Mrs. Washington descended from a family of distinction among the Virginia colonists. Mr. Paulding says of her: "As a native of Virginia, she was hospitable by birthright, and always received her visitors with a smiling welcome. But they were never asked to stay but once, and she always speeded the parting guest by affording every facility in her power. She possessed all those domestic habits and qualities that confer value on women, and had no desire to be distinguished by any t.i.tles but those of a good wife and mother."
She was a very resolute woman, and exercised the most complete self-control in the presence of danger and difficulties. There was but a single exception to this remark, she was afraid of thunder and lightning.
At fifteen years of age she was walking with a young female friend, when they were overtaken by a fearful thunder-shower, and her friend was struck by lightning at her side and instantly killed. The terrible calamity wrought seriously upon her nervous system, and from that time she was unable to control her nerves during a thunder-storm. Otherwise she was one of the most fearless and resolute women ever born in Virginia.
Mrs. Washington was not regarded as a superst.i.tious woman, yet she had a dream when George was about five years old which so deeply impressed her that she pondered it through life. Mr. Weems gives it as she told it to a neighbor more than once, as follows:
"I dreamt," said the mother of Washington, "that I was sitting on the piazza of a large new house, into which we had but lately moved. George, at that time about five years old, was in the garden with his corn-stalk plough, busily running little furrows in the sand, in imitation of Negro d.i.c.k, a fine black boy, with whose ploughing George was so taken that it was sometimes a hard matter to get him to his dinner. And so, as I was sitting on the piazza at my work, I suddenly heard in my dream a kind of roaring noise on the _eastern_ side of the house. On running out to see what was the matter, I beheld a dreadful sheet of fire bursting from the roof. The sight struck me with a horror which took away my strength, and threw me, almost senseless, to the ground. My husband and the servants, as I saw in my dream, soon came up; but, like myself, were so terrified at the sight that they could make no attempt to extinguish the flames. In this most distressing state the image of my little son came, I thought, to my mind, more dear and tender than ever, and turning towards the garden where he was engaged with his little corn-stalk plough, I screamed out twice with all my might, "_George_! _George_!" In a few moments, as I thought, he threw down his mimic plough, and ran to me, saying, "_High! ma! what makes you call so angry! ain"t I a good boy? don"t I always run to you soon as I hear you call_?" I could make no reply, but just threw up my arms towards the flame. He looked up and saw the house all on fire; but instead of bursting out a-crying, as might have been expected from a child, he instantly _brightened_ up and seemed ready to fly to extinguish it. But first looking at me with great tenderness, he said, "_O ma, don"t be afraid! G.o.d Almighty will help us, and we shall soon put it out_." His looks and words revived our spirits in so wonderful a manner that we all instantly set about to a.s.sist him.
A ladder was presently brought, on which, as I saw in my dream, he ran up with the nimbleness of a squirrel and the servants supplied him with water, which he threw on the fire from an _American gourd_. But that growing weaker, the flame appeared to gain ground, breaking forth and roaring most dreadfully, which so frightened the servants that many of them, like persons in despair, began to leave him. But he, still undaunted, continued to ply it with water, animating the servants at the same time, both by his words and actions. For a long time the contest appeared very doubtful; but at length a venerable old man, with a tall cap and an iron rod in his hand, like a lightning-rod, reached out to him a curious little trough, like a _wooden shoe_! On receiving this he redoubled his exertions, and soon extinguished the fire. Our joy on the occasion was unbounded. But he, on the contrary, showing no more of transport now than of terror before, looked rather sad at the sight of the great harm that had been done. Then I saw in my dream that after some time spent as in deep thought, he called out with much joy, "_Well ma, now if you and the family will but consent, we can make a far better roof than this ever was_; a roof of such a _quality_ that, if well _kept together_, it will last forever; but if you take it apart, you will make the house ten thousand times worse than it was before.""
Mr. Weems adds: "This, though certainly a very curious dream, needs no Daniel to interpret it, especially if we take Mrs. Washington"s new house for the young colony government; the fire on its east side for North"s civil war; the gourd, which George first employed, for the American three and six months" enlistments; the old man, with his cap and iron rod, for Dr. Franklin; the _shoe-like_ vessel which he reached to George for the sabot, or wooden-shoed nation, the French whom Franklin courted a long time for America; and the new roof proposed by George for a staunch, honest Republic, that "_equal government_" which, by guarding alike the welfare of all, ought by all to be so heartily beloved as to _endure forever_."
There are many anecdotes told of her which ill.u.s.trate her character better than plain statement.
The death of her husband was a crushing blow to her; yet, on the whole, her Christian hope triumphed. Friends offered to a.s.sist her in the management of her large estate, for all the property left to her children was to be controlled by her until they each one became of age.
"No," she answered, "G.o.d has put the responsibility upon me by the death of my husband, and I must meet it. He will give me wisdom and strength as I need it."
"But it is too much care and labor for a woman," suggested one, thinking that what had required the constant and careful attention of a man could not be added to the cares of a woman, whose hands were full with household duties before.
"We can bear more and do more than we think we can when compelled by the force of circ.u.mstances," replied Mrs. Washington. "In ourselves we are weak, and can do but little; but by the help of G.o.d we are made equal to the demands of duty."
"Equal to all that comes within the bounds of reason," responded the relative, intending that it was unreasonable for the mother of five young children, the eldest but eleven years old, to undertake so much.
"Certainly; and the _demands of duty_ are always within the bounds of reason," answered Mrs. Washington; "that was what I said. Providence has laid this burden of care and labor upon me, and upon no one else. While I shall be very thankful for advice and a.s.sistance from my friends, I must not shrink from the cares of this new position."
It was in this spirit that Mrs. Washington took up the additional duties devolved upon her by the sudden death of her husband. In view of this fact, Mr. Sparks paid her the following just tribute:
"In these important duties Mrs. Washington acquitted herself with great fidelity to her trust, and with entire success. Her good sense, a.s.siduity, tenderness, and vigilance overcame every obstacle; and, as the richest reward of a mother"s solicitude and toil, she had the happiness to see all her children come forward with a fair promise into life, filling the sphere allotted them in a manner equally honorable to themselves, and to the parent who had been the only guide of their principles, conduct, and habits. She lived to witness the n.o.ble career of her eldest son, till, by his own rare merits, he was raised to the head of a nation, and applauded and revered by the whole world. It has been said that there never was a great man, the elements of whose greatness might not be traced to the original characteristics or early influence of his mother. If this be true, how much do mankind owe to the mother of Washington?"
Irving said: "She proved herself worthy of the trust. Endowed with plain, direct, good sense, thorough conscientiousness, and prompt decision, she governed her family strictly, but kindly, exacting deference while she inspired affection. George, being her eldest son, was thought to be her favorite, yet she never gave him undue preference; and the implicit deference exacted from him in childhood continued to be habitually observed by him to the day of her death. He inherited from her a high temper and a spirit of command, but her early precepts and example taught him to restrain and govern that temper, and to square his conduct on the exact principles of equity and justice.
"Tradition gives an interesting picture of the widow, with her little flock gathered round her, as was her daily wont, reading to them lessons of religion and morality out of some standard work. Her favorite volume was Sir Matthew Hale"s "Contemplations, Moral and Divine." The admirable maxims therein contained for outward actions, as well as for self-government, sank deep into the mind of George, and doubtless had a great influence in forming his character. They certainly were exemplified in his conduct throughout life. This mother"s manual, bearing his mother"s name, Mary Washington, written with her own hand, was ever preserved by him with filial care, and may still be seen in the archives of Mount Vernon."
When her son first engaged in the war against the French and Indians, she appeared to be indifferent to the honor conferred upon him.
"You must go at the call of your country, but I regret that it is necessary, George," she said, when he paid her his farewell visit. "May the Lord go with you, and preserve you and the country!"
"And may He preserve and bless you, whether He preserves me or not!"
answered her son. "The perils of war render my return uncertain, to say the least; and it is always wise to be prepared for the worst."
"I trust that I am prepared for anything that Providence orders,"
responded Mrs. Washington, "though it is with pain that I approach this separation. These trying times require great sacrifices of all, and we must make them cheerfully."
"Victory would not be far away if all possessed that spirit," answered the young commander. "If there is patriotism enough in the country to defend our cause, the country will be saved."
That Washington himself was deeply affected by this interview, his own tears, when he bade his mother final adieu, bore unmistakable witness.
When the news of his crossing the Delaware, at a time of great peril and gloom in the land, was brought to her, she exclaimed, raising her hand heavenward, "Thank G.o.d! thank G.o.d for the success!"
There appeared to be no recognition of peculiar wisdom and skill on the part of her son, though the friends gathered were full of his praise.
"The country is profoundly grateful to your son for his achievements,"
suggested one; "and the praise of his countrymen knows no bounds."
"I have no doubt that George deserves well of his country," Mrs.
Washington replied, "but, my good sir, here is too much flattery."
"No flattery at all, but deserved praise," her friend and neighbor retorted.
"Well, I have no fears about George," she replied. "He will not forget the lessons I have taught him; he will not forget _himself_, though he is the subject of so much praise."
After her son had left for Cambridge, Ma.s.s., to take charge of the troops, her son-in-law, Mr. Fielding Lewis, offered to lighten her labors by taking care of her property, or some part of it at least.
"No, Fielding, it is not necessary; I am competent to attend to it myself," she answered.
"I did not question your competency; I only wanted to relieve you of some care," the son-in-law answered.
"I understand and appreciate your kindness," she said; "but, nevertheless, I must decline your offer. My friends are all very kind to me, and I feel very grateful, but it is better for me to bear this responsibility as long as I can."
After discussing the subject still further, Mrs. Washington yielded in part to his request; she said:
"Fielding, you may keep my books in order, as your eyesight is better than mine, but leave the executive management to me."
When Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown, Washington despatched a messenger to convey the glad tidings to his mother at Fredericksburg. At once her friends and neighbors called with great enthusiasm to honor her as the mother of the conqueror of England.
"Bless G.o.d!" she exclaimed, on receipt of the news. "The war will now be ended, and peace and independence and happiness bless the country."
"Your son is the most ill.u.s.trious general in the world," remarked one.
"The nation idolizes him," said another.
"The soldiers almost worship him," still another.
"The saviour of his country," announced a fourth in jubilant state of mind, desiring, at the same time, to gratify his mother.
But none of these lofty tributes to her son afforded her pleasure; they seemed to annoy her by causing her to feel that the divine blessing was overlooked.
"We must not forget the great Giver, in our joy over the success of our arms," she said.
She had never forgotten Him. During those six long years of conflict, her hope had been inspired, and her comfort found, at the mercy-seat.
Daily, during the warm season of the year, she had repaired to a secluded spot near her dwelling to pray for her George and her country.
At other seasons of the year she daily remembered them within her quiet home. However gratified she may have been with the honors lavished upon her son, she would not allow herself to honor the creature more than the Creator.
As soon as possible after the surrender of Cornwallis, Washington visited his mother at Fredericksburg, attended by his splendid suite.
The latter were extremely anxious to behold and honor the aged matron, whom their ill.u.s.trious chief respected and loved so sincerely.
On arriving at Fredericksburg, he quartered his suite comfortably, and then repaired alone and on foot to see his mother, whom he had not seen for over six years. She met him at the door with feelings we cannot conceive, much less describe.