George Washington's Western Adventure

The great man waited. Still no bids. A total disaster, this auction. At some point, it became obvious that no one was going to buy his mill. The general had all this wealth on paper, but what was it worth if you couldn't make it liquid? He decided he would simply abandon the mill and let it rot.

Doing his best to salvage the situation, the general announced that he would rent the farm on which Gilbert Simpson had been living. He would not even ask for cash, merely a payment in wheat. Five hundred bushels a year would cover it, he said.

Again, no one in the crowd showed any interest and only one man wanted to rent the farm: Gilbert Simpson. The vile Simpson! Washington wanted to end all connection with the man, but the general had no choice. He agreed to keep Simpson as a tenant.

The general always had a good instinct for when to retreat.

THE NEXT DAY the sky opened. In a pouring rain, Washington formally ended his business arrangement with Simpson to run the gristmill. The general wrote almost nothing in his diary, just a few terse sentences. Then he hit the road again, north and west, to Millers Run, home of the squatters. This wasn't going to be pretty.

The general wasn't in a rush to confront these people. He arrived on a Saturday afternoon, and on Sunday morning decided to postpone the reckoning. "Being Sunday, and the People living on my Land, apparently very religious, it was thought best to postpone going among them till tomorrow . . ." There's a rare whiff of sarcasm there. Apparently very religious -- his italics.

The next day, Washington made a tour of the 13 farms that had been carved out of his land. The general knew as well as anyone alive how to eyeball a farm by horseback. He examined the soils, the trees, the houses, the barns, the fences. He took notes, recording the names of the squatters and the number of acres cleared and under cultivation.

"James McBride. 3 or 4 Acres of Meadow . . . Pretty good fencing -- Land rather broken, but good -- white & black oak mixed -- A dwelling House and barn (of midling size) with Puncheon roofs . . . Brice McGeechen. 3 Acres of Meadow . . . Arable -- under good fencing. A small new Barn good . . . John Reed Esquire. 4 Acres of Meadow . . . A Small dwelling House -- but Logs for a large one, a still House -- good Land and fencing . . ."

And so on.

That night the settlers showed their visitor a modicum of respect, hosting him for dinner at the home of one of their leaders, David Reed. They announced that they would be willing to buy the land from the general outright -- a sign that, as much as they doubted his legal right to the properties, they feared that they might lose their farms should Washington prosecute his claim. They made clear to the general that they weren't conceding that he owned the land, but rather they merely wanted to avoid a nasty fight. Washington said he had no inclination to sell. They talked of their hardships, their history, how they'd come together, their religious beliefs and so on. The steel in Washington's resolve softened ever so slightly. He would consider selling, he said.

Now they talked price. Washington said he would accept no less than 25 shillings an acre, paid in three annual installments, with interest. Otherwise, they could sign a 999-year lease. No one was interested in the lease, but the squatters asked if the general would sell the land for his asking price but over a much longer period of time and without any interest. He said he wouldn't. That ended the negotiations. The squatters formally declared that they did not recognize Washington's ownership.

He would have to sue them, they said.

There is a bit of local lore about what happened next. Supposedly, Washington declared that he would have the land, and accompanied this vow with a curse. Squatter John Reed, who served as a justice of the peace, promptly fined Washington five shillings. The general supposedly paid up on the spot and apologized for violating the laws of God and man. That anecdote does not emit the resounding peal of truth. Crumrine, the Washington scholar, dismissed the story, noting that the son of one of the squatters later denied that Washington had made any such oath. But Crumrine endorsed the son's account of what Washington told the squatters in this testy moment. The general, the son said, pulled out a red silk handkerchief, held it by one corner, and said: "Gentlemen, I will have this land just as surely as I now have this handkerchief."

What we know of the general and his personality leads us to doubt that he would taunt the squatters. Usually an icy stare served his purposes well enough.

Washington now found himself in an uncomfortable position. The squatters believed that they'd called his bluff. He knew it wasn't a bluff -- but he also knew he lacked sufficient documentary proof of ownership. He held out hope that somewhere in the motley bunch there might be men willing to abandon this stance, and he decided to resort to a little theatricality. As commander in chief of the Continental Army, he had managed to quell rebellions through the force of his personality. The most famous incident happened late in the war, when his officers, furious at Congress for failing to provide money or support, threatened to stage a military coup. Washington rebuked them and then, in a wonderfully theatrical gesture, pulled out glasses to read an otherwise inconsequential letter. "Gentleman, you will permit me to put on my spectacles," he said, "for I have not only grown gray but almost blind in the service of my country." The mutinous atmosphere suddenly evaporated. Blind in the service of his country! Tears ran down the faces of the officers. Washington had won again.

So now Washington had to stage a little more theater and see if it would work. He asked each of the settlers if he would stand up individually to attest an intention to go to court over the land dispute. The general said he would call out the names of the settlers one by one. He wanted to break up this gaggle of Seceders into its constituent parts. It was time to fight man to man.

"James Scott," the general said.

James Scott rose to his feet.

"William Stewart."

William Stewart stood.