He had traveled
northward to sit in the first continental congress, to take command of
the army, and to preside over the constitutional convention. Now
he went, in the fullness of his fame, to enter upon a task less
dangerous, perhaps, than leading armies, but more beset with
difficulties, and more perilous to his reputation and peace of mind,
than any he had yet undertaken. He felt all this keenly, and noted in
his diary: "About ten o'clock I bade adieu to Mount Vernon, to private
life, and to domestic felicity; 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 disposition to render service to my
country, in obedience to its call, but with less hope of answering its
expectations."
The first stage of his journey took him only to Alexandria, a few
miles from his home, where a public dinner was given to him by his
friends and neighbors. He was deeply moved when he rose to reply to
the words of affection addressed to him by the mayor as spokesman of
the people. "All that now remains for me," he said, "is to commit
myself and you to the care of that beneficent Being who, on a former
occasion, happily brought us together after a long and distressing
separation. Perhaps the same gracious Providence will again indulge
me. But words fail me. Unutterable sensations must then be left to
more expressive silence, while from an aching heart I bid all my
affectionate friends and kind neighbors farewell.
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