Henry Esmond, Esq., an office who had served with the rank of Colonel
during the wars of Queen Anne's reign, found himself, at its close,
compromised in certain attempts for the restoration of the Queen's
family to the throne of these realms. Happily for itself, the nation
preferred another dynasty; but some of the few opponents of the house
of Hanover took refuge out of the three kingdoms, and amongst others,
Colonel Esmond was counselled by his friends to go abroad. As Mr. Esmond
sincerely regretted the part which he had taken, and as the august
Prince who came to rule over England was the most pacable of sovereigns,
in a very little time the Colonel's friends found means to make his
peace.
Mr. Esmond, it has been said, belonged to the noble English family which
takes its title from Castlewood, in the county of Hants; and it was
pretty generally known that King James II. and his son had offered the
title of Marquis to Colonel Esmond and his father, and that the former
might have assumed the (Irish) peerage hereditary in his family, but
for an informality which he did not choose to set right. Tired of the
political struggles in which he had been engaged, and annoyed by family
circumstances in Europe, he preferred to establish himself in Virginia,
where he took possession of a large estate conferred by King Charles I.
upon his ancestor. Here Mr. Esmond's daughter and grandsons were born,
and his wife died. This lady, when she married him, was the widow of the
Colonel's kinsman, the unlucky Viscount Castlewood, killed in a duel by
Lord Mohun, at the close of King William's reign.
Mr. Esmond called his American house Castlewood, from the patrimonial
home in the old country. The whole usages of Virginia, indeed, were
fondly modelled after the English customs. It was a loyal colony. The
Virginians boasted that King Charles II. had been king in Virginia
before he had been king in England. English king and English church were
alike faithfully honoured there. The resident gentry were allied to good
English families. They held their heads above the Dutch traders of New
York, and the money-getting Roundheads of Pennsylvania and New England.
Never were people less republican than those of the great province which
was soon to be foremost in the memorable revolt against the British
Crown.
The gentry of Virginia dwelt on their great lands after a fashion almost
patriarchal. For its rough cultivation, each estate had a multitude
of hands--of purchased and assigned servants--who were subject to the
command of the master. The land yielded their food, live stock, and
game. The great rivers swarmed with fish for the taking. From their
banks the passage home was clear. Their ships took the tobacco off their
private wharves on the banks of the Potomac or the James river, and
carried it to London or Bristol,--bringing back English goods and
articles of home manufacture in return for the only produce which the
Virginian gentry chose to cultivate. Their hospitality was boundless.
No stranger was ever sent away from their gates. The gentry received one
another, and travelled to each other's houses, in a state almost feudal.
The question of Slavery was not born at the time of which we write. To
be the proprietor of black servants shocked the feelings of no Virginian
gentleman; nor, in truth, was the despotism exercised over the negro
race generally a savage one. The food was plenty; the poor black people
lazy and not unhappy. You might have preached negro emancipation to
Madam Esmond of Castlewood as you might have told her to let the horses
run loose out of her stables; she had no doubt but that the whip and the
corn-bag were good for both.
Her father may have thought otherwise, being of a sceptical turn on very
many points, but his doubts did not break forth in active denial, and
he was rather disaffected than rebellious. At one period, this gentleman
had taken a part in active life at home, and possibly might have been
eager to share its rewards; but in latter days he did not seem to care
for them. A something had occurred in his life, which had cast a tinge
of melancholy over all his existence. He was not unhappy--to those about
him most kind--most affectionate, obsequious even to the women of
his family, whom be scarce ever contradicted; but there had been some
bankruptcy of his heart, which his spirit never recovered. He submitted
to life, rather than enjoyed it, and never was in better spirits than in
his last hours when he was going to lay it down.
Having lost his wife, his daughter took the management of the Colonel
and his affairs; and he gave them up to her charge with an entire
acquiescence. So that he had his books and his quiet, he cared for no
more. When company came to Castlewood, he entertained them handsomely,
and was of a very pleasant, sarcastical turn. He was not in the least
sorry when they went away.
“My love, I shall not be sorry to go myself,” he said to his daughter,
“and you, though the most affectionate of daughters, will console
yourself after a while. Why should I, who am so old, be romantic? You
may, who are still a young creature.” This he said, not meaning all he
said, for the lady whom he addressed was a matter-of-fact little person,
with very little romance in her nature.
After fifteen years' residence upon his great Virginian estate, affairs
prospered so well with the worthy proprietor, that he acquiesced in his
daughter's plans for the building of a mansion much grander and more
durable than the plain wooden edifice in which he had been content to
live, so that his heirs might have a habitation worthy of their noble
name. Several of Madam Warrington's neighbours had built handsome houses
for themselves; perhaps it was her ambition to take rank in the country,
which inspired this desire for improved quarters. Colonel Esmond, of
Castlewood, neither cared for quarters nor for quarterings. But his
daughter had a very high opinion of the merit and antiquity of her
lineage; and her sire, growing exquisitely calm and good-natured in his
serene, declining years, humoured his child's peculiarities in an easy,
bantering way,--nay, helped her with his antiquarian learning, which was
not inconsiderable, and with his skill in the art of painting, of which
he was a proficient. A knowledge of heraldry, a hundred years ago,
formed part of the education of most noble ladies and gentlemen: during
her visit to Europe, Miss Esmond had eagerly studied the family history
and pedigrees, and returned thence to Virginia with a store of documents
relative to her family on which she relied with implicit gravity and
credence, and with the most edifying volumes then published in France
and England, respecting the noble science. These works proved, to her
perfect satisfaction, not only that the Esmonds were descended from
noble Norman warriors, who came into England along with their victorious
chief, but from native English of royal dignity: and two magnificent
heraldic trees, cunningly painted by the hand of the Colonel,
represented the family springing from the Emperor Charlemagne on the
one hand, who was drawn in plate-armour, with his imperial mantle and
diadem, and on the other from Queen Boadicea, whom the Colonel insisted
upon painting in the light costume of an ancient British queen, with
a prodigious gilded crown, a trifling mantle of furs, and a lovely
symmetrical person, tastefully tattooed with figures of a brilliant blue
tint. From these two illustrious stocks the family-tree rose until
it united in the thirteenth century somewhere in the person of the
fortunate Esmond who claimed to spring from both.
Of the Warrington family, into which she married, good Madam Rachel
thought but little. She wrote herself Esmond Warrington, but was
universally called Madam Esmond of Castlewood, when after her father's
decease she came to rule over that domain. It is even to be feared that
quarrels for precedence in the colonial society occasionally disturbed
her temper; for though her father had had a marquis's patent from King
James, which he had burned and disowned, she would frequently act as if
that document existed and was in full force. She considered the English
Esmonds of an inferior dignity to her own branch; and as for the
colonial aristocracy, she made no scruple of asserting her superiority
over the whole body of them. Hence quarrels and angry words, and even
a scuffle or two, as we gather from her notes, at the Governor's
assemblies at Jamestown. Wherefore recall the memory of these squabbles?
Are not the persons who engaged in them beyond the reach of quarrels
now, and has not the republic put an end to these social inequalities?
Ere the establishment of Independence, there was no more aristocratic
country in the world than Virginia; so the Virginians, whose history
we have to narrate, were bred to have the fullest respect for the
institutions of home, and the rightful king had not two more faithful
little subjects than the young twins of Castlewood.
When the boys' grandfather died, their mother, in great state,
proclaimed her eldest son George her successor and heir of the estate;
and Harry, George's younger brother by half an hour, was always enjoined
to respect his senior. All the household was equally instructed to pay
him honour; the negroes, of whom there was a large and happy family, and
the assigned servants from Europe, whose lot was made as bearable as it
might be under the government of the lady of Castlewood. In the whole
family there scarcely was a rebel save Mrs. Esmond's faithful friend and
companion, Madam Mountain, and Harry's foster-mother, a faithful negro
woman, who never could be made to understand why her child should not be
first, who was handsomer, and stronger, and cleverer than his brother,
as she vowed; though, in truth, there was scarcely any difference in the
beauty, strength, or stature of the twins. In disposition, they were in
many points exceedingly unlike; but in feature they resembled each other
so closely, that but for the colour of their hair it had been difficult
to distinguish them. In their beds, and when their heads were covered
with those vast ribboned nightcaps which our great and little ancestors
wore, it was scarcely possible for any but a nurse or mother to tell the
one from the other child.
Howbeit alike in form, we have said that they differed in temper. The
elder was peaceful, studious, and silent; the younger was warlike
and noisy. He was quick at learning when he began, but very slow at
beginning. No threats of the ferule would provoke Harry to learn in
an idle fit, or would prevent George from helping his brother in his
lesson. Harry was of a strong military turn, drilled the little
negroes on the estate and caned them like a corporal, having many
good boxing-matches with them, and never bearing malice if he was
worsted;--whereas George was sparing of blows and gentle with all about
him. As the custom in all families was, each of the boys had a special
little servant assigned him; and it was a known fact that George,
finding his little wretch of a blackamoor asleep on his master's bed,
sat down beside it and brushed the flies off the child with a feather
fan, to the horror of old Gumbo, the child's father, who found his young
master so engaged, and to the indignation of Madam Esmond, who ordered
the young negro off to the proper officer for a whipping. In vain George
implored and entreated--burst into passionate tears, and besought a
remission of the sentence. His mother was inflexible regarding the young
rebel's punishment, and the little negro went off beseeching his young
master not to cry.
A fierce quarrel between mother and son ensued out of this event. Her
son would not be pacified. He said the punishment was a shame--a shame;
that he was the master of the boy, and no one--no, not his mother,--had
a right to touch him; that she might order him to be corrected, and that
he would suffer the punishment, as he and Harry often had, but no
one should lay a hand on his boy. Trembling with passionate rebellion
against what he conceived the injustice of procedure, he vowed--actually
shrieking out an oath, which shocked his fond mother and governor, who
never before heard such language from the usually gentle child--that on
the day he came of age he would set young Gumbo free--went to visit the
child in the slaves' quarters, and gave him one of his own toys.
The young black martyr was an impudent, lazy, saucy little personage,
who would be none the worse for a whipping, as the Colonel no doubt
thought; for he acquiesced in the child's punishment when Madam Esmond
insisted upon it, and only laughed in his good-natured way when his
indignant grandson called out,
“You let mamma rule you in everything, grandpapa.”
“Why, so I do,” says grandpapa. “Rachel, my love, the way in which I am
petticoat-ridden is so evident that even this baby has found it out.”
“Then why don't you stand up like a man?” says little Harry', who always
was ready to abet his brother.
Grandpapa looked queerly.
“Because I like sitting down best, my dear,” he said. “I am an old
gentleman, and standing fatigues me.”
On account of a certain apish drollery and humour which exhibited itself
in the lad, and a liking for some of the old man's pursuits, the first
of the twins was the grandfather's favourite and companion, and would
laugh and talk out all his infantine heart to the old gentleman, to whom
the younger had seldom a word to say. George was a demure studious boy,
and his senses seemed to brighten up in the library, where his brother
was so gloomy. He knew the books before he could well-nigh carry them,
and read in them long before he could understand them. Harry, on the
other hand, was all alive in the stables or in the wood, eager for all
parties of hunting and fishing, and promised to be a good sportsman from
a very early age. Their grandfather's ship was sailing for Europe once
when the boys were children, and they were asked, what present Captain
Franks should bring them back? George was divided between books and a
fiddle; Harry instantly declared for a little gun: and Madam Warrington
(as she then was called) was hurt that her elder boy should have low
tastes, and applauded the younger's choice as more worthy of his name
and lineage. “Books, papa, I can fancy to be a good choice,” she replied
to her father, who tried to convince her that George had a right to his
opinion, “though I am sure you must have pretty nigh all the books in
the world already. But I never can desire--I may be wrong, but I never
can desire--that my son, and the grandson of the Marquis of Esmond,
should be a fiddler.”
“Should be a fiddlestick, my dear,” the old Colonel answered.
“Remember that Heaven's ways are not ours, and that each creature born
has a little kingdom of thought of his own, which it is a sin in us to
invade. Suppose George loves music? You can no more stop him than you
can order a rose not to smell sweet, or a bird not to sing.”
“A bird! A bird sings from nature; George did not come into the world
with a fiddle in his hand,” says Mrs. Warrington, with a toss of her
head. “I am sure I hated the harpsichord when a chit at Kensington
School, and only learned it to please my mamma. Say what you will,
dear sir, I can not believe that this fiddling is work for persons of
fashion.”
“And King David who played the harp, my dear?”
“I wish my papa would read him more, and not speak about him in that
way,” said Mrs. Warrington.
“Nay, my dear, it was but by way of illustration,” the father replied
gently. It was Colonel Esmond's nature, as he has owned in his own
biography, always to be led by a woman; and, his wife dead, he coaxed
and dandled and spoiled his daughter; laughing at her caprices, but
humouring them; making a joke of her prejudices, but letting them have
their way; indulging, and perhaps increasing, her natural imperiousness
of character, though it was his maxim that we can't change dispositions
by meddling, and only make hypocrites of our children by commanding them
over-much.
At length the time came when Mr. Esmond was to have done with the
affairs of this life, and he laid them down as if glad to be rid of
their burthen. We must not ring in an opening history with tolling
bells, or preface it with a funeral sermon. All who read and heard
that discourse, wondered where Parson Broadbent of Jamestown found the
eloquence and the Latin which adorned it. Perhaps Mr. Dempster knew, the
boys' Scotch tutor, who corrected the proofs of the oration, which was
printed, by desire of his Excellency and many persons of honour, at Mr.
Franklin's press in Philadelphia. No such sumptuous funeral had ever
been seen in the country as that which Madam Esmond Warrington ordained
for her father, who would have been the first to smile at that pompous
grief. The little lads of Castlewood, almost smothered in black trains
and hatbands, headed the procession, and were followed by my Lord
Fairfax from Greenway Court, by his Excellency the Governor of Virginia
(with his coach), by the Randolphs, the Careys, the Harrisons, the
Washingtons, and many others, for the whole county esteemed the departed
gentleman, whose goodness, whose high talents, whose benevolence
and unobtrusive urbanity had earned for him the just respect of his
neighbours. When informed of the event, the family of Colonel Esmond's
stepson, the Lord Castlewood of Hampshire in England, asked to be at the
charges of the marble slab which recorded the names and virtues of his
lordship's mother and her husband; and after due time of preparation,
the monument was set up, exhibiting the arms and coronet of the Esmonds,
supported by a little chubby group of weeping cherubs, and reciting an
epitaph which for once did not tell any falsehoods.