CHAPTER III
Nextmorning, as usual, George was up and on horseback by sunrise. Until this year he had ridden five miles a day each way to Mr. Hobby’s school; but now he was so far ahead of the school-master’s classes that he only went a few times a week, to study surveying and the higher mathematics, and to have the week’s study at home marked out for him. Every morning, however, it was his duty to ride over the whole plantation before breakfast, and to report the condition of everything in it to his mother. Madam Washington was one of the best farmers in the colony, and it was her custom, after hearing George’s account at breakfast, to mount her horse and ride over the place also, and give her orders for the day.
The first long lances of light were just tipping the woods and the river when George came out and found his horse held by Billy Lee, a negro lad of about his own age, who was hisbody-servant and shadow.[A]Billy was a chocolate-colored youth, the son of Aunt Sukey the cook and Uncle Jasper the butler. He had but one idea and one ideal on earth, and that was “Marse George.” It was in vain that Madam Washington, the strictest of disciplinarians, might lay her commands on Billy. Until he had found out what “Marse George” wanted him to do, Billy seemed unconscious of having got any orders. Madam Washington, who could awe much older and wiser persons than Billy, had often sent for the boy, when he was regularly taken into the house, and after reasoning with him, kindly explaining to him that both “Marse George” and himself were merely boys, and under her authority, would give him a stern reproof, which Billy always received in an abstracted silence, as if he had not heard a word that was said to him. Finding that he acted throughout as if he had not heard, Madam Washington turned him over to Aunt Sukey, who, after the fashion of those days, with white boys as well as black, gave him a smart birching. Billy’sroars were like the trumpeting of an elephant; but within a week he went back to his old way of forgetting there was anybody in the world except “Marse George.” Then Madam Washington turned him over to Uncle Jasper, who “lay” that he would “meck dat little triflin’ nigger min’ missis.” A second and much more vigorous birching followed at the hands of Uncle Jasper, who triumphed over Aunt Sukey when Billy for two days actually seemed to realize that he had something else to do besides following George about and never taking his eyes off of him. Uncle Jasper’s victory was short-lived, though. Within a week Billy was as good-for-nothing as ever, except to George. Madam Washington then saw that it was not a case of discipline—that the boy was simply dominated by his devotion to George, and could neither be forced nor reasoned out of it. Therefore it was arranged that the care of the young master’s horse and everything pertaining to him should be confided to Billy, who would work all day with the utmost willingness for “Marse George.” By this means Billy was made of use. Nobody touched George’s clothes or books or belongings except Billy. He scrubbed and then dry-rubbed the floor of his young master’s room, scoured the windows, cut the wood and madethe fires, attended to his horse, and when George was there personally to direct him, Billy would do whatever work he was ordered. But the instant he was left to himself he returned to idleness, or to some perfectly useless work for his young master—polishing up windows that were already bright, dry-rubbing a floor that shone like a mirror, or brushing George’s clothes which were quite spotless. His young master loved him with the strong affection that commonly existed between the masters and the body-servants in those days. Like Madam Washington, George was a natural disciplinarian, and, himself capable of great labor of mind and body, he exacted work from everybody. But Billy was an exception to this rule. It is not in the human heart to be altogether without weaknesses, and Billy was George’s weakness. When his mother would declare the boy to be the idlest servant about the place, George could not deny it; but he always left the room when there were any animadversions on his favorite, and could never be brought to acknowledge that Billy was not a much-injured boy. Serene in the consciousness that “Marse George” would stand by him, Billy troubled himself not at all about Madam Washington’s occasional cutting remarks as to his uselessness, nor his father’s and mother’s more outspokencomplaints that he “warn’t no good ’scusin’ ’twas to walk arter Marse George, proud as a peacock ef he kin git a ole jacket or a p’yar o’ Marse George’s breeches fur ter go struttin’ roun’ in.” Aunt Sukey was very pious, and Uncle Jasper was a preacher, and held forth Sunday nights, in a disused corn-house on the place, to a large congregation of negroes from the neighboring places. But Billy showed no fondness whatever for these meetings, preferring to go to the Established Church with his young master every Sunday, sitting in a corner of the gallery, and going to sleep with much comfort and regularity as soon as he got there. Madam Washington always exacted of every one who went to church from her house that he or she should repeat the clergyman’s text on coming home, and Billy was no exception to the rule. On Sunday, therefore, instead of joining the gay procession of youths and young men, all handsomely mounted, who rode along the highway after church, George devoted his time on his way home to teaching Billy the text. The boy always repeated it very glibly when Madam Washington demanded it of him, and thereby won her favor, for a short time, once a week.
On this particular morning, as George took the reins from Billy and jumped on the back ofhis sorrel colt, and galloped down the lane towards the fodder-field, Billy, who was keen enough where his young master was concerned, saw that he was preoccupied. Contrary to custom, he would not take his dog Rattler with him, and Billy, dragging the whining dog by the neck, hauled him back into the house and up into George’s room, where the two proceeded to lay themselves down before the fire and go to sleep. An hour later the indignant Aunt Sukey found them, and but for George’s return just then it would have gone hard with Billy, anyhow.
As George galloped briskly along in the crisp October morning, he felt within him the full exhilaration of youth and health and hope. He had not been able to sleep all night for thinking of that promised visit to Greenway Court. He had heard of it—a strange combination of hunting-lodge and country-seat in the mountains, where Lord Fairfax lived, surrounded by dependants, like a feudal baron. George had never in his life been a hundred miles away from home. He had been over to Mount Vernon since his brother Laurence’s marriage, and the visit had charmed him so that his ever prudent mother had feared that the simpler and plainer life at Ferry Farm would be distasteful to him; for Mount Vernon was a fine, roomy country-house,where Laurence Washington and his handsome young wife, both rich, dispensed a splendid hospitality. There was a great stable full of saddle-horses and coach-horses, a retinue of servants, and a continual round of entertaining going on. Laurence Washington had only lately retired from the British army, and his house was the favorite resort for the officers of the British war-ships that often came up the Potomac, as well as the officers of the military post at Alexandria. Although he enjoyed this gay and interesting life at Mount Vernon, George had left it without having his head turned, and came back quite willingly to the sober and industrious regularity of the home at Ferry Farm. He was the favorite over all his brothers with Laurence Washington and his wife, and it was a well-understood fact that, if they died without children, George was to inherit the splendid estate of Mount Vernon. Madam Washington had been a kind step-mother to Laurence Washington, and he repaid it by his affection for his half-brothers and young sister. In those days, when the eldest son was the heir, it seemed quite natural that George, as next eldest, should have preference, and should be the next person of consequence in the family to his brother Laurence.
He spent an hour riding over the place, seeingthat the fodder had been properly stripped from the stalks in a field, looking after the ferry-boats, giving an eye to the feeding of the stock, and a sharp investigation of the stables, and returned to the house by seven o’clock. Precisely at seven o’clock every morning all the children, servants, and whatever guests there were in the house assembled in the sitting-room, where prayers were read. In his father’s time the master of the house had read these prayers, and after his death Laurence, as the head of the family, had taken up this duty; but since his marriage and removal to Mount Vernon it had fallen upon George.
When he entered the room he found his mother waiting for him, as usual, with little Mistress Betty and the three younger boys. The servants, including Billy, who had already been reported by Aunt Sukey, were standing around the wall. After an affectionate good-morning to his mother, George, with dignity and reverence, read the family prayers in the Book of Common Prayer. His mother was as calm and as collected as usual, but in the small velvet bag she carried over her arm lay an important letter, received between the time that George left the house in the morning and his return. Prayers over, breakfast was served, George sitting in his father’s place at the head of the table, and MadamWashington talking calmly over every-day matters.
“I do not know what we are to do with that boy Billy,” she said. “This morning, when he ought to have been picking up chips for the kitchen, he was lying in front of your fireplace with Rattler, both of them sound asleep.”
George, instead of being scandalized at this, only smiled a little.
“I do not know which is the most useless,” exclaimed Madam Washington, with energy, “the dog or that boy!”
George ceased smiling at this; he did not like to have Billy too severely commented on, and deftly turned the conversation. “Lord Fairfax again asked me, when we were crossing the river last night, to visit him at Greenway Court. I should like very much to go, mother. I believe I would rather go even than to spend Christmas at Mount Vernon, for I have been to Mount Vernon, but I have never been to Greenway, or to any place like it.”
“The earl sent me a letter this morning on the subject before he left Fredericksburg,” replied Madam Washington, quietly.
The blood flew into George’s face, but he spoke no word. His mother was a person who did not like to be questioned.
“You may read it,” she continued, handing it to him out of her bag.
It was sealed with the huge crest of the Fairfaxes, and was written in the beautiful penmanship of the period. It began:
“Honored Madam.—The promise you graciously made me, that your eldest son, Mr. George Washington, might visit me at Greenway Court, gave me both pride and pleasure; and will you not add to that pride and pleasure by permitting him to return with me when I pass through Fredericksburg again on my way home two days hence? Do not, honored madam, think that I am proposing that your son spend his whole time with me in sport and pleasure. While both have their place in the education of the young, I conceive, honored madam, that your son has more serious business in hand—namely, the improvement of his mind, and the acquiring of those noble qualities and graces which distinguish the gentleman from the lout.“He would have at Greenway, at least, the advantage of the best minds in England as far as they can be writ in books, and for myself, honored madam, I will be as kind to him as the tenderest father. If you can recall with any pleasure the days so long ago, when we were both twenty years younger, and when your friendship, honored madam, was the chief pleasure, as it always will be the chief honor, of my life, I beg that you will not refuse my request. I am, madam, with sentiments of the highest esteem,“Your obedient, humble servant,“Fairfax.”
“Honored Madam.—The promise you graciously made me, that your eldest son, Mr. George Washington, might visit me at Greenway Court, gave me both pride and pleasure; and will you not add to that pride and pleasure by permitting him to return with me when I pass through Fredericksburg again on my way home two days hence? Do not, honored madam, think that I am proposing that your son spend his whole time with me in sport and pleasure. While both have their place in the education of the young, I conceive, honored madam, that your son has more serious business in hand—namely, the improvement of his mind, and the acquiring of those noble qualities and graces which distinguish the gentleman from the lout.
“He would have at Greenway, at least, the advantage of the best minds in England as far as they can be writ in books, and for myself, honored madam, I will be as kind to him as the tenderest father. If you can recall with any pleasure the days so long ago, when we were both twenty years younger, and when your friendship, honored madam, was the chief pleasure, as it always will be the chief honor, of my life, I beg that you will not refuse my request. I am, madam, with sentiments of the highest esteem,
“Your obedient, humble servant,“Fairfax.”
“Have you thought it over, mother?”
“Yes, my son; but, as you know I am aperson of deliberation, I will think it over yet more.”
“I will give up Christmas at Mount Vernon, mother, if you will let me go.”
“I have already promised your brother that you shall spend Christmas with him, and I cannot recall my word.”
George said no more. He got up, and, bowing respectfully to his mother, went out. He had that morning more than his usual number of tasks to do; but all day long he was in a dream. For all his steadiness and willingness to lead a quiet life with his mother and the younger children at Ferry Farm, he was by nature adventurous, and for more than a year he had chafed inwardly at the narrow and uneventful existence which he led. He had early announced that he wished to serve either in the army or the navy, but, like all people, young or old, who have strong determination, he bided his time quietly, doing meanwhile what came to hand. He had been every whit as much fascinated with Lord Fairfax as the elder man had been with him; and the prospect of a visit to Greenway—of listening to his talk of the great men he had known, of seeing the mountains for the first time in his life, and of hunting and sporting in their wilds, of taking lessons in fencing from old Lance, of lookingover Lord Fairfax’s books—was altogether enchanting. He had a keen taste for social life, and his Christmas at Mount Vernon, with all its gayety and company, had been the happiest two weeks of his life. Suppose his mother should agree to let him go to Greenway with the earl and then come back by way of Mount Vernon? Such a prospect seemed almost too dazzling. He brought his horse down to a walk along the cart-road through the woods he was traversing while he contemplated the delightful vision; and then, suddenly coming out of his day-dream, he pulled himself together, and, striking into a sharp gallop, tried to dismiss the subject from his mind. This he could not do, but he could exert himself so that no one would guess what was going on in his mind, and in this he was successful.
Two o’clock was the dinner-hour at Ferry Farm, and a few minutes before that time George walked up from the stables to the house. Little Betty was on the watch, and ran down to the gate to meet him. Their mother, looking out of the window, saw them coming across the lawn arm in arm, Betty chattering like a magpie and George smiling as he listened. They were two of the handsomest and healthiest and brightest-eyed young creatures that could be imagined, and Madam Washington’s heart glowed with apride which she believed sinful and strove unavailingly to smother.
At dinner Madam Washington and George and Betty talked, the three younger boys being made to observe silence, after the fashion of the day. Neither Madam Washington nor George brought up the subject of the earl’s visit, although it was a tremendous event in their quiet lives. But little Betty, who was the talkative member of the family, at once began on him. His coach and horses and outriders were grand, she admitted; but why an earl, with bags of money, should choose to wear a plain brown suit, no better than any other gentleman, Mistress Betty vowed she could not understand. His kneebuckles were not half so fine as George’s, and brother Laurence had a dozen suits finer than the earl’s.
“His sword-hilt is worth more than this plantation,” remarked George, by way of mitigating Betty’s scorn for the earl’s costume. Betty acknowledged that she had never seen so fine a sword-hilt in her life, and then innocently remarked that she wished she were going to visit at Greenway Court with George. George’s face turned crimson, but he remained silent. He was a proud boy, and had never in his life begged for anything, but he wanted to go so badly thatthe temptation was strong in him to mount his horse without asking anybody’s leave, and, taking Billy and Rattler with him, start off alone for the mountains.
Dinner was over presently, and as they rose Madam Washington said, quietly:
“My son, I have determined to allow you to join Lord Fairfax, and I have sent an inquiry to him, an hour ago, asking at what time to-morrow you should meet him in Fredericksburg. You may remain with him until December; but the first mild spell in December I wish you to go down to Mount Vernon for Christmas, as I promised.”
George’s delight was so great that he grew pale with pleasure. He would have liked to catch his mother in his arms and kiss her, but mother and son were chary of showing emotion. Therefore he only took her hand and kissed it, saying, breathlessly:
“Thank you, mother. I hardly hoped for so much pleasure.”
“But it is not for pleasure that I let you go,” replied his mother, who, according to the spirit of the age, referred everything to duty. “’Tis because I think my Lord Fairfax’s company will be of benefit to you; and as there is but little prospect of a school here this winter, and I havemade no arrangements for a tutor, I must do something for your education, but that I cannot do until after Christmas. So, as I think you will be learning something of men as well as of books, I have thought it best, after reflecting upon it as well as I can, to let you go.”
“I will promise you, mother, never to do or say anything while I am away from you that I would be ashamed for you to know,” cried George.
Madam Washington smiled at this.
“Your promise is too extensive,” she said. “Promise me only that you willtrynot to do or say anything that will make me ashamed, and that will be enough.”
George colored, as he answered:
“I dare say I promised too much, and so I will accept the change you make.”
Here a wild howl burst upon the air. Billy, who had been standing behind George’s chair, understood well enough what the conversation meant, and that he was to be separated until after Christmas from his beloved “Marse George.” Madam Washington, who had little patience with such outbreaks of emotion, sharply spoke to him. “Be quiet, Billy!”
Billy’s reply was a fresh burst of tears and wailing, which brought home to little Betty thatGeorge was about to leave them, and caused her to dissolve into tears and sobs, while Rattler, running about the room, and looking from one to the other, began to bark furiously.
Madam Washington, standing up, calm, but excessively annoyed at this commotion in her quiet house, brought her foot down with a light tap, which, however, meant volumes. Uncle Jasper too appeared, and was about to haul Billy off to condign punishment when George intervened.
“Hold your tongue, Billy,” he said; and Billy, digging his knuckles into his eyes, subsided as quietly as he had broken forth.
“Now go up to my room and take the dog, and stay there until I come,” continued George.
Billy obeyed promptly. Betty, however, having once let loose the floodgates, hung around George’s neck and wept oceans of tears. George soothed her as best he could, but Betty would not be comforted, and was more distressed than ever when, in a little while, a note arrived from Lord Fairfax, saying he would leave Fredericksburg the next morning at sunrise if it would be convenient to Mr. Washington to join him then.