From Farm House to the White House Part 11

"To be honest I must acknowledge the authorship," George answered, with his usual frankness. "But there is more truth than poetry in the production, I imagine."

"I was suspicious of that," responded his friend. "That means that you fell in love with some bewitching girl, I conclude."

"All of that," answered George, with no disposition to conceal anything.

"That accounts for your poetical turn of mind," continued his friend.

"I have heard it said that lovers take to poetry."

"I don't know about that; but I confess to being smitten by the 'lowland beauty,'" was George's honest answer.

"Who is she, and where does she live?"

"That is of no consequence now; she is nothing to me, although she is much in my thoughts."

"Did she respond to your professions of love?"

"I never made any profession of love to her."

"How is that?"

"I am too young and bashful to take such a step; it would be foolish indeed."

"Well, to love and keep it to one's self must be misery indeed,"

continued his companion.

"There is something in that," answered George, "and I shall not conceal that it has made me unhappy at times."

"And it was a kind of relief to let your tender regard express itself in poetry?" suggested his friend.

"Exactly so; and you are the only person in the world to whom I have spoken of the affair."

We have introduced this incident to show the tender side of George's heart. His gravity, decorum, and thoughtful habit were such as almost to preclude the possibility of his being captivated by a "lowland beauty."

But this incident shows that he was much like the average boy of Christendom in this regard.

Irving says: "Whatever may have been the reason, this early attachment seems to have been a source of poignant discomfort to him. It clung to him after he look a final leave of school in the autumn of 1747, and went to reside with his brother Lawrence at Mount Vernon. Here he continued his mathematical studies and his practice in surveying, disturbed at times by recurrences of his unlucky pa.s.sion. Though by no means of a poetical temperament, the waste pages of his journal betray several attempts to pour forth his amorous sorrows in verse. They are mere common-place rhymes, such as lovers at his age are apt to write, in which he bewails his

"'Poor, restless heart, Wounded by Cupid's dart;'

and 'bleeding for one who remains pitiless of his griefs and woes.'

"The tenor of some of the verses induce us to believe that he never told his love; but, as we have already surmised, was prevented by his bashfulness.

"'Ah, woe is me, that I should love and conceal!

Long have I wished and never dare reveal.'

"It is difficult to reconcile one's self to the idea of the cool and sedate Washington, the great champion of American liberty, a woe-worn lover in his youthful days, 'sighing like a furnace,' and inditing plaintive verses about the groves of Mount Vernon. We are glad of an opportunity, however, of penetrating to his native feelings, and finding that under his studied decorum and reserve _he had a heart of flesh throbbing with the warm impulses of human nature_."

In another place, Irving refers to the affair again, and furnishes the following bit of information:

"The object of this early pa.s.sion is not positively known. Tradition states that the 'lowland beauty' was a Miss Grimes of Westmoreland, afterwards Mrs. Lee, and mother of General Henry Lee, who figured in Revolutionary times as Light Horse Harry, and was always a favorite with Washington, probably from the recollections of his early tenderness for the mother."

George, as we have already intimated, spent his time out of school at Mount Vernon, with his brother Lawrence, who had become a man of considerable repute and influence for one of his years. Here he was brought into contact with military men, and occasionally naval officers were entertained by Lawrence. Often vessels anch.o.r.ed in the river, and the officers enjoyed the abundant hospitality of the Mount Vernon mansion. George was a close observer of what pa.s.sed in his new home, and a careful listener to the tales of war and a seafaring life frequently told in his hearing. The martial spirit within him was aroused by these tales of adventure and glory, and he was prepared for almost any hardship or peril in the way of the object of his ambition. Besides, his brother was disposed to encourage his aspirations in the direction of a military life. He discovered the elements of a good soldier in the boy, and really felt that distinction awaited him in a military career.

"How would you like a midshipman's berth on a British man-of-war?"

inquired Lawrence.

"I should like nothing better," George answered.

"You would then be in the service of the king, and have a chance to prove your loyalty by your deeds," added Lawrence. "Your promotion would be certain."

"If I deserved it," added George, with thoughtful interest.

"Yes, if you deserved it," repeated Lawrence; "and I have no doubt that you would deserve it."

"But I fear that mother will not consent to such an arrangement,"

suggested George.

"I will confer with her upon the subject," replied Lawrence. "I think she will take the same view of it that I do."

Lawrence did confer with his mother concerning this venture, and found her wholly averse to the project.

"I can never consent that he should follow such a life," she said.

"But I am sure that he would distinguish himself there, and bring honor to the family," urged Lawrence.

"Character is worth more than distinction," responded Mrs. Washington.

"I fear the effect of such a life upon his character."

"George can be trusted in any position, no matter what the temptations may be," Lawrence pleaded.

"That may be true, and it may not be true," remarked Mrs. Washington.

"We ought not to incur the risk unless absolutely obliged to do it."

"If there be a risk," remarked Lawrence, doubtfully.

"Besides," continued Mrs. Washington, "I could not consent to his going so far from home unless it were impossible for him to gain a livelihood near by."

She was unyielding in this interview, and could see no reason why she should consent to such a separation. But Lawrence persevered in his efforts to obtain her consent, and finally it was given with manifest reluctance. A writer describes what followed thus:

"Within a short time a British man-of-war moved up the Potomac, and cast anchor in full view of Mount Vernon. On board of this vessel his brother Lawrence procured him a midshipman's warrant, after having by much persuasion gained the consent of his mother; which, however, she yielded with much reluctance and many misgivings with respect to the profession her son was about to choose. Not knowing how much pain all this was giving his mother, George was as near wild with delight as could well be with a boy of a nature so even and steady. Now, what had all along been but a waking dream was about to become a solemn reality.

His preparations were soon made: already was his trunk packed, and carried on board the ship that was to bear him so far away from his native land; and nothing now remained but to bid farewell to the loved ones at home. But when he came and stood before his mother, dressed in his gay midshipman's uniform, so tall and robust in figure, so handsome in face, and so n.o.ble in look and gesture, the thought took possession of her mind, that, if she suffered him to leave her then, she might never see him more; and losing her usual firmness and self-control, she burst into tears.

"'I cannot consent to let you go,' she said, at length. 'It will break my heart, George.'

"'How can I refuse to go now that I have enlisted, and my trunk is on board?' pleaded George.

"'Order your trunk ash.o.r.e, and return your uniform, my son, if you do not wish to crush your mother's heart,' responded Mrs. Washington. 'I cannot bear the thought.'"

George was overcome by the spectacle of his mother's grief, and with the tears running down his cheeks he replied, like the young hero that he was: