The Virginians by William Makepeace Thackeray (top books to read txt) 📕

spoke of them—Mr. Washington, who had been unlucky in the affair of last year—had already promised to join him as aide-de-camp, and his Excellency would gladly take another young Virginian gentleman into his family.” Harry's eyes brightened and his face flushed at this offer. “He would like with all his heart to go!” he cried out. George said, looking hard at his younger brother, that one of them would be proud to attend his Excellency, whilst it would be the other's duty to take care of their mother at home. Harry allowed his senior to speak. His will was even still obedient to George's. However much he desired to go, he would not pronounce until George had declared himself. He longed so for the campaign, that the actual wish made him timid. He dared not speak on the matter as he went home with George. They rode for miles in silence, or strove to talk upon indifferent subjects; each knowing what was passing in the other's mind, and afraid to bring the awful question to an issue.

On their arrival at home the boys told their mother of General Braddock's offer. “I knew it must happen,” she said; “at such a crisis in the country our family must come forward. Have you—have you settled yet which of you is to leave me?” and she looked anxiously from one to another, dreading to hear either name.

“The youngest ought to go, mother; of course I ought to go!” cries Harry, turning very red.

“Of course he ought,” said Mrs. Mountain, who was present at their talk.

“There! Mountain says so! I told you so!” again cries Harry, with a sidelong look at George.

“The head of the family ought to go, mother,” says George, sadly.

“No! no! you are ill, and have never recovered your fever. Ought he to go, Mountain?”

“You would make the best soldier, I know that, dearest Hal. You and George Washington are great friends, and could travel well together, and he does not care for me, nor I for him, however much he is admired in the family. But, you see, 'tis the law of Honour, my Harry.” (He here spoke to his brother with a voice of extraordinary kindness and tenderness.) “The grief I have had in this matter has been that I must refuse thee. I must go. Had Fate given you the benefit of that extra half-hour of life which I have had before you, it would have been your lot, and you would have claimed your right to go first, you know you would.”

“Yes, George,” said poor Harry, “I own I should.”

“You will stay at home, and take care of Castlewood and our mother. If anything happens to me, you are here to fill my place. I would like to give way, my dear, as you, I know, would lay down your life to serve me. But each of us must do his duty. What would our grandfather say if he were here?”

The mother looked proudly at her two sons. “My papa would say that his boys were gentlemen,” faltered Madam Esmond, and left the young men, not choosing, perhaps, to show the emotion which was filling her heart. It was speedily known amongst the servants that Mr. George was going on the campaign. Dinah, George's foster-mother, was loud in her lamentations at losing him; Phillis, Harry's old nurse, was as noisy because Master George, as usual, was preferred over Master Harry. Sady, George's servant, made preparations to follow his master, bragging incessantly of the deeds which he would do, while Gumbo, Harry's boy, pretended to whimper at being left behind, though, at home, Gumbo was anything but a fire-eater.

But, of all in the house, Mrs. Mountain was the most angry at George's determination to go on the campaign. She had no patience with him. He did not know what he was doing by leaving home. She begged, implored, insisted that he should alter his determination; and vowed that nothing but mischief would come from his departure.

George was surprised at the pertinacity of the good lady's opposition. “I know, Mountain,” said he, “that Harry would be the better soldier; but, after all, to go is my duty.”

“To stay is your duty!” says Mountain, with a stamp of her foot.

“Why did not my mother own it when we talked of the matter just now?”

“Your mother!” says Mrs. Mountain, with a most gloomy, sardonic laugh; “your mother, my poor child!”

“What is the meaning of that mournful countenance, Mountain?”

“It may be that your mother wishes you away, George!” Mrs. Mountain continued, wagging her head. “It may be, my poor deluded boy, that you will find a father-in-law when you come back.”

“What in heaven do you mean?” cried George, the blood rushing into his face.

“Do you suppose I have no eyes, and cannot see what is going on? I tell you, child, that Colonel Washington wants a rich wife. When you are gone, he will ask your mother to marry him, and you will find him master here when you come back. That is why you ought not to go away, you poor, unhappy, simple boy! Don't you see how fond she is of him? how much she makes of him? how she is always holding him up to you, to Harry, to everybody who comes here?”

“But he is going on the campaign, too,” cried George.

“He is going on the marrying campaign, child!” insisted the widow.

“Nay; General Braddock himself told me that Mr. Washington had accepted the appointment of aide-de-camp.”

“An artifice! an artifice to blind you, my poor child!” cries Mountain. “He will be wounded and come back—you will see if he does not. I have proofs of what I say to you—proofs under his own hand—look here!” And she took from her pocket a piece of paper in Mr. Washington's well-known handwriting.

“How came you by this paper?” asked George, turning ghastly pale.

“I—I found it in the Major's chamber!” says Mrs. Mountain, with a shamefaced look.

“You read the private letters of a guest staying in our house?” cried George. “For shame! I will not look at the paper!” And he flung it from him on to the fire before him.

“I could not help it, George; 'twas by chance, I give you my word, by the merest chance. You know Governor Dinwiddie is to have the Major's room, and the state-room is got ready for Mr. Braddock, and we are expecting ever so much company, and I had to take the things which the Major leaves here—he treats the house just as if it was his own already—into his new room, and this half-sheet of paper fell out of his writing-book, and I just gave one look at it by the merest chance, and when I saw what it was it was my duty to read it.”

“Oh, you are a martyr to duty, Mountain!” George said grimly. “I dare say Mrs. Bluebeard thought it was her duty to look through the keyhole.”

“I never did look through the keyhole, George. It's a shame you should say so! I, who have watched, and tended, and nursed you, like a mother; who have sate up whole weeks with you in fevers, and carried you from your bed