The Americanism of Washington | Page 6

It was the inward eating corruption of that selfish vanity
which caused him to desire the defeat of an army whose command he
had wished but failed to attain. He had offered his sword to America
for his own glory, and when that was denied him, he withdrew the
offering, and died, as he had lived, to himself.
What was it that tarnished the fame of Gates and Wilkinson and Burr
and Conway? What made their lives, and those of men like them, futile
and inefficient compared with other men whose natural gifts were less?
It was the taint of dominant selfishness that ran through their careers,
now hiding itself, now breaking out in some act of malignity or
treachery. Of the common interest they were reckless, provided they
might advance their own. Disappointed in that "ever favorite object of
their hearts," they did not hesitate to imperil the cause in whose service
they were enlisted.

Turn to other cases, in which a charitable judgment will impute no
positive betrayal of trusts, but a defect of vision to recognize the claim
of the higher ideal. Tory or Revolutionist a man might be, according to
his temperament and conviction; but where a man begins with protests
against tyranny and ends with subservience to it, we look for the cause.
What was it that separated Joseph Galloway from Francis Hopkinson?
It was Galloway's opinion that, while the struggle for independence
might be justifiable, it could not be successful, and the temptation of a
larger immediate reward under the British crown than could ever be
given by the American Congress in which he had once served. What
was it that divided the Rev. Jacob Duché from the Rev. John
Witherspoon? It was Duché's fear that the cause for which he had
prayed so eloquently in the first Continental Congress was doomed
after the capture of Philadelphia, and his unwillingness to go down with
that cause instead of enjoying the comfortable fruits of his native wit
and eloquence in an easy London chaplaincy. What was it that cut
William Franklin off from his professedly prudent and worldly wise old
father, Benjamin? It was the luxurious and benumbing charm of the
royal governorship of New Jersey.
"Professedly prudent" is the phrase that I have chosen to apply to
Benjamin Franklin. For the one thing that is clear, as we turn to look at
him and the other men who stood with Washington, is that, whatever
their philosophical professions may have been, they were not controlled
by prudence. They were really imprudent, and at heart willing to take
all risks of poverty and death in a struggle whose cause was just though
its issue was dubious. If it be rashness to commit honor and life and
property to a great adventure for the general good, then these men were
rash to the verge of recklessness. They refused no peril, they withheld
no sacrifice, in the following of their ideal.
I hear John Dickinson saying: "It is not our duty to leave wealth to our
children, but it is our duty to leave liberty to them. We have counted
the cost of this contest, and we find nothing so dreadful as voluntary
slavery." I see Samuel Adams, impoverished, living upon a pittance,
hardly able to provide a decent coat for his back, rejecting with scorn
the offer of a profitable office, wealth, a title even, to win him from his

allegiance to the cause of America. I see Robert Morris, the wealthy
merchant, opening his purse and pledging his credit to support the
Revolution, and later devoting all his fortune and his energy to restore
and establish the financial honor of the Republic, with the memorable
words, "The United States may command all that I have, except my
integrity." I hear the proud John Adams saying to his wife, "I have
accepted a seat in the House of Representatives, and thereby have
consented to my own ruin, to your ruin, and the ruin of our children";
and I hear her reply, with the tears running down her face, "Well, I am
willing in this cause to run all risks with you, and be ruined with you, if
you are ruined," I see Benjamin Franklin, in the Congress of 1776,
already past his seventieth year, prosperous, famous, by far the most
celebrated man in America, accepting without demur the difficult and
dangerous mission to France, and whispering to his friend, Dr. Rush, "I
am old and good for nothing, but as the store-keepers say of their
remnants of cloth, 'I am but a fag-end, and you may have me for what
you please.'"
Here is a man who will illustrate and prove, perhaps better than any
other of those who stood with Washington, the point at which I am
aiming.