CHAPTER II
Thefull flood of the sun, now low in the heavens, poured through the western windows upon the figure of the boy standing in the doorway. The room was beginning to darken, and the ruddy firelight, too, fell glowingly upon him.
The earl was instantly roused, and could scarcely persuade himself that the boy before him was only fifteen; seventeen, or even eighteen, would have seemed nearer the mark, so tall and well-developed was he. Like all creatures of the highest breeding, George looked handsomer the handsomer his dress; and although his costume was really simple enough, he had the splendid air that made him always appear to be in the highest fashion. His coat and knee-breeches were of dark-blue cloth, spun, woven, and dyed at home. His waistcoat, however, was of white brocade, and was made of his mother’s wedding-gown, Madam Washington having indulged her pride so far as to lay this treasured garment aside for waistcoats for her sons, whileMistress Betty was to inherit the lace veil and the string of pearls which had gone with the gown.
George’s shoebuckles and kneebuckles were much finer than the earl’s, being of paste, and having been once worn by his father. His blond hair was made into a club, and tied with a black ribbon, while under his arm he carried a smart three-cornered hat, for the hat made a great figure in the ceremonious bows of the period. His dog, a beautiful creature, stood beside him.
Never in all his life had the Earl of Fairfax seen so noble a boy. The sight of him smote the older man’s heart; it flashed through him how easy it would be to exchange all his honors and titles for such a son. He rose and saluted him, as Madam Washington said, in a tone that had pride in every accent:
“My lord, this is my son, Mr. Washington.” George responded with one of those graceful inclinations which, years after, made the entrance of Colonel Washington at the Earl of Dunmore’s levee at Williamsburg a lesson in grace and good-breeding. Being “Mr. Washington” and the head of the house, it became his duty to speak first.
“I am most happy to welcome you, my lord, to our home.”
THIS IS MY SON, MR. WASHINGTON“‘THIS IS MY SON, MR. WASHINGTON’”
“‘THIS IS MY SON, MR. WASHINGTON’”
“‘THIS IS MY SON, MR. WASHINGTON’”
“And I am most happy,” said the earl, “to meet once more my old friend, Madam Washington, and the goodly sons and sweet daughter with which she has been blessed.”
“My mother has often told us of you, sir, in speaking of her life during the years she spent in England.”
“Ah, my lord,” said Madam Washington, “I perceive I am no longer young, for I love to dwell upon those times, and to tell my children of the great men I met in England, chiefly through your lordship’s kindness.”
“It was my good-fortune,” said the earl, “to be an humble member of the Spectator Club, and through the everlasting goodness of Mr. Joseph Addison I had the advantage of knowing men so great of soul and so luminous of mind that I think I can never forget them.”
“I had not the honor of knowing Mr. Addison. He died before I ever saw England,” replied Madam Washington.
“Unfortunately, yes, madam. But of those you knew, Mr. Pope, poor Captain Steele, and even Dean Swift, with all his ferocious wit, his tremendous invective, his savage thirst for place and power, respected Mr. Addison. He was a man of great dignity—not odd and misshapen, like little Mr. Pope, nor frowzy like poor DickSteele, nor rude and overbearing like the fierce Dean—but ever gentle, mild, and of a most manly bearing. For all Mr. Addison’s mildness, I think there was no man that Dean Swift feared so much. When we would all meet at the club, and the Dean would begin his railing at persons of quality—for he always chose that subject when I was present—Mr. Addison would listen with a smile to the Dean as he lolled over the table in his huge periwig, and roared out in his great rich voice all the sins of all the people, always beginning and ending with Sir Robert Walpole, whom he hated most malignantly. Once, a pause coming in the Dean’s talk, Mr. Addison, calmly taking out his snuffbox, and helping himself to a pinch, remarked that he had always thought Dean Swift’s chiefest weakness, until he had been assured to the contrary, was his love for people of quality. We each held our breath. Dick Steele quietly removed a pewter mug from the Dean’s elbow; Mr. Pope, who sat next Mr. Addison, turned pale and slipped out of his chair; the Dean turned red and breathed hard, glaring at Mr. Addison, who only smiled a little; and then he—the great Dean Swift, the man who could make governments tremble and parliaments afraid; who made duchesses weep from his rude sneers, and great ladies almost go down on theirknees to him—sneaked out of the room at this little thrust from Mr. Addison. For ’twas the man, madam—the honest soul of him—that could cow that great swashbuckler of a genius. Mr. Addison abused no one, and he was exactly what he appeared to be.”
“That, indeed, is the highest praise, as it shows the highest wisdom,” answered Madam Washington.
George listened with all his mind to this. He had read theSpectator, and Mr. Addison’s tragedy of “Cato” had been read to him by Mr. Hobby, the Scotch school-master who taught him, and he loved to hear of these great men. The earl, although deep in talk with Madam Washington, was by no means unmindful of the boy, but without seeming to notice him watched every expression of his earnest face.
“I once saw Dean Swift,” continued Madam Washington. “It was at a London rout, where I went with my brother’s wife, Madam Joseph Ball, when we were visiting in London. He had great dark eyes, and sat in a huge chair, and called ladies of quality ‘my dear,’ as if they were dairy-maids. And the ladies seemed half to like it and half to hate it. They told me that two ladies had died of broken hearts for him.”
“I believe it to be true,” replied the earl. “That was the last time the Dean ever saw England. He went to Ireland, and, as he said, ‘commenced Irishman in earnest,’ and died very miserably. He could not be bought for money, but he could very easily be bribed with power.”
“And that poor Captain Steele?”
The earl’s grave face was suddenly illuminated with a smile.
“Dear Dick Steele—the softest-hearted, bravest, gentlest fellow—always drunk, and always repenting. There never was so great a sermon preached on drunkenness as Dick Steele himself was. But for drink he would have been one of the happiest, as he was by nature one of the best and truest, gentlemen in the world; but he was weak, and he was, in consequence, forever miserable. Drink brought him to debts and duns and prison and rags and infamy. Ah, madam, ’twould have made your heart bleed, as it made mine, to see poor Dick reeling along the street, dirty, unkempt, his sword bent, and he scarce knowing what he was doing; and next day, at home, where his wife and children were in hunger and cold and poverty, behold him, lying in agony on his wretched bed, weeping, groaning, reproaching himself, and suffering tortures for one hour’s wicked indulgence! Then would heturn gentleman again, and for a long time be our own dear Dick Steele—his wife smiling, his children happy. I love to think on honest Dick at these times. It was then he wrote that beautiful little book, which should be in every soldier’s hands,The Christian Hero. We could always tell at the club whether Dick Steele were drunk or sober by Mr. Addison’s face. When Steele was acting the beast, Mr. Addison sighed often and looked melancholy all the time, and spent his money in taking such care as he could of the poor wife and children. Poor Dick! The end came at last in drunkenness and beastliness; but before he died, for a little while, he was the Dick Steele we loved, and shall ever love.”
“And Mr. Pope—the queer little gentleman—who lived at Twickenham, and was so kind to his old mother?”
“Mr. Pope was a very great genius, madam, and had he not been born crooked he would have been an admirable man; but the crook in his body seemed to make a crook in his mind. He died but last year, outliving many strong men who pitied his puny frame. But let me not disparage Mr. Pope. My Lord Chesterfield, who was a very good judge of men, as well as the first gentleman of his time, entertained a high esteem for Mr. Pope.”
“I also had the honor of meeting the Earl of Chesterfield,” continued Madam Washington, with animation, “and he well sustained the reputation for politeness that I had heard of him, for he made as much of me as if I had been a great lady instead of a young girl from the colonies, whom chance and the kindness of a brother had brought to England, and your lordship’s goodness had introduced to many people of note. ’Tis true I saw them but for a glimpse or two, but that was enough to make me remember them forever. I have tried to teach my son Lord Chesterfield’s manner of saluting ladies, in which he not only implied the deepest respect for the individual, but the greatest reverence for all women.”
“That is true of my Lord Chesterfield,” replied the earl, who found it enchanting to recall these friends of his youth with whom he had lived in close intimacy, “and his manners revealed the man. He had also a monstrous pretty wit. There is a great, lumbering fellow of prodigious learning, one Samuel Johnson, with whom my Lord Chesterfield has become most friendly. I never saw this Johnson myself, for he is much younger than the men of whom we are speaking; but I hear from London that he is a wonder of learning, and although almost indigentwill not accept aid from his friends, but works manfully for the booksellers. He has described my Lord Chesterfield as ‘a wit among lords, and a lord among wits.’ I heard something of this Dr. Johnson, in a late letter from London, that I think most praiseworthy, and affording a good example to the young. His father, it seems, was a bookseller at Lichfield, where on market-days he would hire a stall in the market for the sale of his wares. One market-day, when Samuel was a youth, his father, being ill and unable to go himself, directed him to fit up the book-stall in the market and attend it during the day. The boy, who was otherwise a dutiful son, refused to do this. Many years afterwards, his father being dead, and Johnson, being as he is in great repute for learning, was so preyed upon by remorse for his undutiful conduct that he went to Lichfield and stood bareheaded in the market-place, before his father’s old stall, for one whole market-day, as an evidence of his sincere penitence. I hear that some of the thoughtless jeered at him, but the better class of people respected his open acknowledgment of his fault, the more so as he was in a higher worldly position than his father had ever occupied, and it showed that he was not ashamed of an honest parent because he was of a humble class. Icannot think, madam, of that great scholar, standing all day with bare, bowed head, bearing with silent dignity the remarks of the curious, the jeers of the scoffers, without in spirit taking off my hat to him.”
During this story Madam Washington fixed her eyes on George, who colored slightly, but remarked, as the earl paused:
“It was the act of a brave man and a gentleman. There are not many of us who could do it.”
Just then the door opened, and Uncle Jasper, bearing a huge tray, entered. He placed it on a round mahogany table, and Madam Washington proceeded to make tea, and offered it to the earl with her own hands.
The earl while drinking his tea glanced first at George and then at pretty little Betty, who, feeling embarrassed at the notice she received, produced her sampler from her pocket and began to work demurely in cross-stitch on it. Presently Lord Fairfax noticed the open harpsichord.
“I remember, madam,” he said to Madam Washington, as they gravely sipped their tea together, “that you had a light hand on the harpsichord.”
“I have never touched it since my husband’s death,” answered she, “but my daughter Betty can perform with some skill.”
Mistress Betty, obeying a look from her mother, rose at once and went to the harpsichord, never thinking of the ungraceful and disobliging protest of more modern days. She seated herself, and struck boldly into the “The Marquis of Huntley’s Rigadoon.” She had, indeed, a skilful little hand, and as the touch of her small fingers filled the room with quaint music the earl sat, tapping with his foot to mark the time, and smiling at the little maid’s grave air while she played. When her performance was over she rose, and, making a reverence to her mother and her guest, returned to her sampler.
The earl had now spent nearly two hours with his old friend, and the sun was near setting, but he could scarcely make up his mind to leave. The interest he felt in her seemed transferred to her children, especially the two eldest, and the resolve entered his mind that he would see more of that splendid boy. He turned to George and said to him:
“Will you be so good, Mr. Washington, as to order my people to put to my horses, as I find that time has flown surprisingly fast?”
“Will you not stay the night, my lord?” asked Madam Washington. “We can amply accommodate you and your servants.”
“Nothing would please me more, madam, butit is my duty to reach Fredericksburg to-night, where I have business, and I am now seeking a ferry where I can be moved across.”
“Then you have not to seek far, sir, for this place is called Ferry Farm; and we have several small boats, and a large one that will easily hold your coach; and, with the assistance of your servants, all of them, as well as your horses, can be ferried over at once.”
The earl thanked her, and George left the room promptly to make the necessary arrangements. In a few moments the horses were put to the coach, as the ferry was half a mile from the house; and George, ordering his saddle clapped on his horse, that was just then being brought from the pasture, galloped down to the ferry to superintend the undertaking—not a light one—of getting a coach, eight horses, and eight persons across the river.
The coach being announced as ready, Madam Washington and the earl rose and walked together to the front porch, accompanied by little Mistress Betty, who hung fondly to her mother’s hand. Outside stood the three younger boys, absorbed in contemplation of the grandeur of the equipage. They came forward promptly to say good-bye to their mother’s guest, and then slipped around into the chimney corner thatthey might see the very last of the sight so new to them. Little Betty also disappeared in the house after the earl had gallantly kissed her hand and predicted that her bright eyes would yet make many a heart ache. Left alone on the porch in the twilight with Madam Washington, he said to her very earnestly:
“Madam, I do not speak the language of compliment when I say that you may well be the envy of persons less fortunate than you when they see your children. Of your eldest boy I can truly say I never saw a nobler youth, and I hope you will place no obstacle in the way of my seeing him again. Greenway Court is but a few days’ journey from here, and if I could have him there it would be one of the greatest pleasures I could possibly enjoy.”
“Thank you, my lord,” answered Madam Washington, simply. “My son George has, so far, never caused me a moment’s uneasiness, and I can very well trust him with persons less improving to him than your lordship. It is my wish that he should have the advantage of the society of learned and polished men, and your kind invitation shall some day be accepted.”
“You could not pay me a greater compliment, madam, than to trust your boy with me, and I shall claim the fulfilment of your promise,”replied Lord Fairfax. “Farewell, madam; the sincere regard I have cherished during nearly twenty years for you will be extended to your children, and your son shall never want a friend while I live. I do not know that I shall ever travel three days’ journey from Greenway again, so this may be our last meeting.”
“Whether it be or not, my lord,” said Madam Washington, “I can only assure you of my friendship and gratitude for your good-will towards my son.”
The earl then respectfully kissed her hand, as he had done little Betty’s, and stepped into the coach. With a great smacking of whips and rattle and clatter and bang the equipage rolled down the road in the dark towards the ferry.
A faint moon trembled in the heavens, and it was so dark that torches were necessary on the river-bank. George had dismounted from his horse, and with quiet command had got everything in readiness to transport the cavalcade. The earl, sitting calmly back in the chariot, watched the proceedings keenly. He knew that it required good judgment in a boy of fifteen to take charge of the ferriage of so many animals and men without haste or confusion. He observed that in the short time George had preceded him everything was exactly as it shouldbe—the large boat drawn up ready for the coach, and two smaller boats and six stalwart negro ferry-men to do the work.
“I have arranged, my lord, with your permission,” he said, “to ferry the coach and horses, with your own servants, over first, as it is not worth while taking any risks in crowding the boats; then, when the boats return, the outriders and their horses may return in the large boat.”
“Quite right, Mr. Washington,” answered the earl, briskly; “your dispositions do credit to you, and I believe you could transport a regiment with equal ease and precision.”
George’s face colored with pleasure at this. “I shall go on with you myself,” he said, “if you will allow me.”
The boat was drawn up, a rude but substantial raft was run from the shore to the boat, the horses were taken from the coach, and it was rolled on board by the strong arms of a dozen men. The horses were disposed to balk at getting in the boat, but after a little coaxing trotted quietly aboard; the ferry-men, reinforced by two of Lord Fairfax’s servants, took the oars, and the boat, followed by two smaller ones, was pulled rapidly across the river. After a few minutes, seeing that everything was going right, George entered the coach, and satby the earl’s side. The earl lighted his travelling-lamp, and the two sat in earnest conversation. Lord Fairfax wished to find out something more about the boy who had made so strong an impression on him. He found that George had been well taught, and although not remarkable in general literature, he knew more mathematics than most persons of twice his age and opportunities. He had been under the care of the old Scotchman, Mr. Hobby, who was, in a way, a mathematical genius, and George had profited by it.
“And what, may I ask, Mr. Washington, is your plan for the future?”
“I hope, sir,” answered George, modestly, “that I shall be able to get a commission in his Majesty’s army or navy. As you know, although I am my mother’s eldest son, my brother Laurence, of Mount Vernon, is my father’s eldest son, and the head of our family. My younger brothers and I have small fortunes, and I would like to see something of the world and some service in arms before I set myself to increasing my part.”
“Very creditable to you, and you may count upon whatever influence I have towards getting you a commission in either branch of the military service. I myself served in the Low Countriesunder the Duke of Marlborough in my youth, and although I have long since given up the profession of arms I can never lose my interest in it. Your honored mother has promised me the pleasure of your company for a visit at Greenway Court, when we may discuss the matter of your commission at length. I am not far from an old man, Mr. Washington, but I retain my interest in youth, and I like to see young faces about me at Greenway.”
“Thank you, my lord,” answered George, with secret delight. “I shall not let my mother forget her promise—but she never does that.”
“There is excellent sport at Greenway, and I have kept a choice breed of deer-hounds as well as fox-hounds. I brought with me from England a considerable library, and you can, I hope, amuse yourself with a book; but if you cannot amuse yourself with a book, you will always be dependent upon others for your entertainment.”
“I am fond of reading—on rainy days,” said George, at which candid acknowledgment the earl smiled.
“My man, Lance, is an old soldier; he is an intelligent man for his station and a capital fencer. You may learn something from him with the foils. He was with me at the siege of Bouchain.”
What a delightful vista this opened before George, who was, like other healthy minded boys, devoted to reading and hearing of battles, and fencing and all manly sports! He glanced at Lance, standing erect and soldierly, as the boat moved through the water. He meant to hear all about the siege of Bouchain from Lance before the year was out, and blushed when he was obliged to acknowledge to himself that he had never heard of the siege of Bouchain.