merits demand our warmest approbation and praise. The early Revolution, when many of the mushroom patriots of today stepped behind the scene; the important service which he afterwards rendered to the cause of liberty by his activity, zeal and perseverance, which were so conspicuous on every occasion, leave a deep impression on the mind of every friend of America. . . . In his private life, we find the integrity, zeal, candor and good sense. The late important victory of our Western Army proves beyond contradiction the wisdom of those measures devised by the Secretary of War preparatory to that end. Signed, a citizen.

  ELEVEN

  SOLDIER'S HOME

  After Henry stepped down from the government, he and Lucy lingered in Philadelphia for six months while the finishing touches were applied to their home in the remote District of Maine. On June 1, 1795, the couple uprooted their six children, parted with friends, and bid farewell to the cosmopolitan capital before heading north for life in a secluded backwoods that was then an undeveloped territory of Massachusetts.

  Although Lucy enjoyed life as a Philadelphia socialite, she welcomed the move to the sprawling estate because of a visceral tie to the land. The move to her ancestral estate allowed Lucy to plant roots in familial ground after two decades of estrangement from her heritage.

  When Henry, Lucy, and the children reached New York City, they embarked aboard a packet sailing for Boston Harbor. After reaching their home-town, they were dined and toasted at a lavish banquet held in Henry's honor. The native son had left as a bookseller and had returned as a famous general and national political leader.

  After a few days of relaxation, the Knoxes boarded a vessel that sailed 175 miles up the Atlantic coast, at which point they took a ferry along the winding St. George River, which the Indians called Segochet, or "a pleasant place." As they approached the remote hamlet of Thomaston on June 22, they could see their majestic mansion rising above the coniferous forest, elevated on a high bank overlooking the water. The white rectangular structure, which featured an oval center chamber and portico, was constructed of stone, brick, and timber. Montpelier's mammoth size was along the lines of a public building rather than a private home, and Knox could proudly beam that he had provided his family with the most impressive residence in all of New England. Although he had never toured Washington's Mount Vernon or Jefferson's Monticello, his imagination seemed to have been fueled by descriptions of their homes. His abode would not suffer by comparison, regardless of the constraints on his pocketbook.

  The Knoxes stepped off the riverboat ferry onto their own spacious front lawn, where a group of Thomaston residents had turned out with a welcome party even before they had the chance to cross the home's threshold. Over the previous year, the mansion's construction—in an area typified by rustic log cabins—naturally drew curiosity. One of the townspeople stepped forward with a prepared speech, welcoming the heralded general but regretting his absence from the national government: "We deplore the loss of our United Federal Government of an officer so distinguishedly deserving, so actively patriotic and so highly meritorious, as our late Secretary of War.“1

  Despite the air of civility, Knox's imprint on the community was already being felt, and some of the residents were uneasy about his arrival as he showed off his family. His daughter Lucy was a young woman of nineteen; Henry Jackson Knox was fifteen; followed by Julia, eleven; George, five; Caroline, four; Augusta Henrietta, twenty-one months; and Marcus Bingham, nine months.2

  In planning Montpelier, Henry and Lucy had envisioned a grand yet delicately crafted cultural oasis. Henry demonstrated an eye for style, providing architect Ebenezer Dunton with detailed instructions that incorporated features meant to make the home visually memorable. As his family entered the house, they were ushered into an oval-shaped room as large as a public lobby that had been designed to accommodate entertainment for a large group of friends. Two white-marble fireplaces gave the area a feeling of warmth. The room's wooden doors had been carefully steamed and bent to fit the oval walls. Henry ordered special glass for the windows, which extended down to the floorboards so that guests could open any of the swinging windows and step out on the piazza to take in the panoramic view of the St. George River as it stretched for miles toward the Atlantic Ocean.

  To the left of the home's first-floor oval, or "salon floor," Henry's library beckoned guests with the finest literature along with after-dinner diversions. Henry and Lucy took it upon themselves to set the community's tone for style and taste. His shelves we
re filled with 15,353 volumes, collected over years, including 364 books published in French. A billiard table was installed in the library from the firm of Benjamin Frothingham, Jr. In Lucy's "withdrawing room," she could host games of chess and whist. From the respected firm of Longman & Broderip, the Knoxes ordered an expensive pianoforte, the first such instrument ever to appear in Maine.

  In the evenings, the game room glistened from tiny bits of mica, which were metal chips, embedded in the wallpaper that sparkled in the candlelight. The house contained several guest rooms, including a "Gold Room" for visiting dignitaries, so called because of the gilded wallpaper, the gold-brocaded valances, and the gold-colored Aubusson rug.

  Soon after, a cordial letter from Thomas Jefferson arrived. "Have you become a farmer?" Jefferson inquired politely. "Is it not pleasanter than to be shut up within four walls and delving eternally with the pen?" Jefferson portrayed himself as a simple planter on Monticello and gave little indication of his ambition to become U.S. president: "I am become the most ardent farmer in the state [of Virginia]," he told Knox. "I live on my horse from morning to night almost. Intervals are filled up with attentions to a nailery. . . . I rarely look into a book, and more rarely take up a pen. I have proscribed newspapers, not taking a single one, nor scarcely ever looking into one. My next reformation will be to allow neither pen, ink, nor paper to be kept on the farm. When I have accomplished this I shall be in a fair way of indemnifying myself for the drudgery in which I have passed my life.“3