Very splendid was the ball at the palace that night, and very splendid
to George’s provincial eyes were the assemblies in the great Apollo
Room at the Raleigh, where the wits and beaux and belles of the
colonial court assembled. Sir John Peyton was not the only dandy to
be met with there, although by far the most entertaining. There were
many handsome and imposing matrons, but George saw none that his mother
could not outshine in dignity and grace; and many beautiful girls, but
none more charming than Betty. As communication with his home was easy
and frequent, he could write long, descriptive letters to Ferry Farm
as well as to Mount Vernon. Betty became so infatuated with George’s
accounts of the fine people and gay doings at Williamsburg that she
wrote George: “I wish, dear George, you would not write me any more
about the routs and assemblies at Williamsburg, for your poor sister’s
head is so full of junkets and capers and the like that she attends to
her duties very ill, and drops stitches in her knitting, which brings
her many reproofs, and plays nothing but jigs on the harpsichord,
instead of those noble compositions of Mr. Handel, of which our mother
is so fond.”
George laughed when he read this. He knew, no matter how much Betty’s
little head might be filled with gayeties, she never forgot to do her
whole duty, and had always time for a kind act or an affectionate word
to others. But there were more than balls and routs and governor’s
levees in this visit. George had the opportunity of knowing men
prominent in colonial matters--statesmen, scholars, lawyers, men
of affairs--and Lord Fairfax, ever on the alert for his favorite’s
advancement, lost no chance of bringing him to the attention of those
in power.
Among the persons they met were many officers of the governor’s
suite, as well as those attached to the ships at Yorktown. George’s
passion for a military life had never died, or even languished; but
by the exertion of a powerful will he had kept it in abeyance until
the times were ripe. Already were Governor Dinwiddie and his council
preparing a scheme of defence for the frontier, and Lord Fairfax, with
other leading men in the colony, were invited to meet the governor
and council to discuss these affairs. After attending one of these
meetings the earl, on coming back to his lodgings, said:
“George, after our conference broke up I talked with the governor
concerning you and your future, and he promised me, if the plan
is carried out of dividing the colony into districts with an
inspector-general with the rank of major for each, that you shall
have a commission--that is, if you have not given up your wish for a
military life.”
As Lord Fairfax spoke a deep red dyed George’s face.
“Thank you, sir,” he said. “I never have given up, I never can give up,
my wish for a military life; and although I did not accept the warrant
I was given in the navy, it almost broke my heart. But fighting for
my country is another thing; and if the governor calls on me for my
services it would certainly be my duty to respond--and I will.”
After four delightful weeks in Williamsburg they returned to Mount
Vernon; and George, following his plan for two years past, divided
his time between Mount Vernon and Ferry Farm until April, when he
again started for Greenway Court, where Lord Fairfax had preceded him.
Again he started for the frontier with Gist and Davidson, and again
he repeated the experiences of the former year almost without the
slightest variation. But on his return in September to Greenway Court
a melancholy letter from Laurence Washington awaited him. The doctors
had declared a sea-voyage the only thing that would restore Laurence’s
health; and passage for Barbadoes had been engaged in the _Sprightly
Jane_, a commodious merchantman, sailing between Alexandria and the
West Indies. Laurence wrote, saying that George must accompany him,
otherwise he would not go, to suffer and die, perhaps, among strangers.
Two hours after receiving this letter George was on his way to Mount
Vernon. The earl, ever kind, assured him that Gist and Davidson, both
highly intelligent men, could give him all the information necessary,
together with George’s papers, and, furnished with the best horse in
the stables at Greenway Court, George set out with a heavy heart. He
travelled night and day, and reached Mount Vernon a week before the
very earliest that he was expected. His brother’s pale and emaciated
countenance, his sister’s anxiety, cut George to the heart. All the
preparations for sailing were made, and the _Sprightly Jane_ only
waited a fair wind to trip her anchor. George took time to spend one
day at Ferry Farm. Madam Washington was a woman of great fortitude
except in one particular--she trembled at the idea of danger to this
best-beloved son; but she made no objection to the voyage, which she
saw that George considered not only his duty but his pleasure to make
to oblige the best of brothers. But Betty had fortitude even in parting
with him. As George rode back through the night to Mount Vernon he
could not recall a single instance in connection with himself that
Betty had ever once considered herself or her love for him or the
solace of his society; always, her first and only thought was for his
credit.
“Dear Betty,” thought George, as his horse took the road steadily
through the darkness, “I believe you would inspire the veriest poltroon
that walks with courage to do his duty.”
And Betty was so very pretty and winning and coquettish, and had troops
of young gentlemen to admire her, at whom George scowled darkly and
thought Betty entirely too young for such things. But Betty thought
differently, and rated George soundly for his overbearing ways in that
respect. For she was not the least afraid of him, and could talk him
down with the greatest spirit and emphasis at any time, George being a
little in awe of Betty’s nimble tongue.
Late in September Laurence Washington, with George and his faithful
body-servant Peter, sailed for Barbadoes. The voyage lasted five
weeks, and was very tedious. It did more to cure George of his still
smouldering passion for a sea life than he had thought possible. To
a young man accustomed to the boundless forests the confinement was
irksome. He was used to pursue his plans regardless of weather, and
the lying motionless for days in a dead and depressing calm chafed him
inexpressibly. Laurence, who bore patiently all the discomforts and
delays of their position, could not forbear a wan smile when George,
coming down one day to his cabin, burst forth:
“Brother, you were right to prefer the army to the navy for me. At
least, let me be where if I walk ten miles I shall be ten miles
advanced on my way. I have walked ten miles around this vessel, and I
am just where I started.”
On a beautiful autumn morning, under a dazzling sun, they landed at
Barbadoes. The governor of the island, hearing that the sick gentleman
had once been an officer in the British army, immediately called at
their temporary lodgings and offered every kindness in his power. He
advised Laurence to take a house in the country near the sea, and
where the air was good. That afternoon they drove out to the house
recommended by the governor, and in a few days were comfortably
established there.
At first Laurence improved much. He received every attention, and took
pleasure in the society of the officers of the garrison, who found two
polished and educated strangers a great resource in their monotonous
lives. So anxious was one of them--Colonel Clarke--to have them to
dinner that he very unwisely invited them without mentioning that a
member of his family was just recovering from the small-pox.
They knew nothing of it until their return home, when both of them
were naturally indignant; and George had reason to be, for within nine
days he was seized with a well-marked case of the terrible disease. In
anticipation of it he had made every arrangement, and, having engaged
an old Barbadian negro who had had small-pox for a nurse, he shut
himself up to fight the disease.
His powerful constitution triumphed over it, and in three weeks he
was well. But never, in all his life, did he forget the sufferings of
those dreadful weeks. Utterly unused to illness, he endured agonies
of restlessness, and was like a caged lion in his wrath and furious
impatience. The old Barbadian, who had nursed many small-pox patients,
made him laugh, while in one of his worst moods, by saying, gravely:
“Barbadian nuss small-pox folks forty year. Ain’t neber see no patient
so bad like Massa Washington.”
A fear haunted him that sometimes made him smile grimly, but,
nevertheless, gave him some anxious moments. The idea of being horribly
disfigured for life was bitter to him. He saw no one but the old
Barbadian, and felt afraid to ask him; and as he said nothing about the
marks of the disease, there was room to suspect they were bad. George
had been able to sit up several days before he dared look in the glass.
At last one day, nerving himself, he walked steadily to the mirror
and looked at himself, expecting to see a vision of horror. To his
amazement and deep relief there was not a single permanent mark. His
skin was red, his eyes were hollow and sunken, and he was not by any
means the handsome young man who had landed on the island four weeks
before, but he was unmarked. He felt a deep thankfulness in his heart
when he was thoroughly recovered, though he was distressed to find that
his brother grew daily weaker.
Christmas amid waving palmettos and under a tropical sky was dreary to
the two brothers, and soon after it became plain that the climate was
doing Laurence no good. One night, calling George to him, he said:
“George, I have determined to leave this island, and, with Peter, go to
Bermuda. But I am homesick and heartsick for those I love, therefore I
have determined to send you back to the colony for your sister Anne, to
bring her to me. If I am compelled to be an exile, I will, at least,
have the comfort of her society, and I do not think it right, at your
age, to keep you forever tied to a sick man’s chair.”
George answered, with tears in his eyes:
“Whatever you wish, brother, shall be done.”
It was found that a vessel was sailing for the Potomac in January, and
on her, with a heart heavier than when he came, George embarked the
same day that his brother sailed for Bermuda.
Storms, instead of calms, delayed this return voyage, and it was late
in February before George reached Mount Vernon. He tried to make the
best of Laurence’s condition in describing it to his sister, but Mrs.
Washington, with a sad smile, stopped him.
“I know all that your kind heart, George, would make you say; but I
know, also, that my husband is very, very ill, and when I go to him now
it will be never to leave him again.”
The _Sprightly Jane_ was to make another voyage in March, and it was
intended that George and his sister should sail on her; but she was
delayed below Mount Vernon for two weeks, waiting for a wind. One
morning late in March, George, looking out of the window on rising to
see if there were any chance of getting off that day, felt a strong
wind from the northwest; but as soon as his eyes fell on the river he
saw a frigate at anchor that had evidently come in during the night.
And while watching her he saw the captain’s gig shove off with two
figures in it that wonderfully resembled his brother Laurence and his
faithful Peter. George jumped into his clothes, and ran down-stairs and
to the shore to make certain, and there in the boat, half supported
by his servant, lay Laurence, pale and ill beyond description, but
with a happy light in his weary, suffering eyes. In a few minutes
Mrs. Washington came flying down, and, with clasped hands and tears
streaming down her cheeks, awaited her husband on the end of the little
wharf. The negroes flocked after her, and shouts and cries resounded
of, “Howdy, Marse Laurence! Bless de Lord, you done come! Hi! yonder is
dat ar’ Peter! Lordy, Peter!”
This joyous welcome, the presence of faces dear and familiar, the sight
of home, was almost too much happiness for the poor invalid. George
literally carried Laurence in his strong young arms up to the house,
while his wife clung to his hand, the old black mammy hung over him,
blessing “de Lam’” for letting him return to them, and the negroes
yah-yahed with delight.
“I could not stay away any longer,” said Laurence, “and when the ship
came to Bermuda, and the kind captain saw how hard it was for me to
stay, to die among strangers, he invited me to return with him as his
guest. I thought that you, Anne, and George might already have started
for Bermuda; but, thanks to the good God, I find you here.”
All those who loved Laurence Washington saw that day that his end was
near, and within three months, with the calmness of the Christian
soldier, he gave up his life.
* * * * *
One gloomy September day, just a year from the time he had set forth
with his brother on that dreary voyage, George realized that, at last,
he was master of Mount Vernon, and the realization was among the most
painful moments of his life. He returned to the place from Belvoir,
the home of his sister’s father, where he had left her. In vain he had
pleaded with her to continue at Mount Vernon, for Laurence in his will
had given it to her during her lifetime. But, gentle and submissive in
all else, Anne Washington would not and could not return to the home of
her brief married happiness and the spot connected with the long series
of crushing griefs that had befallen her.
To all of George’s pleadings she had answered:
“No, George. Anywhere on earth to me is better than Mount Vernon. I
understand what you feel, and have not spoken--that you do not wish to
appear to be master while I am living. But you must. I have no fear
that you will not give me my share and more of what comes from the
estate; but I would give it all up rather than go back. My father’s
house is the least painful place to me now.”
There was no moving her, and at last she was permitted to have her own
way.
The servants all crowded around him, and the old mammy, who was
promoted to be housekeeper, wanted him to take the rooms that had
once been his brother’s, but George would not, and had his belongings
placed in the little room overlooking the river which had been his
from his boyhood. This much disgusted Billy, who thought the master of
Mount Vernon quite too modest. He spent the autumn there, varied by
occasional visits to Ferry Farm and his sister at Belvoir. He worked
hard, for he regarded himself as merely his sister’s steward, and he
determined never to make her regret either his brother’s or her own
generosity to him. He never thought Mount Vernon could be so dreary
to him. William Fairfax, who was then graduated from William and Mary
College, came over to see him often, but George had not the heart to
return even William’s visits, so it was all on one side. His mother and
Betty came to visit him, but Madam Washington had upon her hands three
growing lads, the eldest a tall youth of seventeen, and with the vast
cares and responsibilities of the mistress of a plantation in those
days she could not be absent for long. The only time in which there was
any real brightness was once when Betty came over and stayed a whole
month with him. George’s affections, like his passions, were rooted in
the fibre of his being, and he felt his brother’s death with a depth of
sorrow that only those who knew him well could understand.
At Christmas he gave all the negroes their usual privileges and
presents, but closed the house and went to Ferry Farm. In the holiday
time his coming gave the greatest joy, and the cloud upon him began to
lift a little.
Meanwhile he had received his commission as major and inspector-general
of the forces in his district from Governor Dinwiddie, and he entered
with enthusiasm into his work. He attended the general musters
diligently at Alexandria, and used all his influence in promoting
enlistments in the militia. He was then nineteen years old--the
youngest major in the colonial service.
He was in constant receipt of letters from Lord Fairfax, giving him
news of affairs on the frontier, which were assuming a menacing aspect.
In one of these letters Lord Fairfax wrote: “The policy of the English
has always been to keep on friendly terms with the Six Nations, and
the good-will of these great and powerful tribes is essential in the
coming conflict. But they have been tampered with by the French, and
the great chief lately sent me this message: ‘Where are the Indian
lands, anyway? For the French claim all on one side of the Ohio and the
English claim all on the other.’ By which you will see, my dear George,
that in diplomacy, as in war, you will find these chiefs no fools.
Our honorable governor means well, but I think he will wait until a
few men, and perhaps women, are scalped before taking any decisive
measures. I need not say I long to see you. Let not another year pass
without your coming to Greenway Court.”
All during the summer George kept up an active correspondence with the
earl, who had special means of finding out the truth. In the early
autumn he received a very pressing message from the governor, requiring
his presence at Williamsburg. George set off immediately, with Billy,
as usual, in charge of his saddle-bags. These sudden journeys, in which
George could ride tirelessly night and day, very much disgusted Billy,
who, as a man, was quite as fond of his ease as when a boy, but he was
obliged to start on short notice.
They arrived at Williamsburg in the evening, and George immediately
sent Billy to the palace with a letter notifying the governor of his
arrival. In a very little while a letter came back from Governor
Dinwiddie, asking Major Washington’s presence at the palace at his very
earliest convenience.
George had held his commission as major for more than a year,
and at twenty-one military titles have a captivating sound. So
Major Washington, as soon as he had got his supper, changed his
travelling-suit, and, preceded by Billy with a lantern, picked his way
through the muddy streets to the palace. The governor was sitting in
his closet, as his private room was called in those times, with Colonel
Byrd and Colonel Steptoe, his colonial secretary, when the door opened
and Major Washington was announced.
George’s appearance, always striking, was more so from the handsome
mourning-suit he still wore, although his brother had been dead more
than a year. It showed off his blond beauty wonderfully well. His
features had become more marked as he grew older, and although his
face lacked the regular beauty of his father’s, who had been thought
the handsomest man of his time, there was a piercing expression, an
indescribable look of dignity and intelligence in George’s countenance,
which marked him in every company.
The governor, who was a fussy but well-meaning man, began, as soon
as the formal greetings were over: “Major Washington, I have work in
hand for you. I am told by my Lord Fairfax and others that you are
the fittest person in the colony for the expedition I have in hand.
It requires the discretion of an old man, but it also requires the
hardiness and strength of a young man; and you see, therefore, what a
burden I lay upon you.”
George’s face turned quite pale at these words. “Sir,” he stammered,
“you ask more of me than I can do. I will give all my time and all my
mind to my country; but I am afraid, sir--I am very much afraid--that
you are putting me in a position that I am not capable of filling.”
“We must trust some one, Major Washington, and I sent not for you
until I and my council had fully determined what to do. Here are your
instructions. You will see that you are directed to set out with a
suitable escort at once for the Ohio River, and convene all the chiefs
you can at Logstown. You are to find out exactly how they stand towards
us. You are then to take such a route as you think judicious to the
nearest French post, deliver a letter from me, sealed with the great
seal of the colony, to the French commandant, and demand an answer
in the name of his Britannic majesty. You are to find out everything
possible in regard to the number of French forts, their armament,
troops, commissariat, and where they are situated; and upon the
information you bring will depend to a great degree whether there shall
be war between England and France. When will you be ready to depart?”
“To-morrow morning, sir,” answered George.