The Virginians Read online

  CHAPTER VIII. In which George suffers from a Common Disease

  On the day appointed for Madam Esmond's entertainment to the General,the house of Castlewood was set out with the greatest splendour; andMadam Esmond arrayed herself in a much more magnificent dress than shewas accustomed to wear. Indeed, she wished to do every honour to herguest, and to make the entertainment--which, in reality, was a sadone to her--as pleasant as might be for her company. The General's newaide-de-camp was the first to arrive. The widow received him in thecovered gallery before the house. He dismounted at the steps, andhis servants led away his horses to the well-known quarters. No younggentleman in the colony was better mounted or a better horseman than Mr.Washington.

  For a while ere the Major retired to divest himself of his riding-boots,he and his hostess paced the gallery in talk. She had much to say tohim; she had to hear from him a confirmation of his own appointment asaide-de-camp to General Braddock, and to speak of her son's approachingdeparture. The negro servants bearing the dishes for the approachingfeast were passing perpetually as they talked. They descended the stepsdown to the rough lawn in front of the house, and paced a while in theshade. Mr. Washington announced his Excellency's speedy approach, withMr. Franklin of Pennsylvania in his coach.

  This Mr. Franklin had been a common printer's boy, Mrs. Esmond hadheard; a pretty pass things were coming to when such persons rode in thecoach of the Commander-in-Chief! Mr. Washington said, a more shrewd andsensible gentleman never rode in coach or walked on foot. Mrs. Esmondthought the Major was too liberally disposed towards this gentleman; butMr. Washington stoutly maintained against the widow that the printer wasa most ingenious, useful, and meritorious man.

  "I am glad, at least, that, as my boy is going to make the campaign, hewill not be with tradesmen, but with gentlemen, with gentlemen of honourand fashion," says Madam Esmond, in her most stately manner.

  Mr. Washington had seen the gentlemen of honour and fashion over theircups, and perhaps thought that all their sayings and doings were notprecisely such as would tend to instruct or edify a young man on hisentrance into life; but he wisely chose to tell no tales out of school,and said that Harry and George, now they were coming into the world,must take their share of good and bad, and hear what both sorts had tosay.

  "To be with a veteran officer of the finest army in the world," falteredthe widow; "with gentlemen who have been bred in the midst of the Court;with friends of his Royal Highness, the Duke----"

  The widow's friend only inclined his head. He did not choose to allowhis countenance to depart from its usual handsome gravity.

  "And with you, dear Colonel Washington, by whom my father always setsuch store. You don't know how much he trusted in you. You will takecare of my boy, sir, will not you? You are but five years older, yetI trust to you more than to his seniors; my father always told thechildren, I alway bade them, to look up to Mr. Washington."

  "You know I would have done anything to win Colonel Esmond's favour.Madam, how much would I not venture to merit his daughter's?"

  The gentleman bowed with not too ill a grace. The lady blushed,and dropped one of the lowest curtsies. (Madam Esmond's curtsey wasconsidered unrivalled over the whole province.) "Mr. Washington," shesaid, "will be always sure of a mother's affection, whilst he gives somuch of his to her children." And so saying she gave him her hand, whichhe kissed with profound politeness. The little lady presently re-enteredher mansion, leaning upon the tall young officer's arm. Here they werejoined by George, who came to them, accurately powdered and richlyattired, saluting his parent and his friend alike with low andrespectful bows. Nowadays, a young man walks into his mother's room withhobnailed high-lows, and a wideawake on his head; and instead of makingher a bow, puffs a cigar into her face.

  But George, though he made the lowest possible bow to Mr. Washington andhis mother, was by no means in good-humour with either of them. Apolite smile played round the lower part of his countenance, whilstwatchfulness and wrath glared out from the two upper windows. What hadbeen said or done? Nothing that might not have been performed or utteredbefore the most decent, polite, or pious company. Why then should MadamEsmond continue to blush, and the brave Colonel to look somewhat red, ashe shook his young friend's hand?

  The Colonel asked Mr. George if he had had good sport? "No," saysGeorge, curtly. "Have you?" And then he looked at the picture of hisfather, which hung in the parlour.

  The Colonel, not a talkative man ordinarily, straightway entered intoa long description of his sport, and described where he had been in themorning, and what woods he had hunted with the king's officers; how manybirds they had shot, and what game they had brought down. Though nota jocular man ordinarily, the Colonel made a long description of Mr.Braddock's heavy person and great boots, as he floundered throughthe Virginian woods, hunting, as they called it, with a pack of dogsgathered from various houses, with a pack of negroes barking as loud asthe dogs, and actually shooting the deer when they came in sight of him."Great God, sir!" says Mr. Braddock, puffing and blowing, "whatwould Sir Robert have said in Norfolk, to see a man hunting with afowling-piece in his hand, and a pack of dogs actually laid on to aturkey!"

  "Indeed, Colonel, you are vastly comical this afternoon!" cries MadamEsmond, with a neat little laugh, whilst her son listened to the story,looking more glum than ever. "What Sir Robert is there at Norfolk? Is heone of the newly arrived army-gentlemen?"

  "The General meant Norfolk at home, madam, not Norfolk in Virginia,"said Colonel Washington. "Mr. Braddock had been talking of a visit toSir Robert Walpole, who lived in that county, and of the great hunts theold Minister kept there, and of his grand palace, and his pictures atHoughton. I should like to see a good field and a good fox-chase at homebetter than any sight in the world," the honest sportsman added with asigh.

  "Nevertheless, there is good sport here, as I was saying," said youngEsmond, with a sneer.

  "What sport?" cries the other, looking at him.

  "Why, sure you know, without looking at me so fiercely, and stampingyour foot, as if you were going to charge me with the foils. Are you notthe best sportsman of the country-side? Are there not all the fishof the field, and the beasts of the trees, and the fowls of thesea--no--the fish of the trees, and the beasts of the sea--and the--bah!You know what I mean. I mean shad, and salmon, and rock-fish, androe-deer, and hogs, and buffaloes, and bisons, and elephants, for what Iknow. I'm no sportsman."

  "No, indeed," said Mr. Washington, with a look of scarcely repressedscorn.

  "Yes, I understand you. I am a milksop. I have been bred at my mamma'sknee. Look at these pretty apron-strings, Colonel! Who would not like tobe tied to them? See of what a charming colour they are! I remember whenthey were black--that was for my grandfather."

  "And who would not mourn for such a gentleman?" said the Colonel, as thewidow, surprised, looked at her son.

  "And, indeed, I wish my grandfather were here, and would resurge, as hepromises to do on his tombstone; and would bring my father, the Ensign,with him."

  "Ah, Harry!" cries Mrs. Esmond, bursting into tears, as at this junctureher second son entered the room--in just such another suit, gold-cordedfrock, braided waistcoat, silver-hilted sword, and solitaire, as thatwhich his elder brother wore. "Oh, Harry, Harry!" cries Madam Esmond,and flies to her younger son.

  "What is it, mother?" asks Harry, taking her in his arms. "What is thematter, Colonel?"

  "Upon my life, it would puzzle me to say," answered the Colonel, bitinghis lips.

  "A mere question, Hal, about pink ribbons, which I think vastly becomingto our mother; as, no doubt, the Colonel does."

  "Sir, will you please to speak for yourself?" cried the Colonel,bustling up, and then sinking his voice again.

  "He speaks too much for himself," wept the widow.

  "I protest I don't any more know the source of these tears, than thesource of the Nile," said George, "and if the picture of my father wereto begin to cry, I should almost as much wonder at the paterna
l tears.What have I uttered? An allusion to ribbons! Is there some poisoned pinin them, which has been struck into my mother's heart by a guilty fiendof a London mantua-maker? I professed to wish to be led in these lovelyreins all my life long," and he turned a pirouette on his scarlet heels.

  "George Warrington! what devil's dance are you dancing now?" askedHarry, who loved his mother, who loved Mr. Washington, but who, of allcreatures, loved and admired his brother George.

  "My dear child, you do not understand dancing--you care not for thepoliter arts--you can get no more music out of a spinet than by pullinga dead hog by the ear. By nature you were made for a man--a man ofwar--I do not mean a seventy-four, Colonel George, like that hulk whichbrought the hulking Mr. Braddock into our river. His Excellency, too,is a man of warlike turn, a follower of the sports of the field. I am amilksop, as I have had the honour to say."

  "You never showed it yet. You beat that great Maryland man was twiceyour size," breaks out Harry.

  "Under compulsion, Harry. 'Tis tuptu, my lad, or else 'tis tuptomai, asthy breech well knew when we followed school. But I am of a quiet turn,and would never lift my hand to pull a trigger, no, nor a nose, noranything but a rose," and here he took and handled one of Madam Esmond'sbright pink apron ribbons. "I hate sporting, which you and the Colonellove, and I want to shoot nothing alive, not a turkey, nor a titmouse,nor an ox, nor an ass, nor anything that has ears. Those curls of Mr.Washington's are prettily powdered."

  The militia colonel, who had been offended by the first part of thetalk, and very much puzzled by the last, had taken a modest draught fromthe great china bowl of apple-toddy which stood to welcome the guestsin this as in all Virginian houses, and was further cooling himself bypacing the balcony in a very stately manner.

  Again almost reconciled with the elder, the appeased mother stood givinga hand to each of her sons. George put his disengaged hand on Harry'sshoulder. "I say one thing, George," says he with a flushing face.

  "Say twenty things, Don Enrico," cries the other.

  "If you are not fond of sporting and that, and don't care for killinggame and hunting, being cleverer than me, why shouldst thou not stopat home and be quiet, and let me go out with Colonel George and Mr.Braddock?--that's what I say," says Harry, delivering himself of hisspeech.

  The widow looked eagerly from the dark-haired to the fair-haired boy.She knew not from which she would like to part.

  "One of our family must go because honneur oblige, and my name beingnumber one, number one must go first," says George.

  "Told you so," said poor Harry.

  "One must stay, or who is to look after mother at home? We cannot affordto be both scalped by Indians or fricasseed by French."

  "Fricasseed by French!" cries Harry; "the best troops of the world!Englishmen! I should like to see them fricasseed by the French!--What amortal thrashing you will give them!" and the brave lad sighed to thinkhe should not be present at the battue.

  George sate down to the harpsichord and played and sang "Malbrouk s'enva-t-en guerre, Mironton, mironton, mirontaine," at the sound of whichmusic the gentleman from the balcony entered. "I am playing 'God savethe King,' Colonel, in compliment to the new expedition."

  "I never know whether thou art laughing or in earnest," said the simplegentleman, "but surely methinks that is not the air."

  George performed ever so many trills and quavers upon his harpsichord,and their guest watched him, wondering, perhaps, that a gentleman ofGeorge's condition could set himself to such an effeminate business.Then the Colonel took out his watch, saying that his Excellency's coachwould be here almost immediately, and asking leave to retire to hisapartment, and put himself in a fit condition to appear before herladyship's company.

  "Colonel Washington knows the way to his room pretty well," said George,from the harpsichord, looking over his shoulder, but never offering tostir."

  "Let me show the Colonel to his chamber," cried the widow, in greatwrath, and sailed out of the apartment, followed by the enraged andbewildered Colonel, as George continued crashing among the keys. Herhigh-spirited guest felt himself insulted, he could hardly say how; hewas outraged and he could not speak; he was almost stifling with anger.

  Harry Warrington remarked their friend's condition. "For heaven's sake,George, what does this all mean?" he asked his brother. "Why shouldn'the kiss her hand?" (George had just before fetched out his brother fromtheir library, to watch this harmless salute.) "I tell you it is nothingbut common kindness."

  "Nothing but common kindness!" shrieked out George. "Look at that, Hal!Is that common kindness?" and he showed his junior the unlucky paperover which he had been brooding for some time. It was but a fragment,though the meaning was indeed clear without the preceding text.

  The paper commenced: "... is older than myself, but I, again, am olderthan my years; and you know, dear brother, have ever been considered asober person. All children are better for a father's superintendence,and her two, I trust, will find in me a tender friend and guardian."

  "Friend and guardian! Curse him!" shrieked out George, clenching hisfists--and his brother read on:

  "... The flattering offer which General Braddock hath made me, will, ofcourse, oblige me to postpone this matter until after the campaign. Whenwe have given the French a sufficient drubbing, I shall return to reposeunder my own vine and fig-tree."

  "He means Castlewood. These are his vines," George cries again, shakinghis fist at the creepers sunning themselves on the wall.

  "... Under my own vine and fig-tree; where I hope soon to present mydear brother to his new sister-in-law. She has a pretty Scripture name,which is..."--and here the document ended.

  "Which is Rachel," George went on bitterly. "Rachel is by no meansweeping for her children, and has every desire to be comforted. Now,Harry! Let us upstairs at once, kneel down as becomes us, and say, 'Dearpapa, welcome to your house of Castlewood.'"