CHAPTER XIII
Someweeks were spent at Greenway Court, and George slipped back into the same life he had led for so long in the autumn. Instead, however, of reading in the evenings, Lord Fairfax and himself spent the time in studying rude maps of the region to be explored, and talking over the labors of the coming summer. The earl told George that William Fairfax had heard of the proposed expedition, and was so anxious to go as George’s assistant that his father was disposed to gratify him if it could be arranged.
“But I shall not communicate with him until I have talked with you, George,” said the earl, “for William, although a hardy youngster, and with some knowledge of surveying, is still but a lad, and there might be serious business in hand. However, this season’s surveys are not to be far from here, so that if you care for his company I see no reason why he should not go.”
“I should be very glad to have him,” replied George, blushing a little. “I did a very unhandsomething to William Fairfax while we were at Mount Vernon at Christmas, and he was so manful about it that I think more of him than ever, and I believe he would be an excellent helper.”
“An unhandsome thing?” repeated the earl, in a tone of inquiry.
“Knocked him sprawling, sir, in my brother’s house. My brother was very much offended with me, and I was ashamed of myself.”
“But you are good friends now?”
“Better than ever, sir, for William behaved as well as I behaved ill, and if he is willing to come with me I shall be glad to have him.”
“I shall send an express, then, to Belvoir, and William will be here in a few days. And now I have something else to propose to you. My man Lance is very anxious to see the new country, although he has not directly asked my permission to go; but the poor fellow has served me so faithfully that I feel like indulging him. Only a lettered man, my dear George, can stand with cheerfulness this solitude month after month and year after year as I do, and, although Lance is a man of great natural intelligence, he never read a book through in his life, so that his time is often heavy on his hands. I think a few months of mountaineering would be a godsendto him in big lonely life up here, and I make no doubt at all that you would be glad to have him with you.”
“Glad, sir! I would be more glad than I can say. But what is to become of you without Lance?”
“I can get on tolerably well without him for a time,” replied the earl, smiling. And the unspoken thought in his mind was, “And I shall feel sure that there is a watchful and responsible person in company with the two youngsters I shall send out.”
“And Billy, of course, will go with me,” said George, meditatively. “Why, my lord, it will be a pleasure jaunt.”
“Get all the happiness you can out of it, George; I have no fear that you will neglect your work.”
Within two weeks from that day William Fairfax had arrived, and the party was ready to start. It was then the first of April, and not much field-work could be done until May. But Lord Fairfax found it impossible to hold in his young protégés. As for Lance, he was the most eager of the lot to get away. Cut off from association with his own class, nothing but his devotion to Lord Fairfax made the isolated life at Greenway Court endurable to him; and this prospectof variety in his routine, where, to a certain degree, he could resume his campaigning habits, was a fascinating change to him.
The earl, with a smile, and a sigh at the loss of George and William’s cheerful company and Lance’s faithful attendance, saw them set forth at sunrise on an April morning. George, mounted on the new half-bred horse that Lord Fairfax had given him, rode side by side with William Fairfax, who was equally well mounted. He carried the most precious of his surveying instruments and two little books, closely printed, which the earl had given him the night before. One was a miniature copy of Shakespeare’s plays, and the other a small volume of Addison’s works.
Behind them, on one of the stout cobs commonly used by the outriders on Lord Fairfax’s journeys to lower Virginia, rode Lance.
The old soldier was beaming with delight. He neither knew nor cared anything about surveying, but he was off for what he called a campaign, in company with two youths full of life and fire, and it made him feel like a colt. He had charge of the commissary, and a led-horse was loaded with the tent, the blankets, and such provisions as they could carry, although they expected their guns and fishing-rods to supply their appetites. Behind them all rode Billy on an old cart-horse.Billy was very miserable. He had no taste for campaigning, and preferred the fare of a well-stocked kitchen to such as one could get out of woods and streams. George had been so disgusted with Billy’s want of enterprise and devotion to the kitchen rations that he had sternly threatened to leave the boy behind, at which Billy had howled vociferously, and had got George’s promise not to leave him. Nevertheless, a domestic life suited Billy much better than an adventurous one.
What a merry party they were when they set off! Lord Fairfax stood on the porch watching them as long as they were in sight, and when, on reaching a little knoll, both boys turned and waved their hats at him, he felt a very lonely old man, and went sadly into the quiet house.
The party travelled on over fairly good mountain roads all that day, and at night made their first camp. They were within striking distance of a good tavern, but it was not in boy nature to seek comfort and civilization when camping out was possible.
George realized the treasure he had in Lance when, in an inconceivably short time, the tent was set up and supper was being prepared. The horses were taken care of by George and William, who got from a lonely settler’s clearinga feed of corn for them. Meanwhile, with a kettle, a pan, and a gridiron, Lance had prepared a supper fit for a king, so the hungry boys declared. Billy had actually been made to go to work, and to move when he was spoken to. The first thing he was told to do by Lance was to make a fire. Billy was about to take his time to consider the proposition when Lance, who was used to military obedience, instantly drew a ramrod from one of the guns, and gave Billy a smart thwack across his knuckles with it. Billy swelled with wrath. Lance he esteemed to be a “po’ white,” and, as such, by no means authorized to make him stir.
“Look a-heah, man,” said Billy, loftily, “you ain’ got no business a-hittin’ Marse George’s nigger.”
“I haven’t, eh?” was Lance’s rejoinder, giving Billy another whack. “Do you make that fire, you rapscallion, or you get no supper. And make it quick, d’ye hear? Oh, I wish I had had you in the Low Countries, under my old drill-sergeant! You would have got what Paddy gave the drum!”
Billy, thus admonished, concluded it would be better to mind, and although he felt sure that “Marse George” would give him his supper, yet he was not at present in high favor with that young gentleman, and did not want to take any risksin the matter. However, he did not really exert himself until Lance said, severely, “I have a great mind to ask Mr. Washington to send you back to Greenway Court. It is not too far.”
At that Billy suddenly became very industrious. Now George, on the other side of the tent currying his horse, heard the whole affair, and when they were called to supper he threw out a hint that his servitor might be sent back; which threat, then and forever after, acted on Billy like a galvanic battery.
George and William thought, as they sat by the fire in the woods eating their rude but palatable supper, that they were the luckiest creatures in the world. They were exhilarated rather than fatigued by their day’s work. A roaring fire cast a red glare among the rocks and trees, and warmed the keen, cold air of the spring night in the mountains. Within their tent were piles of cedar boughs for beds, and blankets to cover them.
William Fairfax had never heard any of Lance’s interesting stories, although George had told him of them. When supper was over, and the boys had an hour before turning in, George induced Lance to tell of some of his adventures in the wars of the Spanish Succession. They were deeply interesting, for Lance was a daring character,and had seen many strange vicissitudes. Billy and Rattler, who were not very much interested in the proceedings, dropped asleep early, and George, throwing a blanket over Billy, let him lie and snore before the fire until it was time to take to the tent. After a while Lance said:
“It was the Duke of Marlborough’s way to have all the lights out early; and I think, Mr. Washington, if we want to make an early start, we had better turn in now.”
George and William, nothing loath, betook themselves to their beds of boughs within the tent. Lance preferred to lie just in the doorway, the flap being left up for air. The boys noticed that he very carefully took off his shoes and washed his feet in a pail of ice-cold water brought from a spring near by.
“Why do you do that, Lance?” asked George, who thought it rather severe treatment.
“Because that’s the way to keep your feet in order, sir, and to keep from taking cold in a campaign; and I recommend you and Mr. Fairfax to try it for a regular thing,” answered Lance.
Within two days they reached the point where they must leave their horses and really begin their walk. They struck now into a wilderness, full of the most sublime scenery, and with a purity of air and a wild beauty of its own thatwould appeal to the most sluggish imagination. George had found William Fairfax to be a first-rate camping companion, and he proved to be an equally good assistant in surveying. George was not only an accurate but a very rapid surveyor, and William was equal to every demand made upon him. Although they carried their guns along when at work, they shot but little game, leaving that to Lance, and the trapping of birds and small animals to Billy, who was always willing to forage for his dinner. They met a few Indians occasionally. Many of the Indians had never seen surveying instruments, and thought them to be something miraculous.
THEY STRUCK NOW INTO THE WILDERNESS“THEY STRUCK NOW INTO THE WILDERNESS”
“THEY STRUCK NOW INTO THE WILDERNESS”
“THEY STRUCK NOW INTO THE WILDERNESS”
Lance was a genius in the way of making a camp comfortable. Although all of his experiences had been under entirely different circumstances, in an old and settled country with a flat surface, he was practical enough to transmute his knowledge to suit other conditions. He made no pretence of assisting in the field-work, but when George and William would come back to camp in the evenings, after a long day’s tramp on the mountains, Lance would always be ready with a good supper, a bed of pine or cedar branches, and an endless store of tales of life in other days and other places. In the absence of books, except the two volumes given Georgeby Lord Fairfax, these story-tellings became a great resource to the two young fellows, and were established as a regular thing. Although Lance had been only a private soldier, and was not an educated man, he had natural military talents, and when they would talk about possibilities of war with the French upon the frontier, which was then looked upon as inevitable, Lance clearly foresaw what actually happened years afterwards. The military instinct was always active in George, and it developed marvellously. For recreation he and Lance devised many campaigns against the French and Indians, and proved, on paper at least, how easy it would be to capture every French fort and block-house from the Alleghanies to the Great Lakes. George had a provincial’s enthusiastic confidence in regular troops, and was amazed to find Lance insisting that their usefulness in a campaign in the wilderness was doubtful.
“I tell you, Mr. Washington, I have seen a little of the Indian fighting, and you give a few of those red devils firelocks, with a handful of French to direct them, and there is not a general in England who would know how to fight them. And the worst of it is that the English despise the Indians, and you could not make an Englishman believe that he could not lick two Frenchmenuntil he has been licked. An English general would want roads and bridges and an artillery-train and a dozen other things that these savages never heard of, while all they want is a firelock and a tree, and they can pick off their man every time.”
“Then do you think the English will not be able to hold this part of the country?” asked George.
“With the militia—yes, sir. Your provincial troops know how to fight Indians, and can get through a wilderness without making a highway like a Roman road. But, mark my words, Mr. Washington, many a brave fellow has got to lay down his life before the English learn how to fight in the woods.”
These prophetic words came back vividly to George before many years had passed.
The summer came on apace. Never had George seen anything more beautiful than the outburst of tree and leaf and flower among these lonely peaks. The out-door life agreed with him perfectly, as it did with William Fairfax. They worked hard all the week, always leaving camp before sunrise, and generally not returning until after sunset. Lance always had a good fire and a capital supper waiting for them. He fashioned rude but comfortable seats and tables out of logs,and his impromptu out-door kitchen was a model of neatness and order. He was an accomplished laundress, but, after instructing Billy in the art of washing and drying clothes, turned that branch of their housekeeping over to this young person, who worked steadily, if unwillingly. On rainy days the boys remained in their tent, with two large tarpaulins thrown over it to keep out the water. George then wrote in his journal and read one of his precious books, William reading the other. On Sundays they took turns in the morning, after the work of the camp was over, in reading the service of the Church of England to a congregation composed of Lance, Billy, and Rattler—the two latter generally going to sleep in the first five minutes.
Besides his regular work and having an eye to military operations in that region, George and William both had an opportunity to study the animals and birds the forests and mountains harbored. For the first time they had a chance of closely watching the beaver, and admiring this great engineer among beasts. They were lost in admiration at the dam constructed by him, which the most scientific engineering could not surpass. The brown bear, a good-natured creature that was always frightened at the sight of a human being, was common to them, anddeer enough to keep their larder supplied were found. Lance was a skilful fisherman, and the mountain trout was on their daily bill of fare. The only thing they feared were the snakes, but as they always wore long and stout boots, they escaped being bitten while at their work, and Lance and Billy kept a close watch on the camp, examining the tent and ground every night before they slept. It was so cold at night, however, that they were in but little danger from reptiles then, for, no matter how warm the day, by nightfall a fire was pleasant.
And so days became weeks, and weeks became months. George had begun his work with a fierce disappointment gnawing at his heart, and thought he should never live to see the day when he would not regret that he was not in the navy. But at sixteen, with health and work, despair cannot long abide. Before he knew it the pain grew less, and insensibly he found himself becoming happier. But this was not accomplished by sitting down and brooding over his troubles; it was done by hard work, by a powerful will, and the fixed determination to make the best of things. Before the summer was over he could think, without a pang, of that cruel blow he had received the day after he reached Ferry Farm.
Lord Fairfax thought he had not given Georgetoo much time when he named the 1st of October as the date the party would probably return to Greenway Court. But on a glorious day in early September, when Lord Fairfax came in from riding over his principality in land, he saw a young figure that he well knew speeding down the road to meet him, and recognized George. The boy was much grown, and gave full promise of the six feet three that he attained in his manhood. His figure was admirably developed, his fair complexion bronzed, and his bright, expressive eyes were brilliant with health and spirits.
Lord Fairfax’s pale and worn face lighted up with pleasure, and he dismounted on seeing George. Arm in arm the two walked up to the great, quaint house—the man, old before his time, and never losing the sad and wearied look that showed he had not found life all roses, and the splendid youth glowing with health and hope and brightness. Lord Fairfax asked many questions about the work, and George was equally full of questions about lowland affairs. Of these Lord Fairfax knew little, but he told George there were a number of letters for him in a desk in the library. George was all eagerness to get them, as he knew he should find letters from his mother and Betty and his brother Laurence.
As they neared the house they passed within view of the kitchen. Billy had not been off his horse’s back half an hour, but he was already seated in the kitchen door, and between his knees was a huge kettle, in which were some bacon and beans. In one hand he held a tremendous hoe-cake, which he shared with Rattler, who was sitting on his haunches, with an expression of profound satisfaction very like that which irradiated Billy’s dusky features. Neither George nor Lord Fairfax could forbear laughing, and Billy grinned appreciatively at them.
But on reading his letters a little later in the library George’s face lost its merry smile. His mother and Betty were quite well only ten days before—which was late news for that day—but his little playmate Mildred, at Mount Vernon, was fading fast. One of Madam Washington’s letters, dated about three weeks before, said:
“I have just come from a visit of eight days to Mount Vernon; your brother and sister are fairly well, although Laurence will never be of a robust constitution. But the little girl, I see, is not to be spared us long. She is now nearly three years old—older than any of Laurence’s other children have lived to be—but there is a blight upon this dear little innocent,and I doubt whether she will not be a flower in God’s garden by Christmas-time—greatly to her profit, but to the everlasting grief of her sorrowing parents.”
This letter made George feel as if he would like that very moment to have his horse saddled and to start for Mount Vernon. But he felt that with the great interests with which he had been trusted by Lord Fairfax it would not be right to go without giving an account of his work. He was sitting sadly enough at the library table, reading his mother’s letter, when Lord Fairfax entered.
“You have bad news, George,” said he, after one glance at the boy’s troubled face.
“Very bad, sir,” replied George, sadly. “My brother’s only living child, a dear little girl, is very ill, I am afraid. My mother writes me she is fading fast. My poor brother and sister love her so much—she is the only child that has been spared them. Three others have all died before they were a year old.”
“Then you want to go to Mount Vernon as soon as possible,” said the earl, reading the unspoken wish in George’s heart.
“Oh, sir, I do want to go; but I think I ought to stay here for some days, to show you what I have done.”
“One night will be enough, if you will leave your surveys and papers with me; and perhaps I may myself go down to Mount Vernon later on, when the little one is either better on earth or eternally well in heaven.”
George looked at him with eloquent eyes.
“If you will be so kind as to let me go, I will come back just as soon—” George stopped; he could say no more.
Although just come from a long journey, so vigorous and robust was George that he began at once exhibiting his surveys and papers. They were astonishingly clear, both in statement and in execution; and Lord Fairfax saw that he had no common surveyor, but a truly great and comprehensive mind in his young protégé. George asked that William Fairfax might be sent for; and, when he came, told Lord Fairfax how helpful William had been to him.
“And you did not have a single falling out while you were together?” asked Lord Fairfax, with a faint smile. At which both boys answered at the same time: “No, sir!”—William with a laugh and George with a deep blush.
All that day, and until twelve o’clock that night, George and Lord Fairfax worked on the surveys, and at midnight Lord Fairfax understoodeverything as well as if a week had been spent in explaining it to him.
When daylight came next morning George was up and dressed, his horse and Billy’s saddled and before the door, with Lord Fairfax, Lance, and William Fairfax to bid him good-bye.
“Good-bye, my lord,” said George. “I hope we shall soon meet at Mount Vernon, and that the little girl may get well, after all. Good-bye, William and Lance. You have been the best of messmates; and if my work should be satisfactory, it will be due as much to you as to me.”
Three days’ hard travel brought him to Mount Vernon on a warm September day. As he neared the house his heart sank at the desolate air of the place. The doors and windows were all open, and the negroes with solemn faces stood about and talked in subdued tones. George rode rapidly up to the house, and, dismounting, walked in. Uncle Manuel, the venerable old butler, met him at the door, and answered the anxious inquiry in George’s eyes.
“De little missis, she k’yarn lars’ long. She on de way to de bosom o’ de Lamb, w’har tecks keer o’ little chillen,” he said, solemnly.
George understood only too well. He went up-stairs to the nursery. The child, white and scarcely breathing, her yellow curls damp on herforehead, lay in her black mammy’s arms. The father and mother, clasped in each other’s arms, watched with agonized eyes as the little life ebbed away. The old mammy was singing softly a negro hymn as she gently rocked the dying child
“‘De little lambs in Jesus’ breas’He hol’ ’em d’yar and giv’ ’em res’;He teck ’em by de little hands,An’ lead ’em th’u de pleasant lands.’”
“‘De little lambs in Jesus’ breas’He hol’ ’em d’yar and giv’ ’em res’;He teck ’em by de little hands,An’ lead ’em th’u de pleasant lands.’”
“‘De little lambs in Jesus’ breas’
He hol’ ’em d’yar and giv’ ’em res’;
He teck ’em by de little hands,
An’ lead ’em th’u de pleasant lands.’”
As George stood by her, with tears running down his face, the old mammy spoke to the child. “Honey,” said she, “heah Marse George; doan’ you know Marse George, dat use ter ride you on he shoulder, an’ make de funny little rabbits on de wall by candlelight?”
The child opened her eyes and a look of recognition came into them. George knelt down by her. She tried to put her little arms around his neck, and he gently placed them there. The mother and father knelt by her too.
“My darling,” said the mother, trembling, “don’t you know papa and mamma too?”
The little girl smiled, and whispered: “Yes—papa and mamma and Uncle George and my own dear mammy.”
The next moment her eyes closed. Presently George asked, brokenly:
“Is she asleep?”
“Yes,” calmly answered the devoted old black woman, straightening out the little body; “she ’sleep heah, but she gwi’ wake up in heaben, wid her little han’ in Jesus Chris’s; an’ He goin’ teck keer of her twell we all gits d’yar. An’ po’ ole black mammy will see her honey chile oncet mo’.”