The Virginians

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  Produced by Tapio Riikonen

  THE VIRGINIANS

  A TALE OF THE LAST CENTURY

  By William Makepeace Thackeray

  TO SIR HENRY MADISON, Chief Justice of Madras, this book is inscribed byan affectionate old friend.

  London, September 7, 1859.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I In which one of the Virginians visits Home II In which Harry has to pay for his Supper III The Esmonds in Virginia IV In which Harry finds a New Relative V Family Jars VI The Virginians begin to see the World VII Preparations for War VIII In which George suffers from a common Disease IX Hospitalities X A Hot Afternoon XI Wherein the two Georges prepare for Blood XII News from the Camp XIII Profitless Quest XIV Harry in England XV A Sunday at Castlewood XVI In which Gumbo shows Skill with the Old English Weapon XVII On the Scent XVIII An Old Story XIX Containing both Love and Luck XX Facilis Descensus XXI Samaritans XXII In Hospital XXIII Holydays XXIV From Oakhurst to Tunbridge XXV New Acquaintances XXVI In which we are at a very great distance from Oakhurst XXVII Plenum Opus Aleae XXVIII The Way of the World XXIX In which Harry continues to enjoy Otium sine Dignitate XXX Contains a Letter to Virginia XXXI The Bear and the Leader XXXII In which a Family Coach is ordered XXXIII Contains a Soliloquy by Hester XXXIV In which Mr. Warrington treats the Company with Tea and a Ball XXXV Entanglements XXXVI Which seems to mean Mischief XXXVII In which various Matches are foughtXXXVIII Sampson and the Philistines XXXIX Harry to the Rescue XL In which Harry pays off an Old Debt, and incurs some New Ones XLI Rake's Progress XLII Fortunatus Nimium XLIII In which Harry flies high XLIV Contains what might, perhaps, have been expected XLV In which Harry finds two Uncles XLVI Chains and Slavery XLVII Visitors in Trouble XLVIII An Apparition XLIX Friends in Need L Contains a Great deal of the Finest Morality LI Conticuere Omnes LII Intentique Ora tenebant LIII Where we remain at the Court End of the Town LIV During which Harry sits smoking his Pipe at Home LV Between Brothers LVI Ariadne LVII In which Harry's Nose continues to be put out of joint LVIII Where we do what Cats may do LIX In which we are treated to a Play LX Which treats of Macbeth, a Supper, and a Pretty Kettle of Fish LXI In which the Prince marches up the Hill and down again LXII Arma Virumque LXIII Melpomene LXIV In which Harry lives to fight another day LXV Soldier's Return LXVI In which we go a-courting LXVII In which a Tragedy is acted, and two more begun LXVIII In which Harry goes Westward LXIX A Little Innocent LXX In which Cupid plays a considerable part LXXI With Favours LXXII (From the Warrington MS.) In which my Lady is on the Top of the Ladder LXXIII We keep Christmas at Castlewood. 1759 LXXIV News from Canada LXXV The Course of True Love LXXVI Informs us how Mr. Warrington jumped into a Landau LXXVII And how everybody got out againLXXVIII Pyramus and ThisbeLXXIX Containing both Comedy and Tragedy LXXX Pocahontas LXXXI Res Angusta Domi LXXXII Mile's MoidoreLXXXIII Troubles and Consolations LXXXIV In which Harry submits to the Common Lot LXXXV Inveni Portum LXXXVI At HomeLXXXVII The Last of God Save the King LXXXVIII Yankeee Doodle comes toTown LXXXIX A Colonel without a Regiment XC In which we both fight and run away XCI Satis Pugnae XCII Under Vine and Fig-Tree

  THE VIRGINIANS

  CHAPTER I. In which one of the Virginians visits home

  On the library wall of one of the most famous writers of America, therehang two crossed swords, which his relatives wore in the great War ofIndependence. The one sword was gallantly drawn in the service ofthe king, the other was the weapon of a brave and honoured republicansoldier. The possessor of the harmless trophy has earned for himself aname alike honoured in his ancestors' country and his own, where geniussuch as his has always a peaceful welcome.

  The ensuing history reminds me of yonder swords in the historian's studyat Boston. In the Revolutionary War, the subjects of this story, nativesof America, and children of the Old Dominion, found themselves engagedon different sides in the quarrel, coming together peaceably at itsconclusion, as brethren should, their love ever having materiallydiminished, however angrily the contest divided them. The colonel inscarlet, and the general in blue and buff, hang side by side in thewainscoted parlour of the Warringtons, in England, where a descendantof one of the brothers has shown their portraits to me, with many ofthe letters which they wrote, and the books and papers which belongedto them. In the Warrington family, and to distinguish them from otherpersonages of that respectable race, these effigies have always goneby the name of "The Virginians"; by which name their memoirs arechristened.

  They both of them passed much time in Europe. They lived just on theverge of that Old World from which we are drifting away so swiftly. Theywere familiar with many varieties of men and fortune. Their lot broughtthem into contact with personages of whom we read only in books, whoseem alive, as I read in the Virginians' letters regarding them, whosevoices I almost fancy I hear, as I read the yellow pages written scoresof years since, blotted with the boyish tears of disappointed passion,dutifully despatched after famous balls and ceremonies of the grand OldWorld, scribbled by camp-fires, or out of prison; nay, there is one thathas a bullet through it, and of which a greater portion of the text isblotted out with the blood of the bearer.

  These letters had probably never been preserved, but for theaffectionate thrift of one person, to whom they never failed in theirdutiful correspondence. Their mother kept all her sons' letters, fromthe very first, in which Henry, the younger of the twins, sends hislove to his brother, then ill of a sprain at his grandfather's house ofCastlewood, in Virginia, and thanks his grandpapa for a horse which herides with his tutor, down to the last, "from my beloved son," whichreached her but a few hours before her death. The venerable lady nevervisited Europe, save once with her parents in the reign of George theSecond; took refuge in Richmond when the house of Castlewood was burneddown during the war; and was called Madam Esmond ever after that event;never caring much for the name or family of Warrington, which she heldin very slight estimation as compared to her own.

  The letters of the Virginians, as the reader will presently see, fromspecimens to be shown to him, are by no means full. They are hintsrather than descriptions--indications and outlines chiefly: it may be,that the present writer has mistaken the forms, and filled in the colourwrongly: but, poring over the documents, I have tried to imagine thesituation of the writer, where he was, and by what persons surrounded. Ihave drawn the figures as I fancied they were; set down conversationsas I think I might have heard them; and so, to the best of my ability,endeavoured to revivify the bygone times and people. With what successthe task has been accomplished, with what profit or amusement tohimself, the kind reader will please to determine.

  One summer morning in the year 1756, and in the reign of his MajestyKing George the Second, the Young Rachel, Virginian ship, Edward Franksmaster, came up the Avon river on her happy return from her annualvoyage to the Potomac. She proceeded to Bristol with the tide, andmoored in the stream as near as possible to Trail's wharf, to which shewas consigned. Mr. Trail, her part owner, who could survey his ship fromhis counting-house windows, straightway took boat and came up her side.The owner of the Young Rachel, a large grave man in his own hair, and ofa demure aspect, gave the hand of welcome to Captain Franks, who stoodon his deck, and congratulated the captain upon the speedy and fortunatevoyage which he had made. And, remarking that we ought to be thankfulto Heaven for its mercies, he proceeded presently to business by askingparticulars relative to cargo and passengers.

  Franks was a pleasant man, who loved a joke. "We have," says he, "butyonder ugly negro boy, who is fetching the trunks, and a passenger
whohas the state cabin to himself."

  Mr. Trail looked as if he would have preferred more mercies from Heaven."Confound you, Franks, and your luck! The Duke William, which came inlast week, brought fourteen, and she is not half of our tonnage."

  "And this passenger, who has the whole cabin, don't pay nothin',"continued the Captain. "Swear now, it will do you good, Mr. Trail,indeed it will. I have tried the medicine."

  "A passenger take the whole cabin and not pay? Gracious mercy, are you afool, Captain Franks?"

  "Ask the passenger himself, for here he comes." And, as the masterspoke, a young man of some nineteen years of age came up the hatchway.He had a cloak and a sword under his arm, and was dressed in deepmourning, and called out, "Gumbo, you idiot, why don't you fetch thebaggage out of the cabin? Well, shipmate, our journey is ended. You willsee all the little folks to-night whom you have been talking about. Givemy love to Polly, and Betty, and Little Tommy; not forgetting my duty toMrs. Franks. I thought, yesterday, the voyage would never be done, andnow I am almost sorry it is over. That little berth in my cabin looksvery comfortable now I am going to leave it."

  Mr. Trail scowled at the young passenger who had paid no money forhis passage. He scarcely nodded his head to the stranger, when CaptainFranks said, "This here gentleman is Mr. Trail, sir, whose name you havea-heerd of."

  "It's pretty well known in Bristol, sir," says Mr. Trail, majestically.

  "And this is Mr. Warrington, Madam Esmond Warrington's son, ofCastlewood," continued the Captain.

  The British merchant's hat was instantly off his head, and the owner ofthe beaver was making a prodigious number of bows as if a crown princewere before him.

  "Gracious powers, Mr. Warrington! This is a delight, indeed! What acrowning mercy that your voyage should have been so prosperous! You musthave my boat to go on shore. Let me cordially and respectfully welcomeyou to England: let me shake your hand as the son of my benefactress andpatroness, Mrs. Esmond Warrington, whose name is known and honoured onBristol 'Change, I warrant you. Isn't it, Franks?"

  "There's no sweeter tobacco comes from Virginia, and no better brandthan the Three Castles," says Mr. Franks, drawing a great brasstobacco-box from his pocket, and thrusting a quid into his jolly mouth."You don't know what a comfort it is, sir! you'll take to it, bless you,as you grow older. Won't he, Mr. Trail? I wish you had ten shiploads ofit instead of one. You might have ten shiploads: I've told Madam Esmondso; I've rode over her plantation; she treats me like a lord when I goto the house; she don't grudge me the best of wine, or keep me coolingmy heels in the counting-room as some folks does" (with a look at Mr.Trail). "She is a real born lady, she is; and might have a thousandhogsheads as easy as her hundreds, if there were but hands enough."

  "I have lately engaged in the Guinea trade, and could supply herladyship with any number of healthy young negroes before next fall,"said Mr. Trail, obsequiously.

  "We are averse to the purchase of negroes from Africa," said the younggentleman, coldly. "My grandfather and my mother have always objected toit, and I do not like to think of selling or buying the poor wretches."

  "It is for their good, my dear young sir! for their temporal and theirspiritual good!" cried Mr. Trail. "And we purchase the poor creaturesonly for their benefit; let me talk this matter over with you at my ownhouse. I can introduce you to a happy home, a Christian family, and aBritish merchant's honest fare. Can't I, Captain Franks?"

  "Can't say," growled the Captain. "Never asked me to take bite or sup atyour table. Asked me to psalm-singing once, and to hear Mr. Ward preach:don't care for them sort of entertainments."

  Not choosing to take any notice of this remark, Mr. Trail continued inhis low tone: "Business is business, my dear young sir, and I know,'tis only my duty, the duty of all of us, to cultivate the fruits of theearth in their season. As the heir of Lady Esmond's estate--for I speak,I believe, to the heir of that great property?--"

  The young gentleman made a bow.

  "--I would urge upon you, at the very earliest moment, the propriety,the duty of increasing the ample means with which Heaven has blessedyou. As an honest factor, I could not do otherwise; as a prudent man,should I scruple to speak of what will tend to your profit and mine? No,my dear Mr. George."

  "My name is not George; my name is Henry," said the young man as heturned his head away, and his eyes filled with tears.

  "Gracious powers! what do you mean, sir? Did you not say you were mylady's heir? and is not George Esmond Warrington, Esq.----"

  "Hold your tongue, you fool!" cried Mr. Franks, striking the merchant atough blow on his sleek sides, as the young lad turned away. "Don'tyou see the young gentleman a-swabbing his eyes, and note his blackclothes?"

  "What do you mean, Captain Franks, by laying your hand on your owners?Mr. George is the heir; I know the Colonel's will well enough."

  "Mr. George is there," said the Captain, pointing with his thumb to thedeck.

  "Where?" cries the factor.

  "Mr. George is there!" reiterated the Captain, again lifting up hisfinger towards the topmast, or the sky beyond. "He is dead a year, sir,come next 9th of July. He would go out with General Braddock on thatdreadful business to the Belle Riviere. He and a thousand more nevercame back again. Every man of them was murdered as he fell. You knowthe Indian way, Mr. Trail?" And here the Captain passed his hand rapidlyround his head. "Horrible! ain't it, sir? horrible! He was a fine youngman, the very picture of this one; only his hair was black, which is nowhanging in a bloody Indian wigwam. He was often and often on board ofthe Young Rachel, and would have his chests of books broke open on deckbefore they was landed. He was a shy and silent young gent: not likethis one, which was the merriest, wildest young fellow, full of hissongs and fun. He took on dreadful at the news; went to his bed, hadthat fever which lays so many of 'em by the heels along that swampyPotomac, but he's got better on the voyage: the voyage makes every onebetter; and, in course, the young gentleman can't be for ever a-cryingafter a brother who dies and leaves him a great fortune. Ever since wesighted Ireland he has been quite gay and happy, only he would go off attimes, when he was most merry, saying, 'I wish my dearest Georgycould enjoy this here sight along with me, and when you mentionedthe t'other's name, you see, he couldn't stand it.'" And the honestCaptain's own eyes filled with tears, as he turned and looked towardsthe object of his compassion.

  Mr. Trail assumed a lugubrious countenance befitting the tragiccompliment with which he prepared to greet the young Virginian; but thelatter answered him very curtly, declined his offers of hospitality, andonly stayed in Mr. Trail's house long enough to drink a glass of wineand to take up a sum of money of which he stood in need. But he andCaptain Franks parted on the very warmest terms, and all the little crewof the Young Rachel cheered from the ship's side as their passenger leftit.

  Again and again Harry Warrington and his brother had pored over theEnglish map, and determined upon the course which they should takeupon arriving at Home. All Americans who love the old country--and whatgently-nurtured man or woman of Anglo-Saxon race does not?--have erethis rehearsed their English travels, and visited in fancy the spotswith which their hopes, their parents' fond stories, their friends'descriptions, have rendered them familiar. There are few things to memore affecting in the history of the quarrel which divided the two greatnations than the recurrence of that word Home, as used by the youngertowards the elder country. Harry Warrington had his chart laid out.Before London, and its glorious temples of St. Paul's and St. Peter's;its grim Tower, where the brave and loyal had shed their blood, fromWallace down to Balmerino and Kilmarnock, pitied by gentle hearts;before the awful window of Whitehall, whence the martyr Charleshad issued, to kneel once more, and then ascend to Heaven;--beforePlayhouses, Parks, and Palaces, wondrous resorts of wit, pleasure, andsplendour;--before Shakspeare's Resting-place under the tall spire whichrises by Avon, amidst the sweet Warwickshire pastures;--before Derby,and Falkirk, and Culloden, where the cause of honour and loyalty hadfallen, it might
be to rise no more:--before all these points of theirpilgrimage there was one which the young Virginian brothers held evenmore sacred, and that was the home of their family,--that old Castlewoodin Hampshire, about which their parents had talked so fondly. FromBristol to Bath, from Bath to Salisbury, to Winchester, to Hexton, toHome; they knew the way, and had mapped the journey many and many atime.

  We must fancy our American traveller to be a handsome young fellow,whose suit of sables only made him look the more interesting. The plumplandlady from her bar, surrounded by her china and punch-bowls, andstout gilded bottles of strong waters, and glittering rows of silverflagons, looked kindly after the young gentleman as he passed throughthe inn-hall from his post-chaise, and the obsequious chamberlain bowedhim upstairs to the Rose or the Dolphin. The trim chambermaid droppedher best curtsey for his fee, and Gumbo, in the inn-kitchen, where thetownsfolk drank their mug of ale by the great fire, bragged of his youngmaster's splendid house in Virginia, and of the immense wealth to whichhe was heir. The postchaise whirled the traveller through the mostdelightful home-scenery his eyes had ever lighted on. If Englishlandscape is pleasant to the American of the present day, who must needscontrast the rich woods and glowing pastures, and picturesque ancientvillages of the old country with the rough aspect of his own, how muchpleasanter must Harry Warrington's course have been, whose journeys hadlain through swamps and forest solitudes from one Virginian ordinaryto another log-house at the end of the day's route, and who now lightedsuddenly upon the busy, happy, splendid scene of English summer? And thehighroad, a hundred years ago, was not that grass-grown desert of thepresent time. It was alive with constant travel and traffic: the countrytowns and inns swarmed with life and gaiety. The ponderous waggon, withits bells and plodding team; the light post-coach that achieved thejourney from the White Hart, Salisbury, to the Swan with Two Necks,London, in two days; the strings of packhorses that had not yet left theroad; my lord's gilt postchaise-and-six, with the outriders gallopingon ahead; the country squire's great coach and heavy Flanders mares; thefarmers trotting to market, or the parson jolting to the cathedral townon Dumpling, his wife behind on the pillion--all these crowding sightsand brisk people greeted the young traveller on his summer journey.Hodge, the farmer's boy, took off his hat, and Polly, the milkmaid,bobbed a curtsey, as the chaise whirled over the pleasant village-green,and the white-headed children lifted their chubby faces and cheered.The church-spires glistened with gold, the cottage-gables glared insunshine, the great elms murmured in summer, or cast purple shadows overthe grass. Young Warrington never had such a glorious day, or witnesseda scene so delightful. To be nineteen years of age, with high health,high spirits, and a full purse, to be making your first journey, androlling through the country in a postchaise at nine miles an hour--Ohappy youth! almost it makes one young to think of him! But Harry wastoo eager to give more than a passing glance at the Abbey at Bath,or gaze with more than a moment's wonder at the mighty Minster atSalisbury. Until he beheld Home it seemed to him he had no eyes for anyother place.

  At last the young gentleman's postchaise drew up at the rustic inn onCastlewood Green, of which his grandsire had many a time talked to him,and which bears as its ensign, swinging from an elm near the inn porch,the Three Castles of the Esmond family. They had a sign, too, over thegateway of Castlewood House, bearing the same cognisance. This was thehatchment of Francis, Lord Castlewood, who now lay in the chapel hardby, his son reigning in his stead.

  Harry Warrington had often heard of Francis, Lord Castlewood. It wasfor Frank's sake, and for his great love towards the boy, that ColonelEsmond determined to forgo his claim to the English estates and rank ofhis family, and retired to Virginia. The young man had led a wild youth;he had fought with distinction under Marlborough; he had married aforeign lady, and most lamentably adopted her religion. At one time hehad been a Jacobite (for loyalty to the sovereign was ever hereditaryin the Esmond family), but had received some slight or injury from thePrince, which had caused him to rally to King George's side. He had,on his second marriage, renounced the errors of Popery which he hadtemporarily embraced, and returned to the Established Church again. Hehad, from his constant support of the King and the Minister of the timebeing, been rewarded by his Majesty George II., and died an Englishpeer. An earl's coronet now figured on the hatchment which hung overCastlewood gate--and there was an end of the jolly gentleman. BetweenColonel Esmond, who had become his stepfather, and his lordship therehad ever been a brief but affectionate correspondence--on the Colonel'spart especially, who loved his stepson, and had a hundred stories totell about him to his grandchildren. Madam Esmond, however, said shecould see nothing in her half-brother. He was dull, except when he dranktoo much wine, and that, to be sure, was every day at dinner. Thenhe was boisterous, and his conversation not pleasant. He wasgood-looking--yes--a fine tall stout animal; she had rather her boysshould follow a different model. In spite of the grandfather's encomiumof the late lord, the boys had no very great respect for their kinsman'smemory. The lads and their mother were staunch Jacobites, though havingevery respect for his present Majesty; but right was right, and nothingcould make their hearts swerve from their allegiance to the descendantsof the martyr Charles.

  With a beating heart Harry Warrington walked from the inn towardsthe house where his grandsire's youth had been passed. The littlevillage-green of Castlewood slopes down towards the river, which isspanned by an old bridge of a single broad arch, and from this theground rises gradually towards the house, grey with many gables andbuttresses, and backed by a darkling wood. An old man sate at the wicketon a stone bench in front of the great arched entrance to the house,over which the earl's hatchment was hanging. An old dog was crouched atthe man's feet. Immediately above the ancient sentry at the gate was anopen casement with some homely flowers in the window, from behind whichgood-humoured girls' faces were peeping. They were watching the youngtraveller dressed in black as he walked up gazing towards the castle,and the ebony attendant who followed the gentleman's steps alsoaccoutred in mourning. So was he at the gate in mourning, and the girlswhen they came out had black ribbons.

  To Harry's surprise, the old man accosted him by his name. "You have hada nice ride to Hexton, Master Harry, and the sorrel carried you well."

  "I think you must be Lockwood," said Harry, with rather a tremulousvoice, holding out his hand to the old man. His grandfather had oftentold him of Lockwood, and how he had accompanied the Colonel and theyoung Viscount in Marlborough's wars forty years ago. The veteran seemedpuzzled by the mark of affection which Harry extended to him. The olddog gazed at the new-comer, and then went and put his head between hisknees. "I have heard of you often. How did you know my name?"

  "They say I forget most things," says the old man, with a smile; "butI ain't so bad as that quite. Only this mornin', when you went out, mydarter says, 'Father, do you know why you have a black coat on?' 'Incourse I know why I have a black coat,' says I. 'My lord is dead. Theysay 'twas a foul blow, and Master Frank is my lord now, and MasterHarry'--why, what have you done since you've went out this morning? Why,you have a-grow'd taller and changed your hair--though I know--I knowyou."

  One of the young women had tripped out by this time from the porter'slodge, and dropped the stranger a pretty curtsey. "Grandfather sometimesdoes not recollect very well," she said, pointing to her head. "Yourhonour seems to have heard of Lockwood?"

  "And you, have you never heard of Colonel Francis Esmond?"

  "He was Captain and Major in Webb's Foot, and I was with him in twocampaigns, sure enough," cries Lockwood. "Wasn't I, Ponto?"

  "The Colonel as married Viscountess Rachel, my late lord's mother? andwent to live amongst the Indians? We have heard of him. Sure we have hispicture in our gallery, and hisself painted it."

  "Went to live in Virginia, and died there seven years ago, and I am hisgrandson."

  "Lord, your honour! Why, your honour's skin's as white as mine," criesMolly. "Grandfather, do you hear this? His honour is Colonel Esmo
nd'sgrandson that used to send you tobacco, and his honour have come all theway from Virginia."

  "To see you, Lockwood," says the young man, "and the family. I only setfoot on English ground yesterday, and my first visit is for home. I maysee the house, though the family are from home?" Molly dared to say Mrs.Barker would let his honour see the house, and Harry Warrington madehis way across the court, seeming to know the place as well as if he hadbeen born there, Miss Molly thought, who followed, accompanied by Mr.Gumbo making her a profusion of polite bows and speeches.