As winter began to set in 250 years ago, a woman from Fairfax County — who had never been north of Alexandria in all of her 44 years — set out on a monthlong journey that was considered arduous for the times.
Her destination was both unusual and potentially dangerous: She was headed to the front lines of a war.
Her name was Martha Washington, and she was going to visit her husband on the siege lines outside Boston.
George Washington’s name is writ large in our history; the successful conclusion of that war led to him being our first president and the namesake of our capital, a far-away state that he could not have imagined, 30 counties, 88 cities and towns and, by some counts, more than 240 other local designations.
What we often overlook is that Martha Washington was at his side for most of the war — five years out of the eight-and-a-half-year conflict, according to the National First Ladies Library and Museum, often during “the coldest and harshest” months.
Her first unofficial tour of duty began in the winter of 1775, just in time for Christmas.
George (to keep them straight, I’ll just use first names) had left Mount Vernon in May, bound for Philadelphia and the Continental Congress. War had already broken out in Massachusetts, but was this a purely local conflict or something larger? The militias in New England needed coordination. If the Congress appointed a commander from outside the region, it might have the effect of showing this was a national struggle. George Washington was the best-known military figure in the Colonies, a reputation going back to the French and Indian War 12 years earlier. Before he left Mount Vernon, he ordered one of his indentured servants, an English tailor named Andrew Judge, to make him a new article of clothing. George showed up in Philadelphia wearing a custom-made military uniform.
By July, George was in Massachusetts, taking charge of the troops, who were hunkered down against a growing British force in Boston.
By October, George was lonely. He wrote to Martha and asked her to join him.
Martha was a strong-minded woman who had experience running an estate. Widowed at 26, she had inherited 17,000 acres and hundreds of enslaved workers. The Washington Post once wrote that “she capably ran the five plantations left to her when her first husband died, bargaining with London merchants for the best tobacco prices.” When George left for Philadelphia, and then on to Massachusetts, she was in charge of Mount Vernon, not the estate’s manager, George’s cousin Lund Washington. When there were rumors that Virginia’s ousted royal governor, Lord Dunmore, might attack Mount Vernon, Martha refused to vacate.
However, when George asked her to join him at war, she started making plans for the journey. She set out on Nov. 11 in a horse-drawn carriage, accompanied by her son, Jacky; his wife, Nellie; George’s nephew, George Lewis; and a maid and horseman.
About 450 miles lay ahead. The trip took 25 days, so about 18 miles per day.
Along the way, Martha got a glimpse of something new besides the landscape: fame.
The arrival of the general’s wife — “Lady Washington,” some called her, in the British style — was a cause for celebration in many places along the way.
Ten days after she set out, on Nov. 21, Martha’s party reached Philadelphia, the de facto capital of the rebellion. She arrived on a Tuesday, expecting to stay several days; a grand ball was being planned in her honor on that Friday night, the 24th. Support for the Patriot cause was not universal, however. “Some threats thrown out, it was feared that a commotion would be made,” writes historian Edward A. St. Germain. Town leaders met in emergency session and decided that it would be best not to hold the ball. How to break the news to Martha? A delegation was sent to tell her. Perhaps to their surprise, and certainly to their relief, Martha agreed, “and assured them that their sentiments on this occasion were perfectly agreeable to her own.” Martha was also something of a diplomat, and not a little surprised by all the attention. She later wrote to a friend in Virginia: “I don’t doubt but you have seen the [stir] our arrival made in the Philadelphia paper — and I left it in as great pomp as if I had been a very great somebody.”
Martha and her small party arrived at George’s camp in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on Dec. 16. Martha did more than cheer up her husband; she took charge. George had found, to his chagrin, that his role as commander-in-chief involved more than military matters. There were politicians who wanted to see him, diplomats who wanted to meet with him, important people whom he was somehow expected to entertain.
“Questions of social etiquette, jealousies with regard to dinner invitations to headquarters, and the like, had perplexed Washington,” wrote historian Anne Hollingsworth Wharton in her 1897 book “Life of Martha Washington.”
Martha took over all that. “She immediately relieved him of the vexing social problems that took up too much of his time,” writes a New England Historical Society account. With Martha in camp, George could concentrate on the war while she handled all the social relations with the surrounding community. Martha became first lady before that was even a title.
She also made quite an impression on the New Englanders. “Martha created a social stir when she arrived in Cambridge. She was fashionable, outgoing, an assertive woman of means who knew how to get along with people,” the New England Historical Society writes. “Women were dazzled by the glamor and excitement Martha brought to Puritan Boston.” She “greeted visitors with tea, oranges and vivacious conversation.” Martha didn’t just spend her time socializing, although that served an important political function. She also spent much of the time sewing — repairing soldiers’ clothes. She urged the wives of other officers to do the same.
There had been some concern about whether Martha’s presence in the camp would cause problems; why did the general get to have his wife here, even though other officers also brought their wives to war? Instead, as Christmas approached, just the opposite happened. Martha’s presence seemed to have improved morale, particularly her calm demeanor with danger so near. That’s not the way she saw things. In a letter to a friend in Virginia, Martha wrote: “Some days we have a number of cannon and shells from Boston and Bunkers Hill, but it does not seem to surprise any one but me; I confess I shudder every time I hear the sound of a gun.”
Martha ventured to a nearby hilltop to get a view of British-held Boston and was stunned by what she saw. “Charlestown has only a few chimneys standing in it, there seems to be a number of very fine Buildings in Boston but god knows how long they will stand; they are pulling up all the wharves for firewood — to me that never see any thing of war, the preparations, are very terrible indeed, but I endeavor to keep my fears to myself as well as I can.” She apparently did that quite well.
An important date was approaching: George and Martha’s wedding anniversary on Jan. 6, which was also the traditional date of Twelfth Night celebrations.
Martha wanted to throw a party. George was hesitant. How would it look for the general to throw a party during wartime? At first, he refused, but then relented, conceding that a little entertainment might be good for morale. It appears to have been. We can only surmise how much of that was due to Martha’s recipe for the cake:
Take 40 eggs and divide the whites from the yolks and beat them to a froth. Then work four pounds of butter to a cream and put the whites of eggs to it a Spoon full at a time till it is well work’d. Then put 4 pounds of sugar finely powdered to it in the same manner then put in the Yolks of eggs and 5 pounds of flour and 5 pounds of fruit. 2 hours will bake it. Add to it half an ounce of mace and nutmeg half a pint of wine and some fresh brandy.
Martha did not leave Cambridge until April. By then, the British had given up Boston, and the Colonies were feeling optimistic enough that some were openly voicing the forbidden word of independence. She’d be back at George’s side the next winter, and other winters after that — even that awful winter at Valley Forge. She wasn’t in the famous painting, or often in our popular imagination of the war, but she was there.
Next year marks the 250th anniversary of American independence. For more little-known stories about Virginia’s role in the revolution, see our Cardinal 250 series and sign up for our Cardinal 250 newsletter: