glass, he turned to them and said, "with a heart full of love and
gratitude, I now take leave of you; I most devoutly wish that your
latter days may be as prosperous and happy, as your former ones
have been glorious and honorable." Having drunk, he added, "I
cannot come to each of you to take my leave, but shall be obliged
to you, if each of you will come and take me by the hand." General
Knox, being nearest, turned to him. Incapable of utterance,
Washington grasped his hand, and embraced him. In the same
affectionate manner, he took leave of each succeeding officer. In
every eye was the tear of dignified sensibility; and not a
word was articulated to interrupt the majestic silence and the
tenderness of the scene. Leaving the room, he passed through the
corps of light infantry, and walked to White hall, where a barge
waited to convey him to Powles' hook (Paulus Hook). The whole
company followed in mute and solemn procession, with dejected
countenances, testifying feelings of delicious melancholy, which
no language can describe. Having entered the barge, he turned to
the company; and waving his hat, bade them a silent adieu. They
paid him the same affectionate compliment, and after the barge had
left them, returned in the same solemn manner to the place where
they had assembled.[1]

[Footnote 1: Marshall, IV, 561.]

Marshall's description, simple but not commonplace, reminds one of
Ville-Hardouin's pictures, so terse, so rich in color, of the Barons
of France in the Fifth Crusade. The account once read, you can never
forget that majestic, silent figure of Washington being rowed across
to Paulus Hook with no sound but the dignified rhythm of the oars. Not
a cheer, not a word!