On the 12th of December, 1799, Washington made the tour, as usual, of his plantations.  The weather was very bad.  There was rain, hail, and snow falling at different times, and a cold wind blowing.  It was after three o’clock when he returned.  Mr. Lear, his secretary, brought him some letters to be franked, for he intended to send them to the post office that afternoon.  Washington franked the letters, but said that the weather was too bad to send a servant out with them.  Lear noticed that the General’s neck appeared to be wet, and that there was snow clinging to his hair.  He spoke to him about it, but Washington said that he was not wet, as his greatcoat had protected him.  He went to dinner, which was waiting for him, without changing his clothes.  The next day he complained of a sore throat, and remained in the house in the morning, as it was snowing hard.  In the afternoon, however, he went out to mark some trees which he wished cut down, between the house and the river.  He was quite hoarse by evening.  He sat in the parlor, however, with Mrs. Washington and Lear, reading the papers which had been brought from the post office.  He read some things aloud in spite of his hoarseness.  At nine o’clock Mrs. Washington went to the room of her granddaughter Nelly, whose first child had recently been born.  The two gentlemen continued to read the papers, and Washington seemed cheerful.  Once he became excited over some political event, and used some of the strong words he could command on occasion.  Before they went to bed, Lear advised the General to take something for his cold.

“No,” said Washington; “you know I never take anything for a cold.  Let it go as it came.”

During the night, however, he had a chill, and awoke Mrs. Washington, telling her that he felt ill.  She wished to get up, but he would not allow her to do this, lest she should take cold.  When the servant came into the room to make a fire at daylight, Mrs. Washington sent for Lear, and got up herself.  The General was now breathing with difficulty, and could scarcely speak.  Lear sent for Dr. Craik, and meantime Washington told him to send for Mr. Rawlins, an overseer, to bleed him.  Rawlins came soon after sunrise, and trembled at the prospect of opening a vein on the great man’s arm.  “Don’t be afraid,” said Washington; and when the vein had been opened, he added, “the orifice is not large enough.”  Mrs. Washington did not approve of the bleeding before the doctor came, but Washington said, “More, more.”  It was a universal remedy in those days, but it brought no relief to the sufferer.

During the day three doctors arrived.  Washington was bled three times; blisters were applied to the throat and the feet; all that medical science could do in that day was tried, but without success.  The disease was an acute laryngitis, and could have been relieved only by tracheotomy, which was not practical in the South, though it had been tried in Philadelphia at an earlier date.  About half-past four in the afternoon the sick man asked Mrs. Washington to go downstairs and fetch two wills from his desk.  He looked at them, and asked her to burn one of them, which she did.  Lear now came to his bedside and took his hand.