The remaining time of George’s stay at Greenway Court sped on
rapidly--too fast for Lord Fairfax, who realized every day how close
the boy had got to his heart.
As for Lance, a real friendship had grown up between him and George,
and the old soldier thought with keen regret of the impending departure.
Black Bear had remained at Greenway until his wound was well on the way
to recovery, but, as Lance said, “An Injun can walk on a broken leg and
climb a tree with a broken arm,” so that when Black Bear considered
himself recovered a white man would have thought his cure scarcely
begun.
Lord Fairfax found out that the Indian was the son of Tanacharison,
one of the few chiefs who were friendly to the English and unfriendly
to the French. On finding this out the earl sent for Black Bear and
had a long talk with him. With most Indians the idea of sparing an
enemy seemed the extreme of folly; but Black Bear was of superior
intelligence, and it had dawned upon him long before that the white
men knew more than the red men about most things. And when he himself
became the object of kindness, when he recalled George’s remembering to
give him water in his agony and Lance’s endeavors to cure his wound,
the Indian’s hard but not ignoble heart was touched. His father was
reported among the wisest of the chiefs, and he had warned his tribe
against taking either the French or the English side, as it was not
their quarrel. Lord Fairfax found that in Black Bear, an uneducated
savage who could neither read nor write, he had a man of strong natural
intelligence, and one worth conciliating. He came to Greenway Court
with blood and fire in his heart, and he left it peaceably inclined,
and anxious for the friendship of the white men. On the eve of his
departure he said to George:
“White brother, if ever you are in the Indian land and want help call
on Black Bear, or Tanacharison, the great chief, who dwells on the
other side of the mountains where the two rivers come together, and you
will be heard as quickly as the doe hears the bleat of her young.”
Next morning Black Bear had disappeared, and was no more seen.
The time came, about the middle of December, when George left Greenway
Court for Mount Vernon. It was in a mild spell of weather, and
advantage had to be taken of it to make the journey, as the roads
were likely to be impassable later in the season. He was to travel on
horseback, Billy following him on a mule and carrying the portmanteau.
The night before he left he had a long conversation with Lord Fairfax
in the library. The earl gently hinted at a wish that George might
remain with him always, and that ample provision would be made for him
in that event; but George, with tact and gratitude, evaded the point.
He felt a powerful attachment towards Lord Fairfax, but he had no mind
to be anybody’s son except his father’s and his mother’s son. The
earl’s last words on parting with him that night were:
“I desire you to promise me that, in any emergency of any kind--and
there will be many in your life--you will call on me as your friend if
not your father.”
George answered, with gratitude in his heart: “I will gladly promise
that, my lord; and it is great encouragement to me to feel that I have
such a friend.”
Next morning, after an early breakfast, George’s horse and Billy’s
mule were brought to the door. All the negroes were assembled to bid
him good-bye. Cæsar hoped he would come back soon, but not for any more
fights with Indians, and each had some good wish for him. After shaking
bands with each one, George grasped Lance’s hand.
“Good-bye, Lance,” said he. “I never can thank you enough for what you
have taught me; not only fencing, but”--here George blushed a little at
the recollection of his first fencing-lesson--“teaching me to control
my temper.”
“You were the aptest scholar I ever had, Mr. Washington,” answered the
old soldier; “and as for your temper, I have never seen you anything
but mild and gentle since that first day.”
George then went to the library to find the earl. He had meant to say
something expressive of gratitude, but all through his life words
failed him when his heart was overflowing. Lord Fairfax, too, was
silent for a moment; but taking down the smaller of the two swords over
the mantel-piece he handed it to George.
“This sword,” he said, “I wore in the service of the Great Duke. I give
it to you as being worthy to wear it, and I charge you never to draw it
in an unworthy cause.”
“I promise you, my lord,” was all that George could say in reply; but
Lord Fairfax, who was a good judge of men, knew all that was passing in
the boy’s heart. The two wrung each other’s hands, and George, going
out, mounted his horse and rode off, with Billy trotting behind on the
mule, and Rattler running at his heels.
For the first few miles George felt the keen regret which every
sensitive young soul must feel at leaving a place and persons dearly
loved. At the point on the mountain-side where, on his way to Greenway,
the earl had stopped and showed him his first view of the house, George
stopped again, and looked long and sadly. But once turned from it, and
out of sight of it, his mind recovered its spring. He remembered that
he was on the way to Mount Vernon, and would soon be with his brother
Laurence and his sister-in-law, whom he dearly loved. Then there was
little Mildred, a baby girl when he had been at Mount Vernon a year
before. He wondered how big she was then. And Betty would be there, and
he would hear from his mother, and see her soon after Christmas. On the
whole, what with these pleasant prospects, and fine, clear December
weather, and a good horse to ride, George began to whistle cheerfully,
and presently called back to Billy:
“How do you like the notion of Christmas at Mount Vernon, Billy?”
“I likes it mightily, suh,” replied Billy, very promptly. “Dee ain’ no
Injuns at Mount Vernon, an’ dee black folks git jes as good wittles in
de kitchen as de white folks gits--tuckey, an’ graby, an’ all de pudden
dat’s lef’ over, an’ plenty o’ ’lasses, an’ heap o’ u’rr things.”
George travelled much faster than the lumbering coach in which he had
made the best part of his first journey, and he had continuous good
weather. On the fourth day, in the afternoon, he shouted delightedly to
Billy:
“There is the blue water, Billy!” and pointed to a silver line that
glittered in the wintry sun. It was the Potomac, and a few miles’
riding brought them to Mount Vernon.
As George rode up to the broad front porch a girlish figure flew out
of the door, and Betty clasped him in her arms. He knew he had always
loved Betty, but until then he did not fully realize how dear his only
sister was to him. Then there was his brother Laurence, a handsome,
military-looking man, but pale and slight in comparison with George,
who was a young Hercules in development; and his sister-in-law, a
pretty young woman of whom he was fond and proud. And toddling about
was little Mildred, whom Betty had taught to say “Uncle George,” in
anticipation of his arrival. All were delighted to see him, and his
brother Laurence, telling him that Admiral Vernon, his old friend, for
whom he had changed the name of the plantation to Mount Vernon from
Hunting Creek, was visiting him, was for presenting him then and there
to the admiral. But Betty interposed.
“Wait until George has changed his clothes, brother, for I am sure he
looks much better in his blue-cloth jacket and his brocaded waistcoat,
made of our mother’s wedding-gown; and I want the admiral to think well
of him at first, and--oh, George has a sword! He thinks he is a man
now!”
George blushed a little, but he was very willing, boy like, to tell of
how Lord Fairfax gave him the rapier, and Laurence and Mrs. Washington
and Betty were all delighted, except that Betty wished it had been
the one with the diamond hilt, which caused George to sniff at her
ignorance.
“That was a sword that anybody could buy who had money enough; but this
is a sword that has seen service, as Lord Fairfax told me. He wore it
at Bouchain.”
As Betty had never heard of Bouchain before, she very wisely held her
peace. But she soon dragged George off up-stairs to the little room
which was his whenever he stayed at Mount Vernon, and where Billy
had preceded him with the portmanteau. George was full of questions
about his mother and everybody at Ferry Farm, and Betty was full of
questions about Greenway Court and Lord Fairfax, so they made but
little headway in their mutual inquiries. Suddenly, as George glanced
out of the window towards the river, he saw a beautiful black frigate
lying at anchor. It was near sunset of a clear December evening, and
a pale green light was over the river, the land, and the sky. Every
mast was clearly outlined, and her spars were exactly and beautifully
squared in true man-of-war style. The union jack flying from her peak
was distinctly visible in the evening light, and the faint echo of the
bugle came softly over the water and died among the wooded hills along
the shore.
George stood motionless and entranced. It was the first ship of war he
had ever seen, and the beauty and majesty of the sight thrilled him to
the core of his heart. Betty chattered on glibly.
“That is the frigate _Bellona_. The captain and officers are here all
the time, and some of them are brother Laurence’s old friends that he
served with at the siege of Cartagena. I expect some of them will be
here to supper to-night. Besides Admiral Vernon, who is staying here,
are Mr. William Fairfax and his son William,” and Betty rattled off a
dozen names, showing that the house was full for Christmas.
After Betty went out, when George, with Billy’s assistance, was putting
on his best clothes, he could not keep his eyes from wandering to the
window, through which the _Bellona_ was still seen in the waning light,
looming up larger as the twilight fell. Presently he saw a boat put off
with several officers, which quickly made the Mount Vernon landing.
When he was all dressed, with his fine white brocade waistcoat and his
paste kneebuckles, he dearly wished to wear his sword, as gentlemen
wore swords upon occasions when they were dressed for ceremony. But he
felt both shy and modest about it, and at last concluded to leave it in
his room. When he went down-stairs he found the lower hall was brightly
illuminated with wax-candles and a glorious fire, and decked with holly
and mistletoe. It was full of company, several officers being present
in uniform, and one tall, handsome, gray-haired officer stood before
the hearth talking with Mrs. Laurence Washington. George guessed that
to be Admiral Vernon, and his guess was correct.
As he descended the last steps, and advanced to where Mrs. Laurence
Washington stood, every eye that fell upon him admired him. His
journey, his intercourse with a man like Lord Fairfax, and his
fencing-lessons had improved his air and manner, graceful as both had
been before. Mrs. Washington, laying her hand on his shoulder, which
was already on a level with the admiral’s, said:
“Let me present to you my brother, Mr. George Washington, who has come
to spend his Christmas with us.”
Admiral Vernon glanced at him keenly as he shook hands with him.
“My brother has just returned from a visit to the Earl of Fairfax, at
Greenway Court, my father’s relative”--for Mrs. Washington had been
Anne Fairfax, of Belvoir. “The earl has been most kind to him, and
honored him by giving him the sword which he wore at the siege of
Bouchain.”
“I believe he entered the town,” said Admiral Vernon. “I have often
heard of the adventure, and it was most daring.”
“Why have you not the sword on, George?” asked his sister.
“Because--because--” George stammered, and then became hopelessly
embarrassed.
“Because he is a modest young gentleman,” said the admiral, smiling.
George was introduced to many other persons, all older than himself;
but presently he recognized William Fairfax, a cousin of his sister’s,
who had been at Mount Vernon with him the Christmas before. William was
a merry youngster, a year or two older than George, but a foot or two
shorter. The two boys gravitated together, and as young gentlemen in
those days were expected to be very retiring, they took their places
in a corner, and when supper was announced they made up the very
tail of the procession towards the dining-room. At supper the three
young people--George and Betty and William Fairfax--sat together. The
conversation was gay and sprightly until the ladies left, when it grew
more serious.
“Close up, gentlemen, close up!” cried Laurence Washington, cordially,
motioning them to take the seats left vacant by the ladies. George and
William Fairfax rose to leave the room then, as boys were not expected
to remain on those occasions, but Laurence stopped them.
“Stay, George and William, you are both old enough now to be company
for men; and especially I desire an account from you, George, of how
affairs are progressing at Greenway Court. I hear my Lord Fairfax
had to repel an attack from the Indians within the last month. That,
admiral,” he continued, turning to Admiral Vernon, “is one of the
pleasures which Lord Fairfax exchanged for a residence in England.”
“How does he stand it, Mr. Washington?” asked Admiral Vernon. “Does
he remain in his eyrie among the mountains because he is too proud to
acknowledge his loneliness?”
“I think not, sir,” answered George. “He has a very large, comfortable
house, much like a fortress. It is well furnished with everything,
including books; my Lord Fairfax is the greatest reader I ever saw. He
does not lead an idle life; on the contrary, he takes great interest
in public affairs, and is lieutenant of the county. Especially is he
concerned about our northwest boundary, and is preparing to have his
lands west of the Alleghany Mountains surveyed, I believe, as much
in the interest of the country as of his own, for the French are
encroaching on that side.”
Although George spoke with the greatest modesty, it was evident that he
understood his subject. It was a deeply interesting one to all present,
as it was perfectly well known that the first serious collision between
the French and English in America would mean war between France and
England.
Admiral Vernon and the other officers asked many questions about the
temper of the Indians towards the English, the disposition of the
French forts, and other matters, to all of which George gave brief but
intelligent answers. After an hour spent in conversation at the table
the scraping of fiddles was heard in the hall.
“Come, gentlemen,” cried Laurence, “the ladies are waiting for us; we
cannot be so ungallant as to remain here longer.”
The large room to the right of the entrance had been cleared
for dancing, and there, too, were wax-candles shining amid
Christmas-greens, and a Christmas fire blazing on the hearth. On
two planks placed across two wooden “crickets” sat Yellow Jake and
Lef’-hand Torm, the negro fiddlers, tuning up their instruments and
grinning from ear to ear. In every window merry black faces peered with
beady eyes and shining ivories; for under the mild and patriarchal rule
in Virginia in those days the negroes were considered as humble members
of the family, who had a share in all its pleasures as in all its
sorrows. There were many ladies present in hoops and powder, and with
stiff brocades that rustled as they walked, and great fans, which they
used in dancing the minuet as the gentlemen used their cocked hats.
George, in his heart, thought his sister Anne the handsomest of them
all, and that in a year or two Betty would be a charmingly pretty girl.
As it was, Mistress Betty, in her white sarcenet silk, looked a picture
of modest and girlish beauty. She loved to dance; and when George came
up, as the gentlemen were selecting their partners, and said, with a
smile, “Come, Betty, nobody here wants to dance with a girl and boy
like you and me, so we will have to dance together,” Betty jumped for
joy.
“If I had waited, William Fairfax would have asked me to dance,” she
whispered to George; “but I would much rather dance with you, because
you are so much taller and older looking, and William is _such_ a boy!”
William, however, was very gladly accepted later in the evening, when
George, on being noticed by the other ladies, who admired his graceful
manners and fine appearance, neglected Betty for them, after the manner
of very young gentlemen. The first dance was a _minuet de la cour_, the
most graceful and dignified of all dances. Mrs. Washington, dancing
with Admiral Vernon, took the head of the room, and motioned George
and Betty to take the place opposite her. The minuet was formed, the
fiddlers gave an extra flourish, and the dance began, with every lady
courtesying to the ground and spreading her fan, while the gentlemen
bowed so low that they swept the floor with their cocked hats. Among
them all no couple were more graceful and dignified than the boy and
girl. Betty danced with the utmost gravity, making her “bow, slip,
slide, and pirouette” in the most daintily careful manner. George’s
noble figure and perfect grace were well adapted to this charming
dance, and many compliments were paid both of them, which made Betty
smile delightedly and George turn red with pleasure. When the stately
minuet was over the fiddlers struck into Betty’s favorite, the “Marquis
of Huntley’s Rigadoon,” which was as jolly and harum-scarum as the
minuet was serious and dignified. Betty in her heart liked the rigadoon
best, and whispered to George that “William was good enough for the
rigadoon.” William therefore came forward, and the two had a wild romp
to the music of two energetic fiddlers. George was rather shy about
asking the ladies, all of whom were older than he, to dance; but having
made the plunge, he was accepted, and afterwards poor Betty had no
one to depend upon but William Fairfax, who was equally ill off for
partners. No one was gayer or more gallant than the gray-haired Admiral
Vernon, and the veteran sailor and the boy George divided between them
the honors of the evening.
The dance stopped early, as the next day was Christmas, and they were
sure to be roused betimes; and, besides, there was to be a grand ball
for all the gentry round about on Christmas night.
When George went up to his room he was very well inclined for bed from
his day’s travel and his evening’s amusement, and Billy was snoozing
comfortably before the fire, with Rattler asleep within reach. Before
George slept, however, he wrote two letters--one to his mother and
another to Lord Fairfax. Mount Vernon and its gayety, and the new faces
he had met, had not put out of his mind the two persons so loved and
admired by him. But as soon as his letters were written he tumbled into
bed, and was asleep in less time than it takes to tell it.