History remembers that, in the spring of 1781, things weren’t going well for the American side of the American Revolution. They weren’t going too great for Thomas Jefferson, either.
Seven years after writing the Declaration of Independence, Jefferson had opted to leave the endless fighting of the battlefields to George Washington and the endless bickering of the Continental Congress to John Adams, and gone home to become governor of Virginia (British colony or fledgling state, depending on whose side you were on).
The decision took him out of the more hot-and-heavy conflicts of the war, and allowed him to concentrate his energies on concerns more pressing to him than launching a new nation. Building his dream house, Monticello, for instance.
Still, a famous name is a famous name, and Jefferson’s fellow Virginians determined that nothing would do but to make him governor of their Old Dominion. He bowed to their wishes and sat himself down in the executive chair.
Over the course of two one-year tenures, he racked up a rather mixed record. On the one hand, he did some good things to promote public education and religious freedom; sadly, he proved rather less capable at military defense and leadership.
The latter shortcoming became especially evident when Benedict Arnold, having famously switched sides in the conflict two years earlier, led a surprise British invasion of Virginia, burning the capital of Richmond and everything else he could set a torch to. Jefferson skipped town just ahead of the invaders, hiding with friends out in the surrounding counties.
General Charles Cornwallis guessed that, sooner or later, Jefferson would make for his beloved, half-built Monticello. The general directed a British cavalry force, led by young Banastre Tarleton, still in his 20s, to head that way, capture Jefferson and any Virginia legislators who might be with him, and burn Monticello to the ground.
Tarleton – a skilled and resourceful soldier renowned throughout the colonies for his cold brutality on and off the battlefield – was not a man to have chasing you. (If you’ve seen Mel Gison’s, The Patriot, you may remember the fictionalized villain of that film, based on Tarleton.)
Jefferson made for the hills to the west, while American militias and British troops scurried to and fro, dodging and skirmishing with each other. Tarleton, unable to reach Monticello, directed his cavalrymen to begin burning all the other houses they could find in the area.
Which brought them, according to family lore, to the property of some of my ancestors.
The story goes that the men of my clan were all away, marching with the militia, while the women and children had hurried into hiding with friends and family. Only the family matriarch – a great, great grandmother of mine – had remained behind, defiantly guarding her property.
When Tarleton’s raiders came galloping up, torches in hand, it’s said she met them at the front porch steps. If she had a gun, it was promptly taken from her. But they couldn’t take her mouth, or the fiery tongue that heaped burning scorn upon the British and their cause.
She pushed at the soldiers who tried to mount the steps, promising that if her home went up in flames, she’d burn with it. She dared the great crowd of mocking soldiers to take the life of this one old woman standing before them.
Apparently, some showed a willingness to do so, but before the shot could be fired, a club raised, or a torch tossed, Tarleton himself came galloping up the drive. He caught enough of the great lady’s threats and imprecations to understand what was going on, and to enjoy who and what his men were up against.
They say he laughed with delight, paid his respects to the old woman, and ordered his men to move on to the next house, on some adjoining property. All these terrible rebels running around, shooting from behind trees, he remarked – and only this one elderly lady with the courage to stand on her own front step, challenging his men to their faces.
With that, young Tarleton – so infamous for his cruelty – smiled, saluted her, turned and rode away.
Actually, Jefferson was a family relation, too, so I’m not talking out of turn to note that, while the Virginia Assembly decided, once the crisis was past, that as governor he’d conducted himself honorably … they also chose not to re-elect him. Mr. Jefferson is a household name, justly famous for many things – but not for his exemplary leadership during days of siege and terror.
On Memorial Day, it’s worth noting that we don’t any of us really know what we would do, under fire, under duress, in the midst of the maelstrom of war. We don’t know what anyone else, friend or foe, would do, either. Most of those we celebrate this weekend are remembered not by name, nor for their words or title, but for their character … as revealed by their actions. By the sacrifices they made – or showed themselves more than willing to make.
We honor those, like my grandmother, who stood when others ran. Who stayed, when others would not. Whose courage commanded the respect of even their enemies. And across so many years and centuries, still commands ours, too.
Comments