He smiled in comprehension, as he met my eyes.
"Only two or three, Mr. Stewart. Two or three guides and a few Indians will be all."
My disappointment must have shown in my face, for he gave me his hand again.
"I thank you for your offer, Mr. Stewart," he said earnestly. "Believe me, if it were possible, I should ask no better companion. But do not despair. I have little hope the French will heed the warning, and 't will then be a question of arms. In such event, there will be great need of brave and loyal men, and you will have good opportunity to see the country beyond the mountains. But I must find my mother, and tell her of my great good fortune."
I watched him as he strode away, and I fancy there was a new light in my eyes,—certainly there was a new purpose in my heart. For I had been often sadly puzzled as to what I should do when once I was out of college. I had no mind to become an idler at Riverview, but was determined to win myself a place in the world. Yet when I came to look about me, I saw small prospect of success. The professions—the law, medicine, and even the church—were overrun with vagabonds who had brought them so low that no gentleman could think of earning a livelihood—much less a place in the world—by them. Trade was equally out of the question, for there was little trade in the colony, and that in the hands of sharpers. But Mr. Washington's words had opened a new vista. What possibilities lay in the profession of arms! And my resolution was taken in an instant,—I would be a soldier. I said nothing of my resolve to Dorothy, fearing that she would laugh at me, as she doubtless would have done, and the remainder of the evening passed very quickly. Dorothy presented me to Mrs. Washington, a stately and beautiful lady, who spoke of her son with evident love and pride. He had been called away, she said, for he had much to do, and thus reminded, I remembered that it was time for me also to depart. Before I went, I obtained permission from Mrs. Washington to call and see her next day,—Dorothy standing by with eyes demurely downcast, as though she did not know it was she and she only whom I hoped to see.
"I am very sorry I teased you, cousin Tom," she said very softly, as I turned to her to say goodnight. "Your eagerness to go with Mr. Washington pleased me mightily. It is just what I should have done if I were a man. Good-night," and before I could find my tongue, she was again at Mrs. Washington's side.
I made my way back to my room at the college, and went to bed, but it seemed to me that the night, albeit already far spent, would never pass. Sleep was out of the question, and I tossed from side to side, thinking now of Dorothy, now of my new friend and his perilous expedition over the Alleghenies, now of my late resolve. It was in no wise weakened in the morning, as so many resolves of youth are like to be, and so soon as I had dressed and breakfasted, I sought out the best master of fence in the place,—a man whose skill had won him much renown, and who for three or four years past, finding life on the continent grown very unhealthy, had been imparting such of it as he could to the Virginia gentry,—and insisted that he give me a lesson straightway.
He gave me a half hour's practice, for the most part in quatre and tierce,—my A B C's, as it were,—and the ease with which he held me off and bent his foil against my breast at pleasure chafed me greatly, and showed me how much I had yet to learn, besides making me somewhat less vain of my size and strength. For my antagonist was but a small man, and yet held me at a distance with consummate ease, and twisted my foil from my hand with a mere turn of his wrist. Still, he had the grace to commend me when the bout was ended, and I at once arranged to take two lessons daily while I remained in Williamsburg.
It was ten o'clock when I turned my steps toward the house where the Washingtons were stopping, and, with much inward trepidation, walked up to the door and knocked. In a moment I was in the presence of the ladies, Mrs. Washington receiving me very kindly, and Dorothy looking doubly adorable in her simple morning frock. But I was ill at ease, and the sound of voices in an adjoining room increased my restlessness.
"Do you not see what it is, madam?" cried Dorothy, at last. "He has no wish for the society of women this morning. He has gone mad like the rest of them. He is dying to talk of war and the French and expeditions over the mountains, as Mr. Washington and his friends are doing. Is it not so, sir?"