WESTOVER, THE HOME OF A COLONIAL BELLE
On the following day, Gadabout scrambled across the flats out into the
James again, intent upon a visit to Westover.
Unlike Brandon, Westover stands within sight from the river; and we had
a good view of the old homestead as we passed by to make our landing at
the steamer pier which is a little above the house.
There was a break in the tree-fringe on the north bank of the James. A
sea-wall extended along the water's edge, and from either end of it a
brick wall ran far inland. Within the spacious enclosure, the grounds
swept back and up from the river, with noble trees and close-cut lawn;
and crowning the slope stood the beautiful old mansion. A stately
central building of red brick, with dormer windows in its steep-pitched
roof, rose between low flanking corridors and wings like some overlord
with his faithful vassals in attendance. In neutral brown the quiet
river, in shadowy green the sloping lawn, in dull red and gleaming
white the lofty, many-windowed front of Westover--a picture that drew
Gadabout in close to the shoals that day.
The bit of history that goes with the picture gives us many glimpses of
old-time elegance and romance, and helps us to a good idea of some of
the pretentious phases of colonial life. It runs in this way.
Back in the beginnings of things American, when the dissatisfied
planters at James Towne were starting out to establish their estates
along the river, these lands by Herring Creek attracted attention.
Under the name of Westover they soon became the property of the Byrd
family, and rose to prominence among colonial estates in connection
with the fortunes of that distinguished house.
The golden age of Westover was in the days of the second William Byrd,
who was one of the most striking figures of colonial times. Handsome,
learned, witty, and capable; with exquisite taste and elegant culture
fashioned in the friendship of English noblemen; with almost endless
acres and boundless wealth--a cavalier of cavaliers was this
London-bred Virginian.
[Illustration: RIVERWARD FRONT OF WESTOVER.]
It is surprising that this _beau-ideal_ should have remained spouseless
for two years after coming into his estate. He must have been
considered the most fascinating matrimonial possibility in the colony.
One can imagine how in a gathering of Virginia maidens intent upon
their tambour embroidery, when the name of Westover's young master came
up, a circle of eyelashes went down and a circle of tender hearts went
both up and down. The prize was finally won by Lucy Parke, daughter of
Colonel Daniel Parke whose portrait hangs at Brandon.
Some years later, family litigation called Colonel Byrd to England,
where his wife and little daughter, Evelyn, joined him, and where his
wife soon died. The residence in London continued for a number of
years; and resulted in giving the Colonel a new wife in the person of a
rich young widow, and in giving social finish and a broken heart to
Evelyn Byrd.
Under the guidance of her father, she was educated after the manner of
the fashionable life of that day. It must have been a time quite to the
elegant Colonel's liking when London turned in admiration to his
daughter; when, but sixteen and already crowned with social successes,
the cultured beauty from the plantation on the James was presented at
the English Court.
The stories of Evelyn Byrd's London experiences bring many noted names
into the train of those who did her honour: the Lords Chesterfield and
Oxford, and Pope at the height of his glory, and the cynical Lord
Hervey, and Beau Nash, the autocrat of Bath. There should be mentioned
too that old courtier (whoever he was) whose admiration was expressed
in the rather mild witticism, "I no longer wonder that young men are
anxious to go to Virginia to study ornithology, since such beautiful
_birds_ are to be found there."
It was in the midst of this London gayety that Evelyn Byrd so literally
met her fate in meeting the grandson of Lord Peterborough, Charles
Mordaunt. The story of that unhappy love affair--the devoted pair, the
opposition of the maiden's father, and the separation of the
lovers--has become an oft-told but ever attractive romance.
About 1726, Colonel Byrd returned with his family to Virginia; and it
was then, it seems, that he built the present mansion at Westover, and
entered upon the almost sumptuous life there that was to make the
plantation famous.
And Westover was a worthy setting for the worthy Colonel. Without the
home, were lawns and gardens beautiful with native and imported trees,
shrubs, and vines; and within the home, spacious rooms with rich
furnishings and art treasures gathered in England and on the Continent.
Here too was one of the largest and most valuable collections of books
in the colonies. As a matter of course, this home was a distinguished
social centre, drawing to itself the most brilliant colonial society.
Colonel Byrd died in 1744, and was buried in the old garden when it was
in all its summer glory. In the next generation, Westover passed to
strangers, having been for a century and a quarter the home of the
Byrds, who for three successive generations had held proud position in
colonial America.
Since then, the plantation has suffered from many changes of ownership,
and from the Civil War. The mansion was held several times by the
Federal forces, being used as headquarters and as an army storehouse.
Among the war injuries it sustained was the destruction of one wing.
The destroyed portion has been rebuilt recently by the present owner of
the estate, Mrs. C. Sears Ramsay. Under her ownership, Westover has had
added interest, especially for lovers of the colonial, on account of
such extensive restoration as has made the old home one of the finest
examples of eighteenth century architecture and furnishing in America.
Surely while we have been telling the story of Westover, Gadabout has
had time to reach the steamboat pier above the house; and we may take
it that she is safely tied to the pilings.
Once ashore, Nautica and the Commodore found that a short walk along
the river bluff brought them to an entrance to the Westover grounds.
Gates of wrought iron, with perhaps a martlet from the Byrd coat of
arms above them, swung between tall pillars in the wall. From this
entrance, a pathway approached the homestead diagonally, and afforded
charming views of the house and its surroundings. To our right as we
walked, the lawn, thick set with trees, sloped gently to the river
wall. To our left, the views came in broken, picturesque bits; a
stretch of shrubbery, a reach of garden wall, some quaint outbuildings
in warm, dull red, a glimpse of courtyard beyond a corner of box, and
then the old home itself.
[Illustration: THE HALL, WITH ITS CARVED MAHOGANY STAIRCASE.]
The riverward portal of Westover stands tall, white, and finely typical
of its day. Above squared stone steps, the double doors with the
fanlight above them are framed by two engaged columns supporting an
elaborate pediment that has the symbolic pineapple in the centre.
We stood before the fine entrance, fancy painting the old-time scene
within; that scene of eighteenth century elegance which is the
traditional picture of colonial Westover. The door opened, and we
entered upon perhaps quite as charming an eighteenth century scene,
which is the Westover of to-day.
A panelled hall extended through the house, the double doors at the
farther end opening upon a glass-enclosed vestibule. About midway, and
from beneath a heavy crystal chandelier, the stairway of carved
mahogany rose to a landing, where an ancient clock stood tall and dark,
then turned and wound to the rooms above.
To the right of the hall was the drawing-room. Passing over its
threshold, we thought of those old colonial days, the days of Colonel
Byrd. As in his time, the light came subdued through the
deep-casemented windows. It fell upon the walls that he had so
handsomely panelled, upon the ceiling that he had ornamented in the
delicate putty-work of his day, and upon furniture in carved mahogany
that was of the period of his ownership of Westover.
At the farther end of the room was the noted mantelpiece imported from
Italy by Colonel Byrd. It is an elaborate creation of Italian marble
with relief design in white upon a black background. In front of it, on
either hand, stood handsome brass torcheres, with their suggestion of
the mellow candle-light that was wont to fall in this same room upon
the courtly Colonel, the lovely Evelyn, and those brilliant assemblages
of colonial times.
Opening also from the hall are the dining-room with its high colonial
mantel and typical Virginia buffet, the French morning-room with its
gray green tints and its touches of gilt, and the library with its old
chimney-piece, high black fire-dogs, and quaint fire-tending irons. All
the rooms have their colonial panelling, deep window-seats, and open
fireplaces.
[Illustration: THE HEPPLEWHITE SIDEBOARD WITH BUTLER'S DESK.]
In the dining-room our interest was quickened upon our being told that
the handsome sideboard had belonged to the Byrd family. It is believed
to be a Hepplewhite, though similar in lines to a rare design of
Sheraton's. Above the sideboard a circular, concave mirror of elaborate
eighteenth century type accentuates the period furnishing of the room.
[Illustration: "FOUR-POSTERS AND THE THINGS OF FOUR-POSTER DAYS."]
Up-stairs even more than below, we felt the atmosphere of the olden
time. Perhaps passing the ancient clock on the landing helped to set us
back a century or two. We were quite prepared for the quiet,
old-fashioned upper hall, with its richness half lost in the shadows
and with its sleepy night-stand holding a brass house lantern and a
prim array of candles in brass candlesticks.
In the bedrooms were four-posters and the things of four-poster days.
Wing-cheek chairs of cozy depths told of old-time fireside dreams; a
work-table with attenuated legs called to mind the wearisome needlework
of our foremothers; and a brass warming-pan carried us back to the
times when only such devices could make tolerable the frigid winter
beds of our ancestors.
One of the riverward bedrooms is the romantic centre of Westover. It
now belongs to the little daughter of the house; but nearly two
centuries ago it was the room of Evelyn Byrd. Doubtless, in a sense, it
will always be hers. The soft toned panelled walls, the old fireplace
opposite the door, and the cozy little dressing-room looking
gardenward, all seem to speak of her; and the imaginative visitor can
quite discern a graceful figure in colonial gown there in one of the
deep window seats that look out upon the pleasance and the river.
Here the unfortunate colonial beauty lived and died with the grief that
she brought from over the sea. Here she laid away the rich brocade, the
old court gown of brilliant, bitter memories that was shown to us at
Brandon. Through these windows she looked with ever more wistful eyes
out upon the river, her thoughts hurrying with its waters toward the
ocean and the lover beyond. And one day, it is said, a great ship from
London came, and it touched at the pier before her windows, and Charles
Mordaunt plead his cause with the stern father once more. But he plead
in vain, and the ship and the lover sailed away. For a while longer,
the colonial girl waited and looked out upon the river, then she too
went away and the romance was over.
[Illustration: THE ROMANTIC CENTRE OF WESTOVER; EVELYN BYRD'S OLD
ROOM.]
In the family circle at Westover to-day are Mrs. Ramsay, two sons, and
the little daughter, Elizabeth. Among well-known families appearing in
Mrs. Ramsay's ancestry are the Sears and the Gardiners of
Massachusetts, she being a descendant of Lyon Gardiner of Gardiner's
Island. She also claims kinship with the Randolphs and the Reeveses of
Virginia, and a collateral and remote connection with the Byrds.
When we returned to the steamer pier after our visit at Westover, we
found quite a wind on the river and the houseboat fretfully bumping the
pilings. We hastened aboard, ran down stream before a stiff wind, and
skurried back into our harbour in Herring Creek, where Gadabout settled
to her moorings as contented as a duck in the marshes.