DREAM DAYS AT RIVERVIEW
In the many summer evenings which followed, I played the part of that
broken soldier, who, as Mr. Goldsmith tells us so delightfully,
"talked the night away,
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won."
Alas, I could show not how they were won, but only how they were lost,
and how was one to clothe in romance a battle which had been fought in
the midst of mud and rain, from behind a breastwork, and with scarce a
glimpse of the enemy? But I had a rapt audience of two in James and
Dorothy. They were not critical, and I told the story of Great Meadows
over and over again, a score of times.
A hundred yards from the house, overlooking on one side the willow-draped
waters of Occoquan Inlet, and on the other the broad and placid river, a
seat had been fashioned between two massive oaks, and here, of an
evening, it was our wont to go. Sometimes, by great good fortune, James
did not accompany us, and Dorothy and I would sit there alone together
and watch the shadows deepen across the water. Our talk would falter and
die away before the beauty of the scene, and there would be long
silences, broken only now and then by a half whispered sentence. I had
never known a sweeter time, and even yet, when night is coming on, I love
to steal forth to sit there again and gaze across the water and dream
upon the past.
During the day, I saw but little of the other members of the family, and
was left greatly to my own resources. My aunt was ever busy with the
management of the estate, to every detail of which she gave personal
attention, and which she administered with a thrift and thoroughness I
could not but admire. The worry of incessant business left its mark upon
her. The lines in her face deepened, and the silver in her hair grew more
pronounced, but though she doubtless felt her strength failing, she clung
grimly to the work. I would have offered to assist her but that I knew
she would resent the suggestion, and would believe I made it to gain some
knowledge of the income from the estate, of which I had always been kept
in densest ignorance, and with which, indeed, I troubled myself but
little. I think her old fear of my claiming the place came on her again,
and though she always tried to treat me civilly, the effort in the end
proved too great for her overwrought nerves, as you shall presently hear.
Upon Dorothy fell the duty of looking after the household, and she went
about it cheerfully and willingly. Her mornings were passed in
instructing the servants in their duties and seeing that their work was
properly done. There were visits to the pantry and kitchen, and a long
conference with the cook, so that noon was soon at hand. The afternoon
was spent in the great workroom on the upper floor, into which I ventured
to peep once or twice, only to be bidden to go about my business. But it
was a pleasant sight, and I sometimes gathered courage to steal down the
corridor for a glimpse of it. There sat Dorothy in a dainty gown of
Covent Garden calico, directing half a dozen old negro women, who were
cutting out and sewing together the winter clothing of fearnaught for the
slaves. Two or three girls had been brought in to be taught the mysteries
of needle-craft, and Dorothy turned to them from time to time to watch
their work and direct their rebellious fingers. I would fain have taken a
lesson, too, but when I proposed this one day, representing how great my
need might be when I was over the mountains far away from any woman,
Dorothy informed me sternly, amid the titters of the others, that my
fingers were too big and clumsy to be taught to manage so delicate an
instrument as a needle, and sent me from the room.
Young James had also much to occupy his time. His mother was as yet in
doubt whether he should complete his education at William and Mary, as I
had done, or should be sent to London to acquire the true polish. The boy
greatly favored the latter course, as any boy of spirit would have done,
and his mother would have yielded to him readily, but for the stories she
had heard of the riotous living which prevailed among the young blades in
London, and of which she had had ample confirmation from Parson Scott,
who, I suspect, before coming to his estate at Westwood, had ruffled it
with the best of them. Whether it should be Williamsburg or London, the
boy was required to be kept at his books every morning, and was off every
afternoon to the Dumfries tavern, where there was always a crowd of
ne'er-do-wells, promoting a cock-fight, or a horse race, or eye-gouging
contest. Sometimes, he elected to spend the evening in this company, and
it was then that Dorothy and I were left alone together on the seat
beside the river.
But when Sunday came, there was another story. The great coach was
brought from the stable and polished till it shone again,--indeed, it had
been polished so often and so vigorously that its gilding and paint began
to show the marks of it. The four horses were led out, rubbed down from
nose to heel, and harnessed in their brightest trappings. The driver,
footman, and two outriders donned their liveries, in which they were the
envy of all the other servants, and the coach was driven around to the
front of the house, from which presently emerged Madame Stewart, in a
stately gown of flowered calamanco, her fan and gold pomander in her
hand. Then came Dorothy, her sweet face looking most coquettish under her
Ranelagh mob of gauze, the ribbons crossed beneath her chin and
fluttering half a yard behind. As she tripped down the stops and lifted
her tiffany petticoat ever so little, I could catch a glimpse of the
prettiest pair of ankles in the world in silk-clocked hose, for the
reader can guess without my telling that I was close behind, holding her
kerchief or her fan or her silver étui until she should be safely seated
in the coach. And that once done, the whip cracked, the wheels started,
and I swung myself on horseback and trotted along beside the window, on
Dorothy's side, you may be sure.
So, in great state, we proceeded to the new Quantico church near
Dumfries, a prodigious fine structure of brick, built the year before at
a cost of a hundred thousand weight of tobacco, of which my aunt had
contributed a tenth. The other members of the congregation awaited our
arrival, grouped before the door, and, entering after us, remained
decently standing till we had mounted to the loft and taken our seats, a
show of deference which greatly pleased my aunt. The church was built in
a little recess from the road, in the midst of a grove of ancient trees,
cruciform, as so many others were throughout the colony, and stands today
just as it stood then,--as I have good cause to know, for 't was in that
church, before that altar--But there, you shall learn it all in time.
Doctor Scott was a goodly preacher, but the one portion of the service
for me was the singing, when I might stand beside Dorothy and listen to
her voice. She sang with whole heart and undivided mind, recking nothing
of me standing spellbound there. Indeed, I think the pastor shrewdly saw
that her singing was a means of grace no less than his expounding, and he
never failed to journey to Riverview on a Friday to talk over with her
what should be her part in the service on the coming Sunday. Nor did I
ever know her to refuse this labor,--not because she was vain of her
power, but because she saw the good it did.
The service once over, there were greetings to exchange, the news of the
neighborhood to talk over, crops to discuss, and what not. My heart would
burn within me as I saw the men buzzing about Dorothy like flies about a
dish of honey, though my jealousy was lightened when I saw that while she
had a gay word for each of them, she smiled on all alike. The minx could
read my mind like an open book, whether I was moping in one corner of the
churchyard or on the bench beside her, and she loved to tease me by
pretending great admiration for this man or that, and consulting me about
him as she would have done a brother. Which, I need hardly say, annoyed
me vastly.
The gossip over, we drove home again to lunch, after which, on the wide
veranda or the bench by the river's edge, I would read Dorothy some bits
of Mr. Addison or Mr. Pope, which latter she could not abide, though his
pungent verses fell in exceeding well with my melancholy humor. Evening
past and bedtime come, I lighted Dorothy's candle for her at the table in
the lower hall, where the silver sticks were set out in their nightly
array like French soldiers, gleaming all in white, and when I gave it to
her and bade her good-night at the stair-foot, I got her hand to hold for
an instant. Then to my room, where over innumerable pipes of
sweet-scented, I struggled with some halting verses of my own until my
candle guttered in its stick.
Hours and hours did I pass thinking how I might tell her of my love, but
at the last I concluded it were better to say nothing, until I had
something more to offer her. What right had I, I questioned bitterly, to
offer marriage to any maid, when I had no home to which to take a wife,
and I had never felt the irksomeness of my circumstances as I did at that
moment. Something of my thought she must have understood, for she was
very kind to me, and never by any word or act showed that she thought of
the poverty of my condition.
So August and September passed, and great events were stirring. The House
of Burgesses had met, and had been much impressed by the showing we had
made against the French, so that they passed a vote of thanks to Colonel
Washington for his distinguished services, and to the officers and men
who had been with him. Dinwiddie was most eager that another advance
should be made at once against Duquesne, but Colonel Washington pointed
out how hopeless any such attempt must be against the overwhelming odds
the enemy would bring against us.
The news of French aggression on the Ohio and of our defeat at Fort
Necessity had opened the eyes of the court to the danger which threatened
the colonies, and great preparations were set on foot for an expedition
to be sent to Virginia in the early spring. Parliament voted £50,000
toward its expenses, and it was proposed to equip it on such a scale
that the French could not hope to stand before it. So it was decided that
nothing more should be attempted by the colony until the forces from
England had arrived. And then, one day, came the astounding news that
Colonel Washington had resigned from the service and returned to Mount
Vernon. A negro whom Dorothy had sent on some errand to Betty Washington
had brought the news back with him. I could scarcely credit it, and was
soon galloping toward Mount Vernon to confirm it for myself. I dare say
the ten miles of river road were never more quickly covered. As I turned
into the broad graveled way which led past the garden up to the house, I
saw a tall and well-known figure standing before the door, and he came
toward me with a smile as I threw myself from the saddle.
"Ah, Tom," he cried, "I thought I should see you soon," and he took my
hand warmly.
"Is it true," I asked, too anxious to delay an instant the solution of
the mystery, "that you have left the service?"
"Yes, it is true."
"And you will not make the campaign?"
"I see no prospect now of doing so."
"But why?" I asked. "Pardon me, if I am indiscreet."
"'Tis a reason which all may know," and he smiled grimly, "which, indeed,
I wish all to know, that my action may not be misjudged."
We were walking up and down before the door, and he paused a moment as
though to choose his words, lest he say more than he desired.
"You know there has been great unpleasantness," he said at last, "between
officers holding royal commissions and those holding provincial ones,
concerning the matter of precedence. You may remember that Captain Mackay
held himself my superior at Fort Necessity, because he had his commission
from the crown."
Of course I remembered it, as well as the many disagreements which the
contention had occasioned.
"It was evident that the question must be settled one way or another,"
continued Washington, "and to do this, an order has just been issued by
the governor. The order provides that no officer who does not derive his
commission immediately from the king can command one who does."
It was some minutes before I understood the full effect which such an
order would have.
"Do you mean," I asked at last, "that you would be outranked by every
subaltern in the service who holds a royal commission?"
"Unquestionably," and Washington looked away across the fields with a
stern face.
"But that is an outrage!" I cried. "What, every whippersnapper in the
line be your superior? Why, it's rank folly!"
"So I thought," said Washington, "and therefore I resigned, and refused
to serve under such conditions."
"And you did right," I said warmly. "You could have taken no other
course."
But much pressure was brought to bear upon him to get him back into the
service. General Sharpe was most anxious to secure the services of the
best fighter and most experienced soldier in Virginia, and urged him to
accept a company of the Virginia troops; but he replied shortly that,
though strongly bent to arms, he had no inclination to hold a commission
to which neither rank nor emolument attached. And that remained his
answer to all like importunities. Whereat the authorities were greatly
wroth at him, from Governor Dinwiddie down, and seeking how they might
wound him further, cut from the rolls the names of half a dozen officers
whom they knew to be his friends. I was one of those who got a discharge,
the reason alleged in my case being that the companies had been so
reduced in number that there was not need of so many officers. It was a
heavy blow to me, I admit, and I think for a time Washington wavered in
his purpose; but his friends, of whom many now came to Mount Vernon,
persuaded him to remain firm in his resolution, confident that when the
commander-in-chief arrived and learned how matters stood, he would make
every reparation in his power. At the bottom of the entire trouble was, I
think, Dinwiddie's jealousy of Washington's growing popularity and
influence, a jealousy which had been roused by every man who had come
into great favor with the people since Dinwiddie had been
lieutenant-governor of Virginia.
During the months that followed I was much at Mount Vernon. Indeed, it
was during that winter that we formed the warm attachment which still
continues. The family life there attracted me greatly, and I cannot
sufficiently express my admiration for Mrs. Washington. She was slight
and delicate of figure, but not even her eldest son, who towered above
her, possessed a greater dignity or grace. I loved to sit at one corner
of the great fireplace and see her eyes kindle with pride and affection
as she gazed at him, nor did her other children love him less than she.
With the new year came renewed reports of activity in England. Two
regiments under command of Major-General Braddock were to be sent to
Virginia, whence, after being enforced by provincial levies, they were to
march against the French. I need not say how both Colonel Washington and
myself chafed at the thought that we were not to make the campaign; but
when he suggested accepting a commission as captain of the provincial
troops, his friends protested so against it that he finally abandoned the
idea for good and all, and we settled down to bear the inactivity as best
we could. But at last the summons came.
It was Colonel Washington's twenty-third birthday, and there was quite a
celebration at Mount Vernon. The members of the family were all there, as
were Dorothy, her brother, and myself, as well as many other friends from
farther down the neck. Dinner was served in the long, low-ceilinged
dining-room, with the wide fireplace in one corner. What a meal it was,
with Mrs. Washington at the table-head and her son at the foot, yes, and
Dorothy there beside me with the brightest of bright eyes! I was ever a
good trencherman, and never did venison, wild turkey, and great yellow
sweet potatoes taste more savorsome than they did that day, with a jar of
Mrs. Washington's marmalade for relish. At the end came Pompey with a
great steaming bowl of flip, and as the mugs were filled and passed from
hand to hand, Dorothy and Betty Washington plunged in the red-hot irons
with great hissing and sizzle and an aroma most delicious. We pledged our
host, the ladies sipping from our cups--need I say who from mine?--with
little startled cries of agitation when the liquor stung them. Then they
left us to our pipes; but before the smoke was fairly started, there came
the gallop of a horse up the roadway past the kitchen garden, and a
moment later the great brass knocker was plied by a vigorous hand. We sat
in mute expectancy, and presently old Pompey thrust in his head.
"Gen'leman t' see you, sah," he said to Colonel Washington.
"Show him in here, Pomp," said the colonel; and a moment later one of
the governor's messengers entered, booted and spurred, his clothing
splashed with mud.
"I have a message for you from the governor, Colonel Washington," he
said, saluting, and holding out a letter bearing the governor's
great seal.
Washington took it without a trace of emotion, though I doubt not his
heart was beating as madly as my own.
"Sit down, sir," he said heartily to the messenger, "and taste our
punch. I am sure you will find it excellent;" and when he had seen him
seated and served, he turned away to the window and opened the letter.
I watched him eagerly as he read it, and saw a slow flush steal into
his cheeks.
"There is nothing here I may not tell, gentlemen," he said after a
moment, turning back to the group about the table. "Governor Dinwiddie
writes me that General Braddock and the first of the transports have
arrived safely off Hampton, and that he desires me to meet him in
Williamsburg as soon as possible, as he thinks my knowledge of the
country may be of some value. I shall start in the morning," he added,
turning to the messenger. "I trust you will remain and be our guest
till then."
"Gladly," answered the man, "and ride back with you." So it was settled.
We were not long away from the women after that, for they must hear the
great news. Colonel Washington refused to speculate about it, but I was
certain he was to be proffered some employment in the coming campaign
commensurate with his merit. The afternoon passed all too quickly, and
the moment came for us to start back to Riverview. Dorothy ran upstairs
to don her safeguard, the horses were brought out, and James and I
struggled into our coats. Dorothy was back in a moment, kissed Mrs.
Washington and Betty, and I helped her adjust her mask and lifted her to
the saddle. I felt my cheeks burning as I turned to bid good-by to
Colonel Washington, who had followed us from the house.
"If it should be an appointment," I began, as I grasped his hand.
"You maybe sure I shall not forget you, Tom," he said, smiling down into
my eager face. "I think it very likely that we shall march together to
fight the French."
And those last words rang in my ears all the way back to Riverview.