What the Hell Killed George Washington?

After the Revolutionary War, George Washington looked forward to a quiet retirement as a gentleman farmer in Virginia. But this was not to be as he was repeatedly called back to serve the needs of the new nation he helped create. When he was called to serve as the United States’ first president in 1789, Washington said on April 16 of that year, “My love of retirement is so great, that no earthly consideration, short of a conviction of duty, could have prevailed upon me to depart from my resolution 'never more to take any share in transactions of a public nature.” When his term was up, he was unanimously re-elected, keeping him away from his home, Mount Vernon, for another four years. As war was looming on the horizon in 1798, Washington accepted command of American forces once again, although this time around his position was more ceremonial and advisory, rather than hands-on, due to his advanced age. President Washington and his wife Martha finally managed to make it to Virginia, where most of their time was consumed with making the long-neglected Mount Vernon solvent once more. The General took an active role in the running of his plantation, overseeing the work of the slaves (about 318 at this time working at Mount Vernon) and other workers, and inspecting his property. And he was doing just that on December 12, 1799 in a cold, miserable mixture of snow, sleet and rain on horseback for several hours. The following day, Washington didn’t feel very well, stating he had a sore throat. But he still rode out during a heavy snowfall to mark trees for cutting on his property. He was hoarse upon his return but made light of it to his wife and secretary. When offered medicine he shrugged if off saying, “You know I never take anything for a cold. Let it go as it came.” (His wife had recently recovered from a cold, so presumably he just thought he'd caught the same.) By the early morning hours of December 14, 1799, Washington was seriously ill. His breathing was significantly impaired, so much so that he could barely speak, but he would not allow his wife to seek help for fear the night air would result in a return of her own sickness.