"Best Fitted" for the Presidency

With the Constitution ratified, Washington looked forward to ending his days in the quiet seclusion of his farm. But voices from all directions were calling for his continued leadership. The ink had scarcely dried on the proposed Constitution before David Humphreys, a friend and former military aide, wrote, "What will tend perhaps more than anything to the adoption of the new system will be a universal opinion of your being elected President of the United States and an expectation that you will accept it for a while." 1 Joining Humphreys were a host of newspapers, all confidently predicting that Washington would be the first chief executive. The Pennsylvania Packet even published a "new federal song," whose five verses each concluded with the words,

Great Washington shall rule the land
While Franklin's counsel aids his hand. 2

With some insistency, Gouverneur Morris added his view that "should the idea prevail that you would not accept of the presidency, it should prove fatal in many parts Of all men, you are the best fitted to fill that office. Your cool, steady temper is indispensably necessary to give firm and manly tone to the new government....You must, I repeat must, mount the seat." 3

Despite the repeated recommendations of valued friends, Washington continued to resist the idea. He had several strong reasons to avoid the office, but foremost among them was his feeling that another person, someone more willing, could do the job as well as Washington could. He wrote:

Notwithstanding my advanced season of life, my increasing fondness for agricultural amusements, and my growing love of retirement....yet it will be no one of these motives, nor the hazard to which my former reputation might be exposed, or the terror of encountering new fatigues and troubles, that would deter me from an acceptance, but a belief that some other person, who had...less inclination to be excused, could execute all the duties [fully] as satisfactorily as myself. 4

"Clouds and Darkness"

Throughout the year, Washington consistently rejected the suggestions of friends and admirers. "The presidency...has no enticing charms and no fascinating allurements for me," he wrote to Lafayette. His only wish, he said, was to live and die "an honest man on my own farm. Let those follow the pursuits of ambition and fame who have a keener relish for them, or who may have more years in store for the enjoyment." 5

But many, including his longtime friend Alexander Hamilton, closed their ears to his stubborn resistance. They argued that America desperately needed a strong and recognized leader at the helm-specifically George Washington. Washington answered Hamilton by saying, "I should unfeignedly rejoice in case the electors, by giving their votes in favor of some other person, would save me from the dreaded dilemma of being forced to accept or refuse." He then revealed his deep, distressful feelings about the situation: "I have always felt a kind of gloom upon my mind...as I have been taught to expect I might...be called to make a decision."

Despite Washington's denials, however, Hamilton's hammering arguments had their effect. Earlier, Washington had flatly refused to even consider the Presidency. But now he was weakening. In the same letter he wrote, "If I should receive the appointment and if I should be prevailed upon to accept it, the acceptance would be attended with more diffidence and reluctance than I ever experienced before in my life."

If he did accept, he continued, "It would be...with a fixed and sole determination of lending whatever assistance might be in my power to promote the public weal, in hopes that at a convenient and early period my services might be dispensed with, and that I might be permitted once more to retire, to pass an unclouded evening after the stormy day of life, in the bosom of domestic tranquility." 6

Three weeks later, he described his dark forebodings at the thought of assuming the presidency. Accepting that post, he wrote, "would be the greatest sacrifice of my personal feelings and wishes that ever I have been called upon to make. It would be to forgo repose and domestic enjoyment for trouble, perhaps for public obloquy, for I should consider myself as entering upon an unexplored field, enveloped on every side with clouds and darkness."

Despite his misgivings, Washington seemed to sense that a mantle of inescapable duty was descending upon his shoulders. He admitted he had reached the point where he could be prevailed upon to accept the position-but only under the compelling weight of "the conviction that the partiality of my countrymen had made my services absolutely necessary, joined to a fear that my refusal might induce a belief that I preferred the conservation of my own reputation and private ease to the good of my country." 7

The problem bore down on the frustrated Washington for over a year. From the beginning of 1788 to the end, his fears and hesitations filled his waking thoughts each day and swirled through his dreams by night. December found him still wrestling with the decision. "May Heaven assist me in forming a judgment," he pleaded, "for at present I see nothing but clouds and darkness before me." 8

"I Anticipated...Ten Thousand Embarrassments"

When 1789 arrived Washington knew the apprehensive waiting was almost over. The die was cast, whether he liked it or not. In early January 1789 the eleven states of the Union chose their presidential electors (North Carolina and Rhode Island had not yet ratified the Constitution). A month later the electors cast their votes and sent them to Congress, as required by the Constitution. Almost immediately, rumors began to sweep the country that Washington had been named President by a unanimous vote. The tally would not be formally announced until Congress met to make an official count-but Washington saw no reason to disbelieve what he had heard, and he began to make preparations. Still pressed by heavy debts, he sought a large loan from a private citizen so he could start afresh, and he borrowed additional money to fund the anticipated journey to the national capital of New York. Twice he visited his aged and ailing mother in Fredericksburg, hoping to prepare her for the extended absence which this new assignment would make necessary.

"The event which I have long dreaded I am at last constrained to believe is now likely to happen," he wrote. From the moment when his election appeared "inevitable, I anticipated, in a heart filled with distress, the ten thousand embarrassments, perplexities, and troubles to which I must again be exposed in the evening of a life already nearly consumed in public cares." 9

Congress was to gather in New York on March 4 to count the ballots, but snowy, sloppy roads and stormy weather delayed them. It was early April before a quorum had finally assembled. Time plodded, tortoise-like, day after day, as Washington awaited word of his fate. In those long, emotionally charged days, Washington compared his agonized, fearful feelings to "those of a culprit who is going to the place of execution." 10

Finally, on April 6, Congress opened the electors' ballots and proclaimed that George Washington was indeed the unanimous choice for President. John Adams was named Vice President.

Congress appointed Charles Thomson, secretary of the Congress, to carry the official news to the new President. Thomson, long a staunch patriot, had been secretary of the Congress when Washington had been a member back in 1775. When Thomson arrived at the doorstep of Mount Vernon on April 14, he read the official notification from Congress, then listened intently as Washington, hardly able to keep the emotion from his voice, read his prepared response:

I have been long accustomed to entertain so great a respect for the opinion of my fellow citizens that the knowledge of their unanimous suffrages having been given in my favor scarcely leaves me the alternative for an option....While I realize the arduous nature of the task which is imposed upon me, and feel my own inability to perform it, I wish there may not be reason for regretting the choice. All I can promise is only that which can be accomplished by an honest zeal. 11

Farewell to Private Life

Two days later, with his home affairs in order, Washington departed for New York by coach. Accompanying him were Charles Thomson and David Humphreys. "I bade adieu to Mount Vernon, to private life, and to domestic felicity," he recorded in his diary, "and with a mind oppressed with more anxious and painful sensations than I have words to express, set out for New York...with the best dispositions to render service to my country in obedience to its call, but with less hope of answering its expectations." 12

As the new President journeyed northward, he was greeted by enthusiastic celebrations at every stop. Swarms of people lined the road to see his coach, while uniformed troops of local militia met him on the road and escorted him into each city and town. Leading citizens took delight in saluting their new leader with long speeches; town fathers honored him at festive banquets. Washington appreciated the affection and confidence expressed by his fellow citizens, but he felt pressed to push quickly toward his destination-some of the Congressmen had been waiting over a month for the new government to move into operation. Still, he patiently took time to respond to the warm American graciousness as he slowly moved northward.

His first stop was Alexandria, Virginia, where friends gave him a lavish dinner. In an affectionate address, Mayor Dennis Ramsay said: "Farewell! Go and make a grateful people happy, a people who will be doubly grateful when they contemplate this recent sacrifice for their interest. To that Being who maketh and unmaketh at His will, we commend you; and, after the accomplishment of the arduous business to which you are called, may He restore to us again the best of men and the most beloved fellow citizen." 13

In a moving response, Washington admitted the deep feelings that burned inside. "Words, my fellow citizens, fail me," he said. "Unutterable sensations must then be left to more expressive silence, while, from an aching heart, I bid you all, my affectionate friends and kind neighbors, farewell!" 14

The next day he arrived in Baltimore. Answering a laudatory speech offered there, he returned the compliment, noting that America's people were the foundation of the nation's future success: "It appears to me that little more than common sense and common honesty, in the transactions of the community at large, would be necessary to make us a great and a happy nation" 15

When he rolled out of Baltimore at half past five the following morning, he was bidden farewell by roaring cannon. A troop of Baltimore militia accompanied him for seven full miles; finally, Washington climbed out of his coach and persuaded them to turn back.

"The Approaches Were Graced with...Flags"

Two days later, as he neared Philadelphia, he was presented with a richly caparisoned white horse, on which he was to head a triumphal parade entering the city. As Washington approached the city, tall and imposing on his prancing mount, he was joined by scores of dignitaries and well-wishers from Philadelphia, including such distinguished gentlemen as Thomas Mifflin, president of the Supreme Executive Council of Pennsylvania, and Richard Peters, speaker of the Pennsylvania Assembly. Washington had known both men when they had served for long years on the Board of War during the revolution.

At Gray's Ferry outside of Philadelphia, Washington was surprised to see the bridge extravagantly decorated in his honor. After enlisting the services of Charles Willson Peale, the Gray brothers "had adorned amazingly the unstable structure. At each end of the bridge was an arch of laurel; the sides were lined with more of that shrub and with cedar....All the approaches were graced with large flags-one that proclaimed 'The New Era,' another that portrayed the rising sun of empire." 16 The north side of the bridge displayed banners for each of the eleven states that had ratified the Constitution; the south side boasted the Union flag.

After crossing the Schuylkill to enter Philadelphia, Washington was deeply moved to see the enthusiastic reception that awaited him. "Every fence, field, and avenue" was lined with excited citizens, both young and old, rich and poor-more than twenty thousand in all-who had come to see their new President. 17 Cannon boomed, sending their message to far-distant towns. 18 Church bells rang out a greeting. The people cheered and clapped, and Washington bowed from his horse. The setting was in stark contrast to the ragged march he had taken through the city in August 1777, instructing his men to do their forlorn best to make a good impression-but understanding completely when they failed.

The appreciative citizens of Philadelphia were eager to hear their new President speak, and their many formal addresses provided him that opportunity. "When I contemplate the interposition of Providence in guiding us," he said, "...I feel myself...almost overwhelmed with a sense of divine munificence. I feel that nothing is due to my personal agency." He then gave voice to the deep faith that buttressed his view of the prospects ahead: "If I have distressing apprehensions .... I am supported...by a confidence that the most gracious Being, who has hitherto watched over the interests and averted the perils of the United States, will never suffer so fair an inheritance to become a prey to anarchy, despotism, or any other species of oppression." 19

"Strew Your Hero's Way with Flowers"

Other cities and towns were just as demonstrative as Philadelphia. As Washington neared Trenton, mounted once again on a spirited charger given him for that purpose, he reined up in surprise as he approached the bridge over Assunpink Creek. The once-familiar bridge had been changed into a decorated monument, covered by an arch twelve feet long and twenty feet high. On the southern face of the arch he read, "The Defender of the Mothers Will Also Defend the Daughters."

Charmed and pleased, Washington began to advance across the bridge, but he was stopped by the stunning sight of dozens of little girls in white, teenagers in spring costume, and mothers and older matrons-all from Trenton-ranked on both sides of the road. As he looked on in astonishment, they burst into song:

Welcome, mighty Chief! once more
Welcome to this grateful shore!
Now no mercenary foe
Aims again the fatal blow-
Aims at thee the fatal blow.
Virgins fair, and Matrons grave,
Those thy conquering arms did save,
Build for thee triumphant bowers
Strew, ye fair, his way with flowers-
Strew your Hero's way with flowers. 20

As the song concluded, young girls with baskets of flowers skipped forward and scattered blossoms along their hero's path. Washington's emotions welled. When the baskets were empty, he bowed deeply and thanked the children and women for their warm and thoughtful graciousness.

On April 23, at Elizabeth Town, New Jersey, he stepped into an expensive new barge, a forty-seven-foot sailboat with thirteen supplementary oars on each side, which had been provided especially for this occasion. Thomson, Humphreys, and a joint committee of Congress accompanied him. The entire population of Elizabeth Town, it seemed, had converged on the dock to see him depart on the final phase of his journey. As the barge slipped across the water toward New York City, an artillery salute rang through the air. Washington looked back to see the New Jersey militia still standing at attention on the dock.

"All the Guard I Want"

Despite the extravagant receptions Washington had encountered on his northward journey, nothing prepared him for the rich welcome awaiting him at New York. He was escorted across the bay by an assemblage of both large and small craft, all with colorful flags flying. The battery on Staten Island saluted him with thirteen guns as he passed. This was answered later by a thirteen-gun salute from a British packet and a Spanish sloop of war, the Galveston, which was ceremonially flying the flags of twenty different countries.

As the barge pulled near the wharf, Washington was stunned to see thousands upon thousands of New Yorkers crowded along the waterfront. He tried to hide the effusion of his emotion, but could not. Another thirteen cannon roared in greeting. The throng shouted out three huzzahs, and, at the appointed time, church bells began to ring for a full half hour.

Washington had barely stepped from the barge, climbing up the carpeted steps, when an officer moved forward, saluted, and announced that a military guard had been assigned to escort the General to his residence. Washington was hesitant and answered: "As to the present arrangement [of having an escort], I shall proceed as directed. But after this is over I hope you will give yourself no further trouble, as the affection of my fellow citizens"-and here he gestured toward the attentive crowd-"is all the guard I want." 21

When the journey was over and Washington could finally relax, he recalled the amazing events in his diary. He reflected on the flowers, songs, and poems that had been offered him, the many laudatory speeches he had heard, and especially the elaborate ceremonies on his arrival at New York. The public had truly showered him with praise and affection-but through it all, in the secret recesses of his heart, he had continued to have doubts and misgivings. What if he proved inadequate to the task? What if he embarrassed himself with clumsy mistakes? What if he were forced to make critical decisions that then brought public condemnation because the people did not have all the facts? How often that had happened during the war!

Knowing how quickly cheers can change to criticism and scorn, Washington wrote in his diary:

"The display of boats,...the decorations of the ships, the roar of cannon, and the loud acclamations of the people...filled my mind with sensations as painful (considering the reverse of this scene, which may be the case after all my labors to do good) as they are pleasing." 22

This excerpt was taken from the book The Real George Washington .

To learn more about The Real George Washington click here .