The next few weeks worked a great and serious change in George. It
was the first time he had seen death since he was ten years old, when
his father died. That had made a great impression on him at the time,
but the feelings of a child of ten and a youth of sixteen are very
different. He had loved little Mildred dearly, and the child’s death
was a deep sorrow to him. The grief of his brother and sister was
piteous. As the case often is, the father was the more overwhelmed, and
the poor mother had to stifle her own grief to help her husband. George
could not but love and admire his sister the more when he saw her calm
fortitude, and how, inspired by love for her husband, she bore bravely
the loss of her only child. Both Madam Washington and Betty had come
to Mount Vernon the day of little Mildred’s death. Madam Washington
was obliged to return, after a few days, to her younger children, but
George and Betty remained.
“For George is the heir now,” said Laurence, with a sad smile, “and he
must learn to manage what will one day be his own.”
“Oh, brother,” burst out George, with strange violence, “do you believe
I wanted this place at the price of your child’s life? I would give it
all, twenty times over, to have her back!”
“If I had thought you coveted it I should never have made you my heir,”
was Laurence’s reply to this.
Never was there a kinder or more helpful soul than Betty, now a tall
and beautiful girl of fourteen. Mrs. Washington’s health was much
shattered by this last and greatest sorrow and Laurence, who had always
been of a delicate constitution, became every day more feeble. George
attended him assiduously, rarely leaving him. He persuaded his brother
to ride out and take some interest in the place. He read to Laurence
of evenings in the library, and tried to interest him with accounts of
the new regions in which the younger brother had spent so many months.
Nothing could ever make Laurence Washington a happy man again, but by
George’s efforts he was saved from falling into utter melancholy.
Mrs. Washington’s sorrow, though as great, was better controlled.
She always managed to wear a cheerful look before her husband, and
although she was not able to accompany him in his out-door life, she
was with him every moment he spent in-doors. Betty was to her as great
a comfort as George was to Laurence Washington. Betty had so tender a
heart and so excellent an understanding that she was as helpful as a
woman twice her age, and these two young creatures, George and Betty,
were mainstays and comforts at an age when most young creatures rely
wholly on other people.
All day they were engaged, each in gentle and untiring efforts to make
life a little brighter to their brother and sister. But after the older
persons had retired every night George and Betty would sit up over the
fire in the library and talk for hours. Their conversations were not
always sad--it is not natural for the young to dwell in sadness--but
they were generally serious. One night Betty said:
“Don’t you think, George, we ought to write to our mother and ask her
to let us stay over Christmas with brother Laurence and sister Anne?
You remember how gay it was last Christmas, and how glad we were to be
here? Now, I think when they are in great trouble, we ought to be as
willing to stay with them as when they were happy and bright and could
make us enjoy ourselves.”
“Betty,” answered George, in admiration, “why did I not think of this?
I see it is just what we ought to do.”
“Because,” said Betty, promptly, “women are much more thoughtful than
men, and girls are much more thoughtful than boys.”
George did not dispute this, as he had been taught never to call in
question any woman’s goodness, and in his heart he believed them to be
all as good as his mother and Betty and his sister Anne. The lesson of
chivalry towards all women had been early and deeply taught him, and it
was a part of the fibre of his being. “And shall I write and ask our
mother to let us stay?” asked George, humbly.
“No,” replied Betty, with a slight accent of scorn; “you might not ask
it in the right way. I shall write myself.”
Now, although Betty always assumed, when alone with George, this
superior tone, yet when they were in company nothing could exceed her
submissiveness towards this darling brother, and it was then George’s
turn to treat her with condescending kindness. But each thought this
arrangement perfectly natural and mutually satisfactory. Whenever
they had a discussion, though, Betty always carried the day, for she
was really a girl of remarkably fine sense and much more glib and
persuasive than George, who could always be silenced, if not convinced,
by Betty’s ready tongue and quick wit. The next day the letter was
written to Madam Washington, and within a week a reply was received
giving permission for the brother and sister to remain over Christmas.
Mrs. Washington, ever thoughtful of others, made the same preparation
for the holiday on the estate as usual, so that, however sad the house
might be, the servants should have their share of jollity. But the tie
between a kind master and mistress and their slaves was one of great
affection, and especially were the white children objects of affection
to the black people. Therefore, although the usual Christmas holiday
was given, with all the extra allowances and indulgences, it was a
quiet season at Mount Vernon. On Christmas Day, instead of the merry
party in carriages going to Pohick Church, and an equally merry one
going on board the _Bellona_ to service, the coach only took Mr. and
Mrs. Washington and Betty to church, George riding with them, for he
hated a coach, and never drove when he could ride.
Meanwhile William Fairfax had returned to Belvoir, where there were
Christmas festivities. George and Betty were asked, and, although
their brother and sister urged them to go, neither felt really inclined
for gayety. They were not of those natures forever in pursuit of
pleasure, although none could enjoy it more when it came rightly; and
a native good sense and tender sympathy with others, which found no
expression in words, made them both feel that they should omit no mark
of respect in a case where they were so directly benefited as by the
little girl’s death. Laurence Washington and his wife could not admire
too much George’s delicacy about Mount Vernon. While he made use of the
servants and the horses and carriages and boats, and everything else on
the place, with the freedom of a son rather than a younger brother, no
word or look escaped him that indicated he was the heir.
William Fairfax was a great resource to both George and Betty. Living a
whole summer together as he and George had done, it was inevitable that
they should become either very much attached or very antagonistic--and
luckily they had become devotedly fond of one another. William was
preparing to enter William and Mary College the following year,
and George bitterly regretted that he would not have so pleasant
a companion for his next summer’s work. Very different were his
circumstances now, the acknowledged heir of a rich brother. But George
determined to act as if no such thing existed, and to carry out his
plan of finishing the surveys on Lord Fairfax’s lands. The universal
expectation of war with France, whenever the French and English
outposts should get sufficiently near, made him sure that he would one
day bear arms; but he prepared for whatever the future might hold for
him by doing his best in the present.
[Illustration: “BY DAYLIGHT GEORGE WAS IN THE SADDLE”]
In February he returned to Ferry Farm for a while, but he had only been
there a month when Laurence Washington wrote, begging that he would
return, and saying that he himself felt utterly unequal to carrying
on the affairs of a great estate in his present wretched state of
health and spirits. Madam Washington made no objection to George’s
return to Mount Vernon. She realized the full extent of Laurence’s
kind intentions towards George, and that his presence was absolutely
necessary to keep the machinery of a large plantation going.
In March, therefore, George was again at Mount Vernon, practically in
charge of the place. There was ploughing and ditching and draining and
clearing and planting to be done, and, with a force of a hundred and
fifty field-hands and eighteen hundred acres of arable land, it was no
small undertaking. By daylight George was in the saddle, going first
to the stables to see the stock fed, then to the kennels, and, after
breakfast, riding over the whole estate. It kept him in the open air
all day, and he began to like not only the life but the responsibility.
He had all the privileges of the master, Laurence leaving everything
to his judgment, and his sister was glad to have it so. This continued
until June, when, the crops being well advanced and Lord Fairfax having
written urgently for him, he turned affairs over to the overseer until
the autumn, and prepared to resume his work as a surveyor.
He paid a hurried visit to Ferry Farm, where, although he was painfully
missed, things went on perfectly well, for no better farmer than Madam
Washington could be found in the colony of Virginia. Indeed, George’s
success at Mount Vernon was due in great measure to applying the
sound system in vogue at Ferry Farm to the larger interests at Mount
Vernon. Madam Washington’s pride in his responsible position at Mount
Vernon, and his still greater responsibility as a State surveyor for
Lord Fairfax, did much to reconcile her to George’s long absences.
Deep in her heart she cherished a pride in her eldest son that was one
of the master-passions of her life. The extreme respect that George
paid her filled her with more satisfaction than the attentions of all
the rest of the world. Once only had they clashed--in the matter of
the midshipman’s warrant. She had won a nominal victory by an appeal
to his feelings, but she had no mind after that for any more battles
of the sort. So with tears, but with encouraging smiles, she saw him
set forth, in the summer of 1749, upon his second year’s work in the
wilderness.