I hate deception …
—GEORGE WASHINGTON
WINCHESTER
George wanted to take the author by the neck. Infuriating! Two thousand words on the front page of the Virginia Gazette, each one driving a dagger through his reputation, inch by inch. How dare someone write such lies, and with identity concealed! Who would dare accuse him of such inordinate depravity? Signed anonymous with a pseudonym—L. & V. Washington slammed the paper down onto his desk.
In black and white were printed accusations of drunkenness and profanity in his regiment:
No Profession in the World can secure from Contempt and
Indignation a Character made up of Vice and Debauchery;
and no Man is obliged to treat such a character as sacred.
When raw Novices … never used to command or have been
found insufficient for the Management of their own private
Affairs are honored with Commissions in the Army.
Kirkpatrick charged into the room, holding a copy. “Vain babbling! Worthless—malicious—envious sycophants!” Kirkpatrick became angry in the face and stomped his foot. “Colonel, these assertions are utter nonsense. Insanity. Who dares write such slander?”
Never express anything unbecoming, nor act against the rules moral before your inferiors. George chose civility in Kirkpatrick’s presence, although he wanted to utter coarse words against the article’s author.
“Ill-natured slander!” asserted Kirkpatrick. “Two, three, four men gathered together to propagate lies and lay them onto paper.”
Let your conversation be without malice. George tried to remain calm. He made clear that he wasn’t interested in discussing this with Kirkpatrick.
His secretary seemed to get his message and walked toward the doorway. “Remember what Alexander Pope says—‘Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue, but like a shadow, proves the substance true.…’”
George also knew what else Pope had written: “Be silent always when you doubt your sense.” He read through the article once more. The most scathing denunciation of his ability was printed in the paper.
… Soldiers differ; some will shed their Blood,
And some drink Bumbo—for their Country’s Good.
Some in the Field will nobly risque their Lives;
Some Hero like, will swear, or play at Fives.
Some show themselves the genuine Sons of Mars:
Some brave in Venus’ or Bacchus’ Wars,
Can show their lecherous and drunken Scars.
… when the Officers give their Men an Example
of all Manner of Debauchery, Vice and Idleness,
When this is the Case, how wretchedly helpless
must a Nation be? What useless Lumber, what an
Encumbrance is the Soldiery.
Men of Virtue and true Courage can have
no Heart to enlist, and mingle in such a Crowd. And the
few of that Character, that may be among them, are in
Danger of catching the general Contagion; of being
damped and mortified at the Sight of such Scenes of
Vice, Extravagance and Oppression.
The article continued with a final strike at his reputation, with a quote from Shakespeare that the writer used to defame him.
Men’s Flesh preserv’d so whole but seldom win.
George’s jaw muscles clenched. He could nearly feel his blood getting hot. If there was a person who believed him incapable of command or, more seriously, in need of censure, he wanted to know who it was. No one would endeavor to act more in the interests of the military than George.
Certainly his inexperience had led to some mistakes in his leadership, but his first principle in every move he made in the military was a deep love to serve. He was sensible enough to know that some in his contingent were idle. He was far from exonerating the traits of his officers, but to compare him to a prince who destroyed his empire—this was blasphemy.
A heavy knock at the door of his room at Cocke’s Tavern drew his attention. He answered it, still holding the publication, to find the Honorable John Robinson, Beverley’s brother. George had asked him to come. He was glad to see him for a number of reasons, one being affirmation, the other a personal favor.
“A vile and ignorant scribbler!”
George needed that confirmation.
“To be aspersed in such a way!” Robinson found himself a seat and grunted before his muttering continued. “To whom shall we give credit for the malicious reflections in that scandalous libel?”
George’s pacing was emphatic as he stepped toward the window of the room, hesitated, and turned back. “I do not know.”
“I have never heard any man of honor or reputation speak the least disrespectfully of you or censure your conduct in the least.”
“I have followed the strictest dictates of honor.” George placed himself on a bench near the one window in the room. He opened it with his right hand; he needed some air.
“No man can blame you for showing a proper resentment at it.”
“I assure you my conduct will remain honorable so long as I am able to distinguish between good and evil.”
“I hope you will allow your ruling passion, the love of your country, to stifle your resentment. At least await the arrival of Loudoun in Virginia.”
George glanced around at the four walls of his small room. He had to gain control of his emotions. An utter attack on his character from an anonymous writer! He walked to the hall for a moment’s escape from the confines of the space. He called for food and drink for his guest. Be not angry at table whatever happens and if you have reason to be so, show it not but on a cheerful countenance. Then he returned for a discussion on the subject that would be dear to the heart of any man. “May we speak on another matter?” George cleared his throat. “The personal one.”