Boys and girls from Thackeray - Kate Dickinson Sweetser
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Having lost his wife, his daughter took the management of the Colonel and
his estate, and managed both with the spirit and determination which
governed her management of every person and thing which came within her
jurisdiction.
After fifteen years' residence upon his great Virginian estate the
Colonel agreed in his daughter's desire to replace the wooden house in
which they lived, with a nobler mansion which would be more fitting for
his heirs to inherit. His daughter had a very high opinion indeed of her
ancestry, and her father, growing exquisitely calm and good-natured in
his serene declining years, humoured his child's peculiarities and
interests in an easy bantering way. Truth to tell, there were few
families in England with nobler connections than the Esmonds. The
Virginians, Madame Rachel Warrington's sons, inherited the finest blood
and traditions, and the rightful king of England had not two more
faithful little subjects than the young twins of Castlewood.
At Colonel Esmond's death, Madame Esmond, as she was thereafter called,
proclaimed her eldest son, George, heir of the estate; and Harry,
George's younger brother by half an hour, was instructed to respect his
senior. All the household was also instructed to pay him honour, and in
the whole family of servants there was only one rebel, Harry's
foster-mother, a faithful negro woman who never could be made to
understand why her child should not be first, who was handsomer and
stronger and cleverer than his brother, as she vowed; though in truth,
there was not much difference in the beauty, strength, or stature of the
twins. In disposition, they were in many points exceedingly unlike; but
in feature they resembled each other so closely that, but for the colour
of their hair, it had been difficult to distinguish them. In their beds,
and when their heads were covered with those vast ribboned nightcaps
which our great and little ancestors wore, it was scarcely possible for
any but a nurse or a mother to tell the one from the other child.
Howbeit, alike in form, we have said that they differed in temper. The
elder was peaceful, studious and silent; the younger was warlike and
noisy. He was quick at learning when he began, but very slow at
beginning. No threats of the ferule would provoke Harry to learn in an
idle fit, or would prevent George from helping his brother in his lesson.
Harry was of a strong military turn, drilled the little negroes on the
estate, and caned them like a corporal, having many good boxing-matches
with them, and never bearing malice if he was worsted; whereas George was
sparing of blows, and gentle with all about him. As the custom in all
families was, each of the boys had a special little servant assigned
him; and it was a known fact that George, finding his little wretch of a
blackamoor asleep on his master's bed, sat down beside it and brushed the
flies off the child with a feather-fan, to the horror of old Gumbo, the
child's father, who found his young master so engaged, and to the
indignation of Madame Esmond, who ordered the young negro off to the
proper officer for a whipping. In vain George implored and entreated,
burst into passionate tears and besought a remission of the sentence. His
mother was inflexible regarding the young rebel's punishment, and the
little negro went off beseeching his young master not to cry.
A fierce quarrel between mother and son ensued out of this event. Her son
would not be pacified. He said the punishment was a shame--a shame; that
he was the master of the boy, and no one--no, not his mother--had a right
to touch him; that she might order _him_ to be corrected, and that he
would suffer the punishment, as he and Harry often had, but no one should
lay a hand on his boy. Trembling with passionate rebellion against what
he conceived the injustice of the procedure, he vowed that on the day he
came of age he would set young Gumbo free; went to visit the child in the
slaves' quarters, and gave him one of his own toys.
The black martyr was an impudent, lazy, saucy little personage, who would
be none the worse for a whipping, as the Colonel, who was then living, no
doubt thought; for he acquiesced in the child's punishment when Madame
Esmond insisted upon it, and only laughed in his good-natured way when
his indignant grandson called out:
"You let mamma rule you in everything, grandpapa."
"Why so I do," says grandpapa. "Rachel, my love, the way in which I am
petticoat-ridden is so evident that even this baby has found it out."
"Then why don't you stand up like a man?" says little Harry, who always
was ready to abet his brother.
Grandpapa looked queerly.
"Because I like sitting down best, my dear," he said. "I am an old
gentleman, and standing fatigues me."
On account of a certain apish drollery and humour which exhibited itself
in the lad, and a liking for some of the old man's pursuits, the first of
the twins was the grandfather's favourite and companion, and would laugh
and talk out all his infantine heart to the old gentleman, to whom the
younger had seldom a word to say. George was a demure, studious boy, and
his senses seemed to brighten up in the library, where his brother was so
gloomy. He knew the books before he could well-nigh carry them, and read
in them long before he could understand them. Harry, on the other hand,
was all alive in the stables or in the wood, eager for all parties of
hunting and fishing, and promised to be a good sportsman from a very
early age. The grandfather's ship was sailing for Europe once when the
boys were children, and they were asked what present Captain Franks would
bring them back? George was divided between books and a fiddle; Harry
instantly declared for a little gun; and Madame Warrington (as she then
was called) was hurt that her elder boy should have low tastes, and
applauded the younger's choice as more worthy of his name and lineage.
"Books, papa, I can fancy to be a good choice," she replied to her
father, who tried to convince her that George had a right to his
opinion, "though I am sure you must have pretty nigh all the books in
the world already. But I never can desire--I may be wrong--but I never
can desire, that my son, and the grandson of the Marquis of Esmond,
should be a fiddler."
"Should be a fiddlestick, my dear," the old Colonel answered. "Remember
that Heaven's ways are not ours, and that each creature born has a little
kingdom of thought of his own, which it is a sin in us to invade. Suppose
George loves music? You can no more stop him than you can order a rose
not to smell sweet, or a bird not to sing."
"A bird! A bird sings from nature; George did not come into the world
with a fiddle in his hand," says Mrs. Warrington, with a toss of her
head. "I am sure I hated the harpsichord when a chit at Kensington
school, and only learned it to please my mamma. Say what you will, I
cannot believe that this fiddling is work for persons of fashion."
"And King David who played the harp, my dear?"
"I wish my papa would read him more, and not speak about him in that
way," said Mrs. Warrington.
"Nay, my dear, it was but by way of illustration," the father replied
gently. It was Colonel's Esmond's nature always to be led by a woman,
and he spoiled his daughter; laughing at her caprices, but humouring
them; making a joke of her prejudices, but letting them have their way;
indulging, and perhaps increasing, her natural imperiousness of
character, which asserted itself to an unusual degree after her
father's death.
The Colonel's funeral was the most sumptuous one ever seen in the
country. The little lads of Castlewood, almost smothered in black trains
and hat bands, headed the procession, followed by Madame Esmond
Warrington (as she called herself after her father's death), by my Lord
Fairfax, by his Excellency the Governor of Virginia, by the Randolphs,
the Careys, the Harrisons, the Washingtons, and many others, for the
whole county esteemed the departed gentleman whose goodness, whose high
talents, whose unobtrusive benevolence had earned for him the just
respect of his neighbours.
The management of the house of Castlewood had been in the hands of his
daughter long before the Colonel slept the sleep of the just, for the
truth is little Madame Esmond never came near man or woman but she tried
to domineer over them. If people obeyed, she was their very good friend;
if they resisted, she fought and fought until she or they gave in, and
without her father's influence to restrain her she was now more despotic
than ever. She exercised a rigid supervision over the estate; dismissed
Colonel Esmond's English factor and employed a new one; built, improved,
planted, grew tobacco, appointed a new overseer, and imported a new tutor
for her boys. The little queen domineered over her little dominion, and
over the princes her sons as well, thereby falling out frequently with
her neighbours, with her relatives, and with her sons also.
A very early difference which occurred between the queen and crown prince
arose out of the dismissal of the lad's tutor, Mr. Dempster, who had also
been the late Colonel's secretary. Upon his retirement George vowed he
never would forsake his old tutor, and kept his promise. Another cause of
dispute between George and his mother presently ensued.
By the death of an aunt, the heirs of Mr. George Warrington became
entitled to a sum of six thousand pounds, of which their mother was one
of the trustees. She never could be made to understand that she was not
the proprietor, but merely the trustee of this money; and was furious
with the London lawyer who refused to send it over at her order. "Is not
all I have my sons'?" she cried, "and would I not cut myself into little
pieces to serve them? With the six thousand pounds I would have bought
Mr. Boulter's estate and negroes, which would have given us a good
thousand pounds a year, and made a handsome provision for my Harry." Her
young friend and neighbour, Mr. Washington of Mount Vernon, could not
convince her that the London agent was right, and must not give up his
trust except to those for whom he held it.
George Esmond, when this little matter was referred to him, and his
mother vehemently insisted that he should declare himself, was of the
opinion of Mr. Washington and Mr. Draper, the London lawyer. The boy said
he could not help himself. He did not want the money; he would be very
glad to give the money to his mother if he had the power. But Madame
Esmond would not hear of these reasons. Here was a chance of making
Harry's fortune--dear Harry, who was left with such a slender younger
brother's pittance--and the wretches in London would not help him; his
own brother, who inherited all his papa's estate, would not help him. To
think of a child of hers being so mean at _fourteen years of age_!
Into this state of mind the incident plunged Madame Warrington, and no
amount of reasoning could bring her out of it. On account of the
occurrence she at once set to work saving for her younger son, for whom
she was eager to make a fortune. The fine buildings were stopped as well
as the fine fittings which had been ordered for the interior of the new
home. No more books were bought; the agent had orders to discontinue
sending wine. Madame Esmond deeply regretted the expense of a fine
carriage which she had from England, and only rode in it to church,
crying out to the sons sitting opposite to her, "Harry, Harry! I wish I
had put by the money for thee, my poor portionless child; three hundred
and eighty guineas of ready money to Messieurs Hatchett!"
"You will give me plenty while you live, and George will give me plenty
when you die," says Harry gaily.
"Not until he changes in _spirit_, my dear," says the lady grimly,
glancing at her elder boy. "Not unless Heaven softens his heart and
teaches him _charity_, for which I pray day and night; as Mountain knows;
do you not, Mountain?"
Mrs. Mountain, Ensign Mountain's widow, who had been a friend of Rachel
Esmond in her school days, and since her widowhood had been Madame
Esmond's companion in Castlewood house, serving to enliven many dull
hours for that lady and enjoying thoroughly the home which Castlewood
afforded her and her child. Mrs. Mountain, I say, who was occupying the
fourth seat in the family coach, said, "Humph! humph! I know you are
always disturbing yourself about this legacy, and I don't see that there
is any need."
"Oh, no! no need!" cries the widow, rustling in her silks; "of course I
have no need to be disturbed, because my eldest born is _a disobedient
son and an unkind brother;_ because he has an estate, and my poor Harry,
bless him, but a _mess of pottage_."
George looked despairingly at his mother until he could see her no more
for eyes welled up with tears. "I wish you would bless me, too, O my
mother!" he said, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping. Harry's
arms were in a moment round his brother's neck, and he kissed George a
score of times.
"Never mind, George. I know whether you are a good brother or not. Don't
mind what she says. She don't mean it."
"I do mean it, child," cries the mother. "Would to Heaven--"
"_Hold your tongue, I say_!" roars out Harry. "It's a shame to speak so
to him, ma'am."
"And so it is, Harry," says Mrs. Mountain, shaking his hand. "You never
said a truer word in your life."
"Mrs. Mountain, do you dare to set my children against me?" cries the
widow. "From this very day, madam--"
"Turn me and my child into the street? Do," says Mrs. Mountain. "That
will be a fine revenge because the English lawyer won't give you the
boy's money. Find another companion who will tell you black is white, and
flatter you; it is not my way, madam. When shall I go? I shan't be long
a-packing. I did not bring much into Castlewood house, and I shall not
take much out."
"Hush! the bells are ringing for church, Mountain. Let us try, if you
please, and compose ourselves," said the widow, and she looked with eyes
of extreme affection, certainly at one, perhaps at both, of her children.
George kept his head down, and Harry, who was near, got quite close to
him during the sermon, and sat with his arm round his brother's neck.
From these incidents it may be clearly seen that Madame Esmond besides
being a brisk little woman at business and ruling like a little queen in
Castlewood was also a victim of many freaks and oddities, among them one
of the most prominent being a great desire for flattery. There was no
amount of compliment which she could not graciously receive and take as
her due, and it was her greatest delight to receive attention from
suitors of every degree. Her elder boy saw this peculiarity of his
mother's disposition and chafed privately under it. From a very early
day he revolted when compliments were paid to the little lady, and
strove to expose them with his youthful satire; so that his mother would
say gravely, "the Esmonds were always of a jealous disposition, and my
poor boy takes after my father and mother in this."
One winter after their first tutor had been dismissed Madame Esmond took
them to Williamsburg for such education as the schools and colleges there
afforded, and there they listened to the preaching and became acquainted
with the famous Mr. Whitfield, who, at Madame Esmond's request, procured
a tutor for the boys, by name Mr. Ward. For weeks Madame Esmond was never
tired of hearing Mr. Ward's utterances of a religious character, and
according to her wont she insisted that her neighbours should come and
listen to him and ordered them to be converted to the faith which he
represented. Her young favourite, Mr. George Washington, she was
especially anxious to influence; and again and again pressed him to come
and stay at Castlewood and benefit by the spiritual advantages there to
be obtained. But that young gentleman found he had particular business
which called him home or away from home, and always ordered his horse of
evenings when the time was coming for Mr. Ward's exercises. And--what
boys are just towards their pedagogue?--the twins grew speedily tired and
even rebellious under their new teacher.
They found him a bad scholar, a dull fellow, and ill-bred to boot. George
knew much more Latin and Greek than his master; Harry, who could take
much greater liberties than were allowed to his elder brother, mimicked
Ward's manner of eating and talking, so that Mrs. Mountain and even
Madame Esmond were forced to laugh, and little Fanny Mountain would crow
with delight. Madame Esmond would have found the fellow out for a vulgar
quack but for her son's opposition, which she, on her part, opposed with
her own indomitable will.
George now began to give way to a sarcastic method, took up Ward's
pompous remarks and made jokes of them so that that young divine chafed
and almost choked over his great meals. He made Madame Esmond angry, and
doubly so when he sent off Harry into fits of laughter. Her authority was
defied, her officer scorned and insulted, her youngest child perverted by
the obstinate elder brother. She made a desperate and unhappy attempt to
maintain her power.
The boys were fourteen years of age, Harry being now taller and more
advanced than his brother, who was delicate and as yet almost childlike
in stature and appearance. The flogging method was quite a common mode
of argument in these days. Our little boys had been horsed many a day by
Mr. Dempster, their Scotch tutor, in their grandfather's time; and
Harry, especially, had got to be quite accustomed to the practice, and
made very light of it. But since Colonel Esmond's death, the cane had
been laid aside, and the young gentlemen at Castlewood had been allowed
to have their own way. Her own and her lieutenant's authority being now
spurned by the youthful rebels, the unfortunate mother thought of
restoring it by means of coercion. She took counsel of Mr. Ward. That
athletic young pedagogue could easily find chapter and verse to warrant
the course he wished to pursue,--in fact, there was no doubt about the
wholesomeness of the practice in those days. He had begun by flattering
the boys, finding a good berth and snug quarters at Castlewood, and
hoping to remain there. But they laughed at his flattery, they scorned
his bad manners, they yawned soon at his sermons; the more their mother
favoured him, the more they disliked him; and so the tutor and the
pupils cordially hated each other.
Mrs. Mountain warned the lads to be prudent, and that some conspiracy was
hatching against them; saying, "You must be on your guard, my poor boys.
You must learn your lessons and not anger your tutor. Your mamma was
talking about you to Mr. Washington the other day when I came into the
room. I don't like that Major Washington, you know I don't. He is very
handsome and tall, and he may be very good, but show me his wild oats I
say--not a grain! Well, I happened to step in last Tuesday when he was
here with your mamma, and I am sure they were talking about you, for he
said, 'Discipline is discipline, and must be preserved. There can be but
one command in a house, ma'am, and you must be the mistress of yours.'"
"The very words he used to me," cries Harry. "He told me that he did not
like to meddle with other folks' affairs, but that our mother was very
angry, and he begged me to obey Mr. Ward, and to press George to do so."
"Let him manage his own house, not mine," says George very haughtily. And
the caution, far from benefiting him, only made the lad more scornful and
rebellious.
On the next day the storm broke. Words were passed between George and Mr.
Ward during the morning study. The boy was quite disobedient and unjust.
Even his faithful brother cried out, and owned that he was in the wrong.
Mr. Ward bottled up his temper until the family met at dinner, when he
requested Madame Esmond to stay, and laid the subject of discussion
before her.
He asked Master Harry to confirm what he had said; and poor Harry was
obliged to admit all his statements.
George, standing under his grandfather's portrait by the chimney, said
haughtily that what Mr. Ward had said was perfectly correct.
"To be a tutor to such a pupil is absurd," said Mr. Ward, making a long
speech containing many scripture phrases, at each of which young George
smiled scornfully; and at length Ward ended by asking her honour's leave
to retire.
"Not before you have punished this wicked and disobedient child," said
Madame Esmond.
"Punish!" exclaimed George.
"Yes, sir, punish! If means of love and entreaty fail, other means must
be found to bring you to obedience. I punish you now, rebellious boy, to
guard you from greater punishment hereafter. The discipline of this
family must be maintained. There can be but one command in a house, and I
must be the mistress of mine. You will punish this refractory boy, Mr.
Ward, as we have agreed, and if there is the least resistance on his part
my overseer and servants will lend you aid."
In the midst of his mother's speech George Esmond felt that he had been
wronged. "There can be but one command in the house and you must be
mistress. I know who said those words before you," George said slowly,
and looking very white, "and--and I know, mother, that I have acted
wrongly to Mr. Ward."
"He owns it! He asks pardon!" cries Harry. "That's right, George! That's
enough, isn't it?"
"No, it is _not_ enough! I know that he who spares the rod spoils the
child, ungrateful boy!" says Madame Esmond, with more references of the
same nature, which George heard, looking very pale and desperate.
Upon the mantelpiece stood a china cup, by which the widow set great
store, as her father had always been accustomed to drink from it. George
suddenly took it, and a strange smile passed over his pale face.
"Stay one minute. Don't go away yet," he cried to his mother, who was
leaving the room. "You are very fond of this cup, mother?" and Harry
looked at him wondering. "If I broke it, it could never be mended, could
it? My dear old grandpapa's cup! I have been wrong. Mr. Ward, I ask
pardon. I will try and amend."
The widow looked at her son indignantly. "I thought," she said, "I
thought an Esmond had been more of a man than to be afraid, and--" Here
she gave a little scream, as Harry uttered an exclamation and dashed
forward with his hands stretched out towards his brother.
George, after looking at the cup, raised it, opened his hand and let it
fall on the marble slab before him. Harry had tried in vain to catch it.
"It is too late, Hal," George said. "You will never mend that
again--never. Now, mother, I am ready, as it is your wish. Will you come
and see whether I am afraid? Mr. Ward, I am your servant. Your servant?
Your slave! And the next time I meet Mr. Washington, Madame, I will thank
him for the advice which he gave you."
"I say, do your duty, sir!" cried Mrs. Esmond, stamping her little foot.
And George, making a low bow to Mr. Ward, begged him to go first out of
the room to the study.
"Stop! For God's sake, mother, stop!" cried poor Hal. But passion was
boiling in the little woman's heart, and she would not hear the boy's
petition. "You only abet him, sir!" she cried. "If I had to do it
myself, it should be done!" And Harry, with sadness and wrath in his
countenance, left the room by the door through which Mr. Ward and his
brother had just issued.
The widow sank down in a great chair near it, and sat a while vacantly
looking at the fragments of the broken cup. Then she inclined her head
towards the door. For a while there was silence; then a loud outcry,
which made the poor mother start.
Mr. Ward came out bleeding from a great wound on his head, and behind him
Harry, with flaring eyes, and brandishing a little ruler of his
grandfather, which hung, with others of the Colonel's weapons, on the
library wall.
"I don't care. I did it," says Harry. "I couldn't see this fellow strike
my brother; and as he lifted his hand, I flung the great ruler at him. I
couldn't help it. I won't bear it; and if one lifts a hand to me or my
brother, I'll have his life," shouts Harry, brandishing the hanger.
The widow gave a great gasp and a sigh as she looked at the young
champion and his victim. She must have suffered terribly during the few
minutes of the boys' absence; and the stripes which she imagined had been
inflicted on the elder had smitten her own heart. She longed to take both
boys to it. She was not angry now. Very likely she was delighted with the
thought of the younger's prowess and generosity. "You are a very naughty,
disobedient child," she said in an exceedingly peaceable voice. "My poor
Mr. Ward! What a rebel to strike you! Let me bathe your wound, my good
Mr. Ward, and thank Heaven it was no worse. Mountain! Go fetch me some
court-plaster. Here comes George. Put on your coat and waistcoat, child!
You were going to take your punishment, sir, and that is sufficient. Ask
pardon, Harry, of good Mr. Ward, for your wicked, rebellious spirit. I
do, with all my heart, I am sure. And guard against your passionate
nature, child, and pray to be forgiven. My son, oh my son!"