The air
was electric with alarm and outrage. A warship of the British Navy had savaged
an American vessel just off the Virginia Capes and forcefully removed enlisted
sailors. Suddenly, without warning, a state of war seemed to exist. And because
no one really knew if this was true or not, confusion reigned.
Into
this crisis stepped a one-time Revolutionary War soldier who was regarded as a
strong leader and statesman.
Thomas
Mathews was born in 1742 in St. Kitts, an island in the British West Indies,
and in his mid-20s made his way to Norfolk where he married a local woman, Molly
Miller, and settled down to study and practice law.
But
war soon intervened, and Mathews signed up for the patriot cause. He rose to
the rank of major and served in an artillery regiment commanded by John
Marshall, the future chief justice. Marshall’s regiment spent the Winter of
1778-79 at Valley Forge, and it’s likely there that Mathews became friends with
George Washington.
In 1779,
he was put in charge of a garrison of 150 men at Fort Nelson where the
present-day Portsmouth Naval Medical Center now stands. In a surprise attack, the British landed
down-river and approached the fort from the rear, forcing its evacuation. He’d
remember it ruefully.
After
the war he went to Richmond as a delegate to the state Constitutional
Convention. He was elected to the Virginia House of Delegates in 1788 and was
immediately chosen speaker of the House. There he played a major role in
convincing legislators to approve the amendments that are known as the Bill of
Rights.
In
1791, as a favor to colleagues, he introduced a resolution to form a new county
consisting of the Kingston Parish of Gloucester County. In thanks for his
support, the new entity was named Mathews County.
Mathews
might have thought he was done with public service, although he kept up
soldiering, accepting a position as brigadier general in the local militia.
Lawyer, soldier, and by now, at age 65, elder statesman – he might have been ideal
for the job he was suddenly handed.
On
June 22, 1807, the frigate Chesapeake was mauled by the British warship
Leopard, killing four and wounding many others. When the badly damaged ship
made it back to port, citizens of Norfolk and Portsmouth were outraged.
Two
days later local leaders unanimously called Mathews to chair an emergency
meeting. It isn’t certain whether the words of the resulting resolution were
his, but they ring with revolutionary fervor. The sailors, they declared, were
“basely and insidiously murdered.”
In order
to deal with “this awful crisis,” they resolved “to be in readiness to take up
arms in defense of those sacred rights which our forefathers purchased with
their blood.”
In
the meantime, they would cut off all communication and interaction with the
large British fleet, most of it anchored in Lynnhaven Bay. That applied to provisioning,
repairs and even diplomatic contacts – and they urged other local governments
to do the same. Anyone violating the ban “shall be deemed infamous.”
In
one of the toughest resolutions, the committee declared “this unprovoked,
piratical, savage and assassin-like attack upon the Chesapeake, with the horror
and detestation which should always attend a violation of the faith of nations,
and the laws of war, and we pledge ourselves and our properties to cooperate
with the government in any measures which they may adopt, whether of vengeance
or retaliation.”
They
resolved also “to hold in readiness an armed force for the purpose of defense.”
That meant bolstering the defenses at Fort Nelson. “If they attack us,” Mathews
wrote to Gov. William Cabell, “I expect they will land as many marines and
seamen from the ships as they can spare, and make an attempt to take Fort
Nelson. . . .”
That
surely would have been the case six years later had not the British been
stopped cold at Craney Island.
By
then Mathews was gone. After leaving the legislature, he evidently spent a
pleasant retirement for there were reports that was frequently seen on the
streets of Norfolk, tipping his hat to passersby.
He
died in early 1812 – just before the war. An obituary in The Norfolk Gazette
and Public Ledger described him as “kind, affectionate, polite and benevolent.”
Portrait of Thomas Mathews/Courtesy of Mathews Memorial Library
