When George had learned all that poor old Hobby could teach him, his
father, to reward him for his diligence and good behavior at school,
indulged him in two or three weeks' holidays, which he went to spend
at a distance from home, among some friends and relatives. Here, as
usual, he was made much of; for, being a great favorite with all who
knew him, he met with a cordial reception wherever he went; and what
with hunting and fishing, riding and visiting, the time spent here was
the most delightful he had ever known. But hardly had half the happy
days flown by, when word came that his father was sick, even unto
death; and that, of all things, he most desired to look upon his noble
boy once more before he died. With a sadness and heaviness of heart he
had never before experienced, George set out on his return home, where
he arrived just in time to receive his dying father's blessing. Long
and deeply did he mourn his loss; for his father was most tenderly
beloved by his children, and greatly esteemed by his friends and
neighbors as a useful member of society, and a man of many sterling
traits of character.
Mrs. Washington was thus left a young widow with a large family of
young children, whom it now became her duty to provide for and educate
in a manner becoming a Christian mother; and how well and faithfully
and lovingly she discharged this sacred trust, is most beautifully set
forth in the life and character of her great son. She was a woman of
uncommon strength and clearness of understanding, and her heart was
the home of every pure and noble virtue. She was mild, but firm;
generous, but just; candid whenever she deemed it her duty to speak
her mind, but never losing sight of the respect and consideration due
to the feelings and opinions of others. She was gentle and loving with
her children, yet exacting from them in return the strictest obedience
to her will and wishes. But of all virtues most sacred in her eyes was
that of the love of truth, which she ever sought to implant in their
minds; assuring them, that, without it, all other virtues were but as
unprofitable weeds, barren of fruits and flowers. She was simple and
dignified in her manners, and had a hearty dislike for every thing
savoring of parade and idle show. She always received her friends and
visitors with a cordial smile of welcome, spreading before them with
an unsparing hand the best her house afforded: but, when they rose to
depart, she would invite them once, and once only, to stay longer;
and, if after this they still seemed bent on going, she would do all
in her power to speed them on their journey. With so many traits
betokening strength of mind and character, she had but one weakness;
and this was her excessive dread of thunder, caused in early
maidenhood by seeing a young lady struck dead at her side by
lightning.
And such was Mary, the mother of Washington; and seldom indeed has her
like been seen. As her husband, by industry and prudent management,
had gathered together enough of the riches of this world to leave each
of his children a fine plantation, she was not hindered by straitened
circumstances, or anxiety as to their means of future support, from
giving her chief attention to such bodily and mental training as
should have a lasting tendency to make them, in more mature years,
healthy, virtuous, and wise.
It has been often remarked, that those men who have most distinguished
themselves in the world's history for noble thoughts and heroic deeds,
have, as a general thing, inherited those qualities of mind and heart
which made them great, from their mothers, rather than from their
fathers; and also that their efforts to improve and elevate the
condition of their fellow-beings have been owing in a larger measure
to the lessons of truth, piety, and industry, taught them by their
mothers in childhood and early youth. If this be the case, then how
much are we indebted for the freedom, prosperity, and happiness we
now enjoy above other nations of the earth, to Mary, the mother of
Washington! Perhaps, to give you a still more forcible idea of the
characters of both mother and son, and of the wholesome effects on him
of her judicious training, I ought to relate in this place the story
of his attempt at taming the sorrel horse.
A fine horse was an object that afforded Mrs. Washington, as it did
the other substantial Virginia ladies of that day, quite as much, if
not more, real pleasure than their more delicate grand-daughters of
the present now find in their handsome carriages, lap-dogs, and
canary-birds. So great was her fondness for this noble animal, that
she usually suffered two or three of her finest to run in a meadow in
front of the house, where she might look at them from time to time as
she sat sewing at her dining-room window. One of these was a young
sorrel horse, of great beauty of form, and fleetness of foot, but of
so wild and vicious a nature, that, for fear of accident, she had
forbidden any one to mount him, although he had already reached his
full height and size.
Now, you must know that a bolder and more skilful rider than George
was not to be found in all the Old Dominion, as Virginia is sometimes
called; and it was this early practice that afterwards won for him the
name of being the finest horseman of his day. Often, as we may very
naturally suppose to have been the case, would he reason thus with
himself, as, sitting on the topmost rail of a worm fence, he watched
the spirited young animal frisking and bounding about the field in all
the freedom of his untamed nature: "If I were but once upon his back,
with a strong bit in his mouth, believe me, I would soon make him a
thing of use as well as ornament; and it would, I am sure, be such a
pleasant surprise to mother to look from her window some fine morning,
and see me mounted on his back, and managing him with ease, and to
know that it was I who had subdued his proud spirit."
Accordingly, full of these thoughts, he arose early one bright summer
morning, and invited two or three friends of his own age, then on a
visit at his mother's house, to go with him to the fields, to share
with him the sport, or lend their aid in carrying out his design,
should it be found too difficult and hazardous for himself alone. They
needed no second bidding, these young madcaps, to whom nothing could
be more to their liking than such wild sport. So at it they went; and
after a deal of chasing and racing, heading and doubling, falling down
and picking themselves up again, and more shouting and laughing than
they had breath to spare for, they at last succeeded in driving the
panting and affrighted young animal into a corner. Here, by some means
or other (it was difficult to tell precisely how), they managed to
bridle him, although at no small risk of a broken head or two from
his heels, that he seemed to fling about him in a dozen different
directions at once. Having thus made him their captive, they led him
out to the more open parts of the field, where George requested his
friends to hold him till he could get on his back. But the wild and
unruly spirit the young beast had shown that morning had so dismayed
them, that they flatly refused to comply; begging him not to think of
attempting it, as it would be at the risk of life or limb. But George
was not to be daunted by such trifles; and seeing that his blood was
up, and knowing that, when this was the case with him, he was not to
be turned aside from his purpose, they at length yielded unwilling
consent to his entreaties; and, giving him the required aid, he was
soon mounted.
This was an insult the proud-spirited animal could not brook; and he
began plunging and rearing in a manner so frightful to behold, that
they who watched the struggle for mastery expected every moment to see
the daring young rider hurled headlong to the ground. But he kept his
seat unmoved and firm as an iron statue on an iron horse. At length,
however, the horse, clinching the bit between his teeth, became for a
time unmanageable, and sped away over the field on the wings of the
wind; till, making a false step, he staggered and plunged, rallied
again, staggered, and, with the red life-stream gushing from his
nostrils, dropped down dead.
George sprang from the ground unharmed: but, when he saw the noble
young animal stretched out smoking and bloody and lifeless before him,
tears of pity filled his eyes; and still faster did they flow when he
thought of the grief it would occasion his mother, when she should
hear how her beautiful favorite had come to his end. His companions
now rejoining him, they all, with sad misgiving in their hearts,
returned to the house, where Mrs. Washington met them with a cheerful
good-morning, and, when they had taken their seats at the
breakfast-table, began talking with them in her usual lively and
entertaining manner, until the dreaded question came: "Well, young
gentlemen," said she, "have you seen any thing of my sorrel horse in
your walks this morning?"
The boys looked at one another for some moments in silence, scarce
knowing what answer to make. At last, George, to put an end to the
painful suspense, said in a subdued voice, "Mother, the sorrel horse
is dead." He then, in a few brief words, told her how it had all
happened, and ended by entreating her forgiveness if he had offended;
at the same time assuring her, that, in so doing, he had only thought
of giving her a pleasant surprise.
When he first began his account of the mishap, a flush of anger rose
to his mother's cheek; of which, however, there was not a trace to be
seen by the time he had finished; and she answered, with something
like an approving smile, "My son, as you have had the courage to come
and tell me the truth at once, I freely forgive you: had you skulked
away, I would have despised you, and been ashamed to own you as my
son."