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History of Orange County
Town of Newburgh
Page 36
It was upon this occasion that Washington while putting on his glasses to read his address, is said to have remarked: “Gentlemen, you see that I have not only grown grey, but blind in your service.” The time, place and circumstance were a potent argument of themselves.
For the benefit of our young readers, it is proper to remark that the officers addressed by the letters had served through the war of the Revolution,—that preliminary terms of peace had been agreed on by the two Governments—that the officers had expended their own means, with the pittance of their dues received from Government—that many of them were poor indeed, worn out in a seven years' war,—and that having petitioned Congress to make some certain provision to pay them for their services, and, being turned away with empty promises, they were now about to be discharged and sent adrift upon the world, without compensation by the country, whose independence they had fought and bled to establish. This was the condition of public affairs, and the almost desperate situation of the officers, when they were called upon to meet and consult by the “Newburgh Letters.”
TO THE OFFICERS OF THE ARMY:
Gentlemen,—A fellow soldier, whose interest and affections bind him strongly to you, whose past sufferings have been as great, and whose future fortune may be as desperate as yours—begs leave to address you.
Age has it claims, and rank is not without its pretensions to advise: but, though unsupported by both, he flatters himself, that the plain language of sincerity and experience will neither be unheard nor unregarded.
Like many of you he loved private life, and left it with regret. He left it, determined to retire from the field, with the necessity that called him to it, and not until then —not until the enemies of his country, the slaves of power, and the hirelings of injustice, were compelled to abandon their schemes, and acknowledge America as terrible in arms as she had been humble in remonstrance. With this object in view, he has long shared in your toils and mingled in your dangers.—He has felt the cold hand of poverty without a murmur, and has seen the insolence of wealth without a sight.---But, too much under the direction of his wishes, and sometimes weak enough to mistake desire for opinion, he has until lately—very lately believed in the justice of his country. He hoped, that as the clouds of adversity scattered, and as the sunshine of peace and better fortune broke in upon us, the coldness and severity of government would relax, and that more than justice, that gratitude would blaze forth upon those hands which had upheld her, in the darkest stages of her passage, from impending servitude to acknowledged independence. But faith has its limits, as well as temper, and there are points beyond which neither can be stretched, without sinking into cowardice, into credulity.—This my friends I conceive to be your situation.—Hurried into the very verge of both, another step would ruin you forever.—To be tame and unprovoked when injuries press hard upon you, is more than weakness; but to look up for kinder usage, without one manly effort and your own, would fix your character, and show the world how richly you deserve those chains you broke. To guard against this evil, let us a take a review of the ground upon which we now stand, and from thence carry our thoughts forward for a moment, into the unexplored field of expedient.
After a pursuit of seven long years, the object for which we set out is at length brought within our reach—yes, my friends, that suffering courage of yours was active once—it has conducted the United States of America throughout a doubtful and bloody war. It has placed her in the chair of independency and peace returns again to bless—whom?—a country willing to redress your wrongs, cherish your worth, and reward your services? a country courting your return to private life, with tears of gratitude, and smiles of admiration, longing to divide with you that independency which your gallantry has given, and those riches which your wounds have preserved? Is this the case? or is it rather a country that tramples upon your rights, disdains your cries, and insults your distresses? have you not more than once suggested your wishes, and made known your wants to Congress? wants and wishes which gratitude and policy should have anticipated rather than evaded; and have you not lately in the meek language of entreating memorials, begged from their justice what you could no longer expect from their favor? how have you been answered? let the letter which you are called to consider tomorrow reply.
If this, then, be your treatment while the swords you wear are necessary for the defence of America, what have you to expect from peace, when your voice shall sink, and your strength dissipate by division? when those very swords, the instruments and companions of your glory, shall be taken from your sides, and no remaining mark of military distinction left but your want, infirmities, and scars? Can you consent to be the only sufferers by this revolution, and retiring from the field, grow old in poverty, wretchedness and contempt? can you consent to wade through the vile mire of dependencv, and owe the miserable remnant of that life to charity, which has hitherto been spent in honor? If you can—go—and carry with you the jest of tories and the scorn of whigs—the ridicule, and what is worse, the pity of the world. Go, starve, and be forgotten! but it your spirit should revolt at this; if you have sense enough to discover, and spirit enough to, oppose tyranny under whatever garb it may assume; whether it be the plain coat of republicanism, or the splendid robe of royalty; if you have yet learned to discriminate between a people and a cause, between men and principles—awake; attend to your situation and redress yourselves. If the present moment he lost, every future effort is vain; and your threats then, will he as empty as your entreaties now.
I would advise you, therefore, to come to some final opinion upon what you can hear, and what you will suffer. If your determination be in any proportion to your wrongs, carry your appeal from the justice to the fears of the government. Change the milk and water style of your last memorial; assume a bolder tone—decent, but lively, spirited and determined, and suspect the man who would advise to more moderation and forbearance. Let two or three men who can feel as well as write, he appointed to draw up your last remonstrance: for I would no longer give it the sueing, soft, unsuccessful epithet of memorial. Let it be represented in language that will neither dishonor you by its rudeness, nor betray you by its fears, what has been promised by Congress, and what has been performed—how long and how patiently you have suffered—how little you have asked, and how much of that little has been denied. Tell them that, though you were the first, and would wish to be the last to encounter danger, though despair itself can never drive you to dishonor, it may drive you from the field; that the wound often irritated, and never healed, may at length become incurable; and that the slightest mark indignity from Congress now must operate like the grave, and part you forever: that in any political event, the army has its alternative. If peace, that nothing shall separate you from your arms but death if war, that courting the auspices, and inviting the directions of your illustrious leader, you will retire to some unsettled country, smile in your turn, and “mock when their fear cometh on.” But let it represent also, that they should comply with the request of your late memorial, it would make you more happy, and them more respectable. That while war should continue, you would follow their standard into the field, and when it came to an end you would withdraw into the shade of private life, and give the world another subject of wonder and applause; an army victorious over its enemies—victorious over itself.