him, as if wondering what all this counsel meant. Mr. Washington waited
for his son to speak; and just as he was concluding that George had
nothing to say for himself, the latter turned manfully to his father,
and said:
"_Well, pa, only forgive me this time, and see if I am ever stingy any
more._"
Mr. Washington had a purpose in going to the orchard, and it was well
accomplished. His son got one nobler idea into his head, and one nobler
resolve into his heart. Henceforth the noble boy would treat selfishness
as a foe instead of a friend.
Mr. Washington resorted to the following device to impress his son with
a proper conception of God as the Creator of all things. In the spring
he carefully prepared a bed in the garden, beside the walk, where George
would frequently go for pleasure. When the bed was prepared, he wrote
George's name in full in the pulverized earth, and sowed the same with
cabbage seed. In due time, of course, the seed appeared in green,
thrifty shoots, forming the letters as clearly as they stand in the
alphabet. George discovered them one day. He was then seven or eight
years old. He stood for a moment in silent wonder.
"Those are letters sure enough," he thought.
Then he read them aloud, "G-E-O-R-G-E W-A-S-H-I-N-G-T-O-N."
With wondering eyes he rushed to the house, and excitedly broke the
news.
"Oh, pa, come here! come here!"
"What's the matter, my son? what's the matter?" responded his father.
"Oh, come here, I tell you, pa; come here!" and the boy could scarcely
contain himself, so great was his excitement.
"But what is it, my son? Can't you tell me what has happened?"
"Come here, and I'll show you the greatest sight you ever saw in your
life!"
By this time he was pulling his father along towards the garden, the
latter understanding full well what had happened. Very soon they reached
the bed, where the bright, thrifty cabbage plants had spelled the name
of GEORGE WASHINGTON in full.
"There, pa!" exclaimed George, pointing to his name in cabbage plants,
and exhibiting the greatest astonishment by his appearance. "Did you
ever see such a sight in all your life-time?"
"Well, George, it does seem like a curious affair sure enough," his
father answered. "But who should make it there, pa? Who made it there?"
"Why, it _grew_ there, of course, my son."
"No, pa! No, no! somebody put it there."
"Then you think it did not grow there by _chance_?"
"No, indeed, it never did. That couldn't be."
"How is that, my son? Don't it look very much like _chance_?"
"Why, no, pa; did you ever know anybody's name in a plant bed before?"
"Well, George, might not such a thing happen though I never saw it
before?"
"Yes, pa; but I never saw plants grow up so as to make a single letter
of my name before. How could they grow up so as to make _all_ the
letters of my name! And all standing one after another so as to spell my
name exactly--and all so nice and even, too, at top and bottom! Somebody
did it. _You_ did it, pa, to scare me, because I am your little boy."
"Well, George, you have guessed right," answered Mr. Washington. "I did
do it, but not to scare you, my son, but to teach you a great truth
which I wish you to understand. I want to introduce you to your _true_
Father."
"Ain't you my _true_ father, pa?"
"Yes, I am your father, George, as the world calls it, and love you with
a father's love. Yet, with all my love for you, I am but a poor father
in comparison with your _true_ Father."
"I know well enough whom you mean," continued George. "You mean God,
don't you?"
"Yes, I mean Him, indeed, my son. _He_ is your _true_ Father," was Mr.
Washington's hearty answer.
George went on with his inquiries, and his father, answered, adding at
last:
"Well, then, as you could not believe that _chance_ had made and put
together so exactly the letters of your name (though only sixteen), then
how can you believe that _chance_ could have made and put together all
those millions and millions of things that are now so exactly fitted for
your good! Eyes to see with; ears to hear with; nose to smell with; a
mouth to eat with; teeth to bite with; hands to handle with; feet to
walk with; a mind to think with; a heart to love with; a home to live
in; parents to care for you, and brothers and sisters to love you! Why,
look at this beautiful world in which you live, with its golden, light
to cheer you by day, and its still night to wrap you in sleep when you
are too tired to play; its fruits, and flowers and fields of grass and
grain; its horses to draw you and cows to give you milk; its sheep to
furnish wool to cloth you, and meat for your food; its sun, moon and
stars to comfort you; bubbling springs to quench your thirst; wood to
burn that you may be warm in winter; and _ten thousand other good
things_--so many that my son could never number them all, or even think
of them! Could _chance_ bring about all these things so exactly as to
suit your _wants_ and _wishes_?"
"No, pa, chance could not do it," answered George, really taking in this
new view of the world around him.
"What was it, then, do you think, my son?" continued his father.
"God did it," George replied.
"Yes, George, it is all the work of God, and nobody else," responded his
father. "He gives us all."
"Does God give me everything? Don't you give me _some things_?" George
inquired.
"I give you something!" exclaimed his father. "How can I give you
anything, George? I who have nothing on earth I can call my own; no, not
even the breath I draw!"
"Ain't the house yours, and the garden, and the horses and oxen and
sheep?" still inquired George, failing to comprehend the great truth of
God's ownership.
"Oh, no, my son, no! Why, you make me shrink into nothing, George, when
you talk of all these things belonging to _me_, who can't even make a
_grain of sand_! How could I give life to the oxen and horses, when I
can't give life even to a fly, my son?"
George was introduced into a new world by this lesson, as his father
intended that he should be. His precocious mind grasped, finally, the
great idea of his "_true_ Father," and the lesson never had to be
repeated.
We have rehearsed this incident somewhat in detail as given by Mr.
Weems, because its influence will be found interwoven with George's
future private and public life.
Another story told by Mr. Weems is the famous _hatchet_ story, which has
been rehearsed to so many children, since that day, to rebuke falsehood
and promote truth-telling.
His father made him a present of a hatchet with which George was
especially delighted. Of course he proceeded forthwith to try it, first
hacking his mother's pea-sticks, and, finally, trying its edge upon the
body of a beautiful "English cherry-tree." Without understanding that he
was destroying the tree, he chopped away upon it to his heart's content,
leaving the bark, if not the solid wood underneath, in a very
dilapidated condition. The next morning his father discovered the
trespass, and, rushing into the house, under much excitement, he
exclaimed:
"My beautiful cherry-tree is utterly ruined. Who could hack it in that
manner?"
Nobody knew.
"I would not have taken five guineas for it," he added, with a
long-drawn sigh. The words had scarcely escaped from his lips before
George appeared with his hatchet.
"George," said his father, "do you know who killed that cherry-tree in
the garden?"
George had not stopped to think, until that moment, that he had used his
hatchet improperly. His father's question was a revelation to him; and
he hung his head in a guilty manner for a moment.
"George, did you do it?" urged his father.
Raising his head, and looking his father fully in the face, he replied:
"I can't tell a lie, pa; you know I can't tell a lie, I did cut it with
my hatchet."
Mr. Washington was well-nigh overcome by this frank and honest reply.
For a moment he stood spell bound; then recovering himself, he
exclaimed:
"Come to my arms, my boy! You have paid for the cherry-tree a thousand
times over. Such an act of heroism is worth more to me than a thousand
trees!"
Mr. Weems regards this honest confession the out-growth of previous
instructions upon the sin of lying and the beauty of truthfulness. He
represents Mr. Washington as saying to his son:
"Truth, George, is the loveliest quality of youth. I would ride fifty
miles, my son, to see the little boy whose heart is so honest, and his
lips so pure, that we may depend on every word he says."
"But, oh, how different, George, is the case with the boy who is so given
to lying that nobody can believe a word he says. He is looked at with
aversion wherever he goes, and parents dread to see him come among their
children. O George, rather than see you come to this pass, dear as you
are to me, I would follow you to your grave."
Here George protested against being charged with lying. "Do I ever tell
lies?" he asked.
"No, George, I thank God you do not; and I rejoice in the hope that you
never will. At least, you shall never, from me, have cause to be guilty
of so shameful a thing. You know I have always told you, and now tell
you again, that, whenever by accident you do anything wrong, which must
often be the case, as you are but a little boy, without _experience_ or
_knowledge_, never tell a falsehood to conceal it; but come bravely up,
and tell me of it; and your confession will merit love instead of
punishment."
As we proceed with this narrative, after having enjoyed this glimpse of
George's earliest years, the charming lines of Burleigh will find a
fitting application.
"By honest work and inward truth
The victories of our life are won,
And what is wisely done in youth
For all the years is wisely done;
The little deeds of every day
Shape that within which lives for aye.
"No thought so buried in the dark
It shall not bear its bloom in light;
No act too small to leave its mark
Upon the young hearts tablet white;
Our grand achievements, secret springs,
Are tempered among trivial things.
"No soul at last is truly great
That was not greatly true at first;
In childhood's play are seeds of fate
Whose flower in manhood's work shall burst.
In the clinched fist of baby Thor
Might seem his hammer clutched for war.
* * * * *
"The firmest tower to heaven up-piled
Hides deepest its foundation-stone;
Do well the duty of the child,
And manhood's task is well begun;
In thunders of the forum yet
Resounds the mastered alphabet."
George was about eight years old when a great excitement arose among the
colonists in Virginia, and the fife and drum were heard, to announce
that England, the mother country, needed soldiers.
"A regiment of four battalions is called for, by the king, for a
campaign in the West Indies," announced Mr. Washington to his son
Lawrence, a young man twenty-two years of age.
"A good opportunity for me," answered Lawrence, who possessed much of
the military spirit of his ancestors. "Perhaps I can get a commission."
"Perhaps so," responded his father; "your education ought to place you
above the common soldier."
Lawrence had just returned from England, where he had spent seven years
in study, enjoying the best literary advantages the country could
afford.
"Well, I can enlist and then see what can be done," continued Lawrence.
"The regiment will be raised at once, and I can soon find out whether
there is an appointment for me."
Soon recruiting parties were parading at the sound of fife and drum, and
the military spirit was aroused in the hearts of both young and old. The
enthusiasm spread and grew like a fire in the wilderness. The colonists
were truly loyal to the king, and their patriotism led them, heartily
and promptly, into the defence of the English cause in the West Indies
against the Spaniards.
Recruiting advanced rapidly, and the regiment was soon raised. Lawrence
obtained a captain's commission, and appeared wearing the insignia
of his office. Music, drilling, parading, now became the order of the
day, and it was a new and exciting scene to George. Soldiers in uniform,
armed and equipped for war, marching at the sound of music, captivated
his soul. It awakened all the ancestral spirit of chivalry that was in
his heart. The sight of his big brother at the head of his company,
drilling his men in military tactics, filled him with wonder. Gladly
would he have donned a soldier's suit and sailed with the regiment to
the West Indies, so wrought upon was his young heart.
In due time the regiment embarked for the West Indies, and George was
obliged to part with his noble brother, to whom he had become strongly
attached since his return from England. The departure of so many
colonists, and the cessation of military display, left George in a
serious frame of mind. For the first time in his life he experienced the
sensation of loneliness.
However, he had caught the military spirit, and he found relief in
playing soldier with his companions. There is no doubt that George
inherited somewhat the love and tact for military life for which his
English ancestors were renowned; and now that born element of his
character was called into active exercise. The recruiting campaign
converted him into an amateur soldier.
From that time George found more real pleasure in mimic parades and
battles than he found in any other sport. A stick, corn-stalk or
broom-handle, answered for gun or sword, and the meadow in front of his
father's house became his muster-field. Here Lewis Willis, John
Fitzhugh, William Bustle, Langhorn Dade, and other companions, marched
and counter-marched, under the generalship of their young commander,
George. Soldiering became the popular pastime of the region, in which
the boys played the part of the Englishmen and Spaniards better than
boys can do it now.
Lawrence served two years under Admiral Vernon in the West Indies
campaign, and returned to Virginia in the autumn of 1742. He proved
himself a hero in war. Irving says: "He was present at the siege of
Carthagena, when it was bombarded by the fleet, and when the troops
attempted to escalade the citadel. It was an ineffectual attack; the
ships could not get near enough to throw their shells into the town, and
the scaling ladders proved too short. That part of the attack, however,
with which Lawrence was concerned, distinguished itself by its bravery.
The troops sustained, unflinching, a destructive fire for several hours,
and at length retired with honor, their small force having sustained a
loss of about six hundred in killed and wounded."
Lawrence intended to return to England after a brief stay at home.
"My record will insure me a promotion in the army," he said to his
father, who was averse at first to his return.
"Very true; but army life is objectionable in many ways," his father
replied. "The honors hardly pay."
"But my experience for two years has fitted me for that service more
than for any other, and that is to be thought of," suggested Lawrence.
"Yes; but other avenues to business are always open to young men of
spirit," remarked his father. "Nor is it necessary for them to leave the
country in order to accomplish a noble purpose."
However, Mr. Washington withdrew his objections to his son's return to
the army; though, subsequently, he was pleased that he abandoned the
project under the following circumstances.
There lived an educated English gentleman in Fairfax County by the name
of William Fairfax. He had charge of a very large estate belonging to
his cousin, Lord Fairfax, of England. This William Fairfax had a
daughter, Anne, as well educated and accomplished as Lawrence. Mutual
respect between Lawrence and Anne ripened into mutual love, and they
became engaged. This unexpected episode in the lives of the promising
couple changed the plans of Lawrence; and he voluntarily abandoned the
idea of returning to the army.
The martial spirit of George did not abate when Lawrence came home from
the war; it rather increased than otherwise. For his ears were regaled
with many stories of army life, in which bravery, peril, bloodshed, and
hairbreadth escapes were strangely mixed. There was a singular
fascination in these tales of war to George; and he never tired of
listening to them. The more he heard, the more he enjoyed playing
soldier. He was constantly learning military tactics, too, from the lips
of his brother. Being a bright, intelligent boy, he readily comprehended
and appropriated information upon a subject that was so congenial to his
heart. Lawrence was impressed by the precocity of his little brother, as
well as his tact at soldiering, so that he was all the more gratified to
nurture his martial spirit by rehearsing his experience in war. Lawrence
was twenty-four years of age, and George but ten, so that the latter
looked up to the former somewhat as a son looks up to a father, drinking
in his words as words of wisdom, and accepting his experience as that of
an officer of rank. Lawrence became his military teacher, really; and
the opportunity to George proved a sort of West Point.
Lawrence, and others, too, were very much charmed by George's manly
bearing, even before he was ten years old. John Fitzhugh said of him,
"He was born a man."
He was very handsome, large of his age, tall and straight, graceful and
dignified in his movements. These qualities were so conspicuous as to
attract the attention of strangers.
He was very athletic, too, and loved more active sports than playing
marbles. He excelled in running, wrestling, leaping, and throwing the
bar, sports that were popular at that time. In these things he took the
lead.
John Fitzhugh said of him, as a runner: "He ran wonderfully. We had
nobody hereabouts that could come near him. There was a young Langhorn
Dade, of Westmoreland, a clean-made, light young fellow, a mighty swift
runner, too--but then he was no match for George: Langy, indeed, did not
like to give it up, and would brag that he had sometimes brought George
to a tie. But I believe he was mistaken; for I have seen them run
together many a time, and George always beat him easy enough."
He would throw a stone further then any other boy. Col. Lewis Willis,
who was one of his boon companions, said that he "had often seen George
throw a stone across the Rappahannock, at the lower ferry of
Fredericksburg." No other boy could do it.
His great physical strength was early displayed in lifting and carrying
burdens.
The sequel will show how well his marked physical development served him
in public life. A boy of less muscular power could not have made a
general of such endurance under privations and hardships.
Much more relating to the boyhood of George Washington will appear in
subsequent chapters. Enough has been said in this chapter to accomplish
our purpose.
III.
SCHOOL-DAYS.
"We must come to some conclusion before long about Lawrence's
education," remarked Mr. Washington to his wife. "It is certain that not
much more can be done for him here."
"He deserves and must have something better than the schools of this
colony can give him," answered Mrs. Washington. "Besides, it will do the
boy good to go from home, and mix in such cultivated society as he will
have in England."
They had often discussed the matter of sending Lawrence to England to be
educated. The wealthier classes of Virginia were accustomed to send
their sons to the mother country for a higher education than was
possible at home. Indeed, it was sending them "home" in one sense, for
England was their "home." They were only colonists here, where the
schools were poor indeed. Neither their good-will nor their money alone
could make good schools. They lacked suitable teachers and other
facilities, which neither money nor good intentions could furnish.
"He should go, if he goes at all, as soon as possible," continued Mr.
Washington. "There is no time to lose when a boy gets to be fifteen
years old. Eight years at school there will make him twenty-three when
he gets through; and by that time he should be prepared to enter upon
some pursuit for life."
"Eight years is a longer time than it is absolutely necessary for him to
spend," suggested Mrs. Washington. "Five or six years may be sufficient
unless he decides to enter one of the learned professions."
"He can't be too well educated, whether he enters a learned profession
or not," responded Mr. Washington. "Too much education is quite as
impossible as too much honesty; and I do not expect he will ever have
too much of the latter."
"I shall not deny that," replied Mrs. Washington. "I shall rejoice as
much as you in the best opportunities he can have. I was only suggesting
what might be if absolutely necessary to save time or expense."
Their conclusion was (as stated in the second chapter), to send Lawrence
to England as soon as his wardrobe could be made ready, in which
determination the lad rejoiced more than his parents ever knew. His
ambition for an English education was strong; and, boy-like, he coveted
a residence in England for a while.
Within a few weeks he sailed for the mother country, leaving a sensible
void in the family. George did not interest himself particularly in the
affair, although he might have added an occasional "coo"; for he was
only one year old when his big brother left for England. His
inexperience was sufficient excuse for his indifference to so important
an affair.
George went to school when he was five years of age. A man by the name
of Hobby lived in one of his father's tenements, and he served the
public in the double capacity of parish sexton and school-master. It is
claimed that he was a wounded soldier with a wooden leg, a kind,
Christian gentleman, whose very limited education may have qualified him
to dig graves and open the house of worship, but not to teach the young.
However, he did teach school quite a number of years, and some of his
pupils called him "Old Wooden Leg"--a fact that confirms the story of
his having but one leg. He could "read, write and cipher" possibly, for
that day, but beyond that he made no pretensions. Yet, that was the best
school George could have at that time.
"We hope he will have a better one sometime," his father remarked. "I
may not be able to send him to England, but I hope we shall see better
schools here before many years have passed."
"Mr. Hobby can teach him A, B, C, as well as any body, I suppose,"
answered Mrs. Washington; and he can make a beginning in reading and
writing with him, perhaps.
"Yes, and he may give him a start in arithmetic," added Mr. Washington.
"Hobby knows something of addition, subtraction, multiplication and
division. But a bright boy will run him dry in two or three years."
"Mr. Hobby will do the best he knows how for George or any other boy,"
continued Mrs. Washington. "He is a good man, and looks after the morals
of his scholars; and that is a good deal in educating children."
"Of course it is; it is everything," replied Mr. Washington. "In that
respect, Hobby has the confidence of all who know him. He does the very
best he can, and the most cultivated people can do no better than that."
George was soon on the very best terms with his teacher. The attraction
was mutual. Hobby saw a bright, studious, obedient boy in George, and
George saw a kind, loving and faithful teacher in Hobby. In these
circumstances commendable progress was immediate in George's career.
One of his biographers says of him in Hobby's school: