Congress met in a new hall constructed by the carpenters’ guild, with the Philadelphia Free Library on its second floor next to a meeting room for committees and smaller groups.9 Without dissent, the delegates selected Peyton Randolph as convention president and Charles Thomson of Pennsylvania as secretary. “Of an affable, open and majestic deportment,” Silas Deane of Connecticut wrote about Randolph, “large in size, though not out of proportion, he commands respect and esteem.”10
To ensure secrecy, the doors remained shut during debate so British authorities would not know what the delegates were saying. Early on, Patrick Henry demonstrated his ability to startle, proclaiming that because of Parliament’s legislation, “all government was dissolved and that we were reduced to a state of nature,” with no distinctions between colonies. He added that he “conceived of himself not as a Virginian but an American.” Despite the sentiment, he advanced Virginia’s parochial interests by insisting that voting power be based on a colony’s wealth and population. Unsurprisingly, tiny Rhode Island and other small colonies opposed him, and prevailed. Each delegation would cast a single vote.11
The delegates appointed two committees. The more important one would “state the rights of the colonies”; it included both Adamses, along with Pendleton and Richard Henry Lee from Virginia. The second was to assemble colonial statutes relating to trade and manufactures. Washington served on neither.12
Being passed over for the committees might seem like a snub, but it played to Washington’s strengths. For several days, he had few obligations, allowing him to concentrate on getting to know other delegates and Philadelphia’s elite. Through the seven-week session, he attended thirty-six private dinners and one public affair. At those events and at the congress, he displayed the dignified yet relaxed manner mastered at Belvoir, combined with the political deftness acquired through fifteen years in Virginia politics. Not many delegates would leave the city without coming to know Washington.
He made a uniformly positive impression. Referring to Washington’s height and “hard” countenance, Deane of Connecticut remembered Washington, who spoke “very modestly, and in cool but determined style and accent,” as the savior of Braddock’s expedition in 1755.13 Something about the big Virginian made him a magnet for legends and false tales of heroism. John Adams breathlessly recounted Washington’s supposed pledge at the Virginia convention to raise “‘1000 men, subsist them at my own expense and march myself at their head for the relief of Boston.’” Washington said no such thing. Deane swallowed the same tale, confiding to his wife that Washington’s “fortune is said to be equal to such an undertaking.”14
John Adams shared many delegates’ early euphoria. Congress contained, he wrote his wife, “the greatest men upon this continent in point of abilities, virtues, and fortunes.” Deane gushed after encountering Southern delegates that he “scarcely had an idea of meeting with men of such firmness, sensibility, spirit, and thorough knowledge of the interests of America.”15
The delegates’ mood shifted when a report arrived that General Gage was bombarding Boston. Muffled church bells tolled while Silas Deane observed “the most unfeigned marks of sorrow . . . in every countenance.” Anger quickly replaced sorrow, he continued, “and every tongue pronounces revenge.” According to Ward of Rhode Island, “We proposed turning Congress into a Council of War.” John Adams reported that the news made the delegates “completely miserable for two days,” while “WAR! WAR! WAR! was the cry.”
Such talk must have made Colonel Washington’s ears prick up, as other delegates looked with renewed interest at the man with a martial bearing and reputation. When the bombardment report proved to be false, the congress returned to its work, but the socializing continued. Silas Deane had a dinner invitation for every night of Congress’s third week, but protested that he was working hard: “We meet at nine and set until three, by which time we are unable to do anything but eat & drink the rest of the day.”16
John Adams delighted in the groaning boards of Philadelphia. He described one dinner featuring “ducks, hams, chickens, beef, pig, tarts, creams, custards, geles, fools, trifles, floating Islands, beer, porter, punch, wine . . .” Another night brought “a most sinful feast again!” with twenty types of tarts, “Whipped sillabubs, &c. &c.” A week later, Adams exulted over “a mighty feast again, . . . the very best of claret, madeira and burgundy,” followed by dinner with “flummery, . . . sweetmeats of 20 sorts.”17
* * *
The delegates thought unanimity was essential to their task. Internal fractures would only encourage the British, while unanimity held a special moral power. Unanimous acts project conviction, especially when novel matters are at issue. Washington considered unanimity critical. But unanimity meant satisfying conservatives like James Duane of New York, whose goal was “a firm union between the parent state and her colonies,” and radicals like Sam Adams and Patrick Henry, who demanded vindication of American rights and repeal of the Coercive Acts.18
With the committee on American rights meeting daily, Sam Adams arranged for a clergyman to offer a ripsnorting prayer over the deliberations. The minister exhorted the Lord to “defeat the malicious designs of our cruel adversaries” and “if they persist in their sanguinary purposes, . . . constrain them to drop the weapons of war from their unnerved hands in the day of battle!” The prayer, John Adams wrote, had “an excellent effect.”19
Before the delegates could return to work, Paul Revere rode in from Boston on September 16 carrying another shock: the Suffolk Resolves, adopted a week earlier in the county that included Boston. Impoverished by the harbor closing, stripped of their government, overrun with British troops, Bostonians spat defiance, pledging to “arrest the hand which would ransack our pockets . . . [to] disarm the parricide who points the dagger at our bosoms, [and] . . . resist that unparalleled usurpation of unconstitutional power.” With their streets “thronged with military executioners” and their colonial charter “mutilated and, in effect annihilated,” they proclaimed the British constitution “totally wrecked, annulled, and vacated.” Bostonians, one resolution snarled, should “acquaint themselves with the art of war as soon as possible.”20
Congress endorsed those resolutions, but with less ferocious language. Still aiming at unanimity, the delegates urged Americans to persuade Britain “quickly to introduce better men and wiser measures.”21 A week later, intense deliberations followed the report of the committee on American rights. On September 27, Congress unanimously endorsed Richard Henry Lee’s call for a ban on imports from Britain starting December 1. Non-export would be the next subject of debate.22
At that point, Joseph Galloway of Pennsylvania mounted the only serious effort to avoid confrontation. Predicting that non-exportation would ruin Americans, the Pennsylvanian proposed blending the governments of America and Britain. A new Grand Council of the American colonies would meet once a year as a subordinate branch of Parliament. Its legislation would not take effect, however, until approved by a royally appointed “president-general” of America and also by Parliament, except in time of war.23
Galloway won support from conservatives—whom he described as “all the men of property, and most of the ablest speakers”—but no delegate from Massachusetts or Virginia. Patrick Henry predicted that British bribes would swiftly corrupt Galloway’s Grand Council. The implacable Washington rejected Galloway’s scheme, which died quietly.24
The non-export issue proved thorny. Non-importation meant foregoing luxuries, but an export ban reduced incomes. Congress ultimately agreed to bar exports to British-controlled ports, but that ban would not take effect for a year, on the next September 10. A committee was appointed to consider allowing exports of favored products of specific colonies—North Carolina’s tar and pitch, or New Hampshire’s lumber and fish, or rice from South Carolina.25
Unanimity took time to achieve. Three weeks into the session, many delegates wished that others would ta
lk less. “Slow as snails,” John Adams complained to his wife, observing later, “There is so much wit, sense, learning, acuteness, subtlety, eloquence, &c. among fifty gentlemen, each of whom has been habituated to lead and guide in his own province, that an immensity of time is spent unnecessarily.” A delegate from Delaware groaned, “This is tiresome duty.”26
Yet they knew the work required care. Samuel Ward worried about “the danger of taking a false step in a matter of such vast importance.” Even impatient John Adams acknowledged that “We have had as great questions to discuss as ever engaged the attention of men, and an infinite multitude of them.”27
* * *
Through the tedium and the excitement, Washington listened and watched. As he had done in the House of Burgesses, he evaluated the arguments and the delegates, stating his views in conversation but avoiding floor debate. He was affable and polite. He spent 17 shillings on political pamphlets and won 7 shillings at cards. He described his role in that first congress as that of “an attentive observer and witness.” Months later, when Congress convened for its second session, it would become clear that Washington had exercised his gift of winning the trust of others.28
His dinner hosts included powerful Pennsylvanians whose paths he would cross in the future, men like Thomas Mifflin and John Dickinson.29 Washington sampled worship services. He spent a Sunday morning in late September in a Quaker meeting and the afternoon at an Anglican service. Two weeks later, he joined the Presbyterians in the morning and the Roman Catholics in the afternoon. No crisis of the soul prompted his visits; he was interested in different faiths. In addition, of course, an astute political leader seeks to understand all of the people in his community.30
On October 6, Paul Revere delivered more shocking news from Boston: General Gage had closed the colony’s courts and was building fortifications, converting Boston into a British garrison. The Boston committee of correspondence asked the congress whether residents should abandon the city. After debate, the congress advised remaining in the city and encouraged Americans to compensate Bostonians for their losses.31
Washington set out his personal views in a letter to a former Virginia Regiment colleague, Robert McKenzie, who was serving with the British Army in Boston. McKenzie had portrayed Massachusetts patriots as “scandalous and ungenerous,” with a “fixed aim at total independence.” Washington’s response began courteously but turned hard. Britain had oppressed Boston, Washington wrote, with “a systematic assertion of an arbitrary power, deeply planned . . . to violate the most essential and valuable rights of mankind.” Washington concluded grimly that if Britain resorted to greater force, “more blood will be spilt . . . than history has ever yet furnished instances of in the annals of North America.”32
Congress devoted its final weeks to non-export and to creating a new association to implement trade restrictions. Responding to passionate advocacy by the South Carolinians, who stalked out of congress for a spell, it exempted rice from any export ban. Congress urged frugality, a freeze on prices, and no slave imports. A new association agreement tracked the Fairfax Resolves.33
The association movement revived, with hundreds of local enforcement committees springing up across the thirteen colonies. Those local committees, which often functioned as local governments, had a profound effect on the estimated 7,000 Americans who served on them in the coming years. That epidemic of self-rule spread both resistance to Britain and served as a laboratory of participatory government.34
Congress prepared five public documents, which the delegates “debated by paragraphs”: a letter of protest to General Gage in Boston; two memorials to the people of British America; another petition to the king; and a letter inviting Quebec to join the resistance. Though Washington despaired at the prospect of sending more petitions and entreaties to London, he went along; unanimity required compromise on all sides.35
Reflecting the delegates’ diverse attitudes, and the risk of war they courted, the congress could be inconsistent. The memorials and petitions proclaimed loyalty to the king but denounced his ministers. The delegates aimed to coerce Britain to recognize their rights, yet no one spoke for independence or war. “Their opinions are fixed against hostilities and ruptures,” John Adams noted, “because it would make a wound which could never be healed.” When the Pennsylvania General Assembly hosted a dinner at the City Tavern, an anxious toast proposed, “May the sword of the parent never be stained with the blood of her children.”36
On October 26, forty-seven delegates signed the petition to the king and scheduled a second session for May. They expected that fresh challenges would greet them eight months hence. Of the Virginians, only Washington and Lee were present to sign. Randolph had left to preside over a new session of the House of Burgesses, taking four other Virginians with him.37
There was symbolism in that sequence. Washington, too, had responsibilities in Virginia, but his priority was the congress. He sensed that the center of American resistance was shifting away from individual colonies. America’s future would be continental. Those who left for home, beginning with Randolph, understood the politics of the present, of the American colonies. Washington, however, was looking toward the untidy path to the future.
For forty-six days, he had gauged the leaders of other colonies. He might have imagined himself as a leader among them. He already was a leading figure from Virginia, the premier colony. He could see that he was taken seriously, that his military experience resonated. At forty-two, he was neither too old nor too young. With his business affairs largely under control, with his family life simplified, he had the freedom to consider greater political engagement.
His final purchases in Philadelphia confirm that Washington was looking to the future. To continue his political education, he bought three more pamphlets. For his mother, he ordered a new riding carriage.38
Chapter 29
The Storm Breaks
A blizzard of obligations pressed in on Washington when he arrived home from Philadelphia. Building a new mill and adding to the mansion house involved coordinating suppliers, overseeing workers, and adjusting designs. He also had to supervise the sale of Belvoir’s furniture and of the estate of a former army colleague. For the project to open the upper Potomac to navigation, he attended trustee meetings and reviewed engineering plans, drafted legislation with Mason, then put fifty slaves to work on the river.1
To stave off squatters and realize revenue, Washington also needed to settle people on his western lands. He organized a party of indentured workers to begin a settlement, but sickness felled the man who was to lead them. Washington waged battles over land titles, especially with a well-connected North Carolinian claiming 800,000 acres.2 Washington’s public duties also multiplied. He convened Fairfax freeholders to appoint an enforcement committee for non-importation; he, of course, became its chair. The committee seized goods that violated the ban and sold them for the benefit of Boston’s poor.3
Following Fairfax County’s lead, other Virginia counties aggressively enforced the boycott. They condemned merchants and ship captains who refused to submit to audit, punished merchants who raised prices, and forced recantations from those who opposed the boycott. Some merchants relinquished goods that violated the ban; the committees auctioned off those items, reimbursed the merchants for their costs, and sent any remaining funds to Boston. The auctions included anvils, casks, “plaid goods,” Irish linens, men’s hose, cheap cloth for slave clothing, snuff, cutlery, barley, and lots of salt.4
Military enthusiasm skyrocketed; five Virginia counties asked Washington to command their militia. Washington, his martial ardor reviving after fifteen years in civilian life, drilled them personally, ordered weapons and ammunition, and designed their uniforms.5
Fairfax County led on military matters, too, creating a company of sixty-eight men who “must make themselves masters of the military exercise.” To pay for arms, the committee requested 3 shillings
from each working-age resident. Though the committee had no taxing power, the measure was another step toward replacing the colonial government with something popularly based. Washington and Mason advanced the cost of gunpowder, then simmered when their neighbors proved slow to pay up.6
The county’s militancy reinforced the prominence of its leader, Washington. Another county announced its agreement “with the gentlemen of Fairfax county” on militia training.7 Two former British army officers, Charles Lee and Horatio Gates, sought out Washington to confer on strategy if there was war with Britain. With Gates’s assistance, Lee was preparing an ambitious revamping of the infantry tactics of the day. Both would become American generals.8
The mounting demands on Washington’s time took a toll. When John West, his fellow burgess and longtime friend, asked Washington to be his son’s guardian upon his death, Washington responded with a wail of complaint:
For this year or two past, there has been scarce a moment that I can properly call my own; for what with my own business—my present wards, my mother’s (which is wholly in my hands), Colonel Covill’s, Mrs. Savage’s, Colonel Fairfax’s, Colonel Mercer’s . . . and the little assistance I have undertaken to give in the management of my brother Augustine’s affairs (for I have absolutely refused to qualify as an executor) keeps me, together with the share I take in public affairs, constantly engaged in writing letters—settling accounts—and negotiating one piece of business or another, . . . by which means I have really been deprived of every kind of enjoyment.9
Washington was paying the price of being the man everyone trusted. In the end, West named him guardian and also executor of his estate.
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