A Virginia cavalier

by Molly Elliot Seawell

“I think it would be very advantageous to you to see something of a viceregal court, and I will see that you have the means to make a good appearance,” was Laurence’s kind reply.

“Thank you, brother,” said George, gratefully. “I will have things on the place in such order that everything will go on as if I were here; and as I shall come back for some weeks before returning to the mountains, I can see whether my orders have been carried out or not.”

Another summer’s work would finish all the surveys Lord Fairfax wished, and it was understood that at the end of that time George was to live permanently at Mount Vernon in charge of the estate.

Madam Washington was delighted at the idea of George’s advent at the provincial court under such auspices, and Betty danced for joy, and immediately plunged into a discussion of George’s wardrobe for the great event.

“Timothy Jones, the tailor in Alexandria, has some fine green cloth, out of which he could make you a surtout trimmed with silver, and I saw myself an elegant piece of scarlet velvet from which a mantle to wear to court might be made. And you shall have my best Mechlin lace for your cravat. Ah, George, how I long to see you in your fine clothes!”

“I should think, Betty,” replied George, smiling, “you would be more concerned about how I will conduct myself with these great people. You know, sometimes I lose my speech entirely, and become very awkward; and sometimes I become abstracted in company, and nobody’s manners are perfect at eighteen.”

“Dear George,” cried Betty, throwing her arms around his neck, “I think of your clothes because that is all that I need think about with you. In every other way you are sure to do us credit,” which made George feel that Betty was the most good-natured creature alive.

“I wish you were going,” said he, presently.

“I wish so, too,” replied Betty. “But when brother Laurence gets well sister Anne has promised to take me, and my mother has said I may go,” for both George and Betty, with the optimism of youth, thought it quite certain that their brother would one day be well.

The first day of February the start was made. The grand equipage set forth, with the earl and George on the back seat of the coach and Lance on the box. Billy rode George’s horse, and was in ecstasies at the prospect of such an expedition. On the second day, in the evening, the coach rolled into Williamsburg. It was a lovely February evening, and the watchman was going about lighting lanterns hung to tall poles at the street corners. George had chosen to make the last stage with the earl, and was deeply interested in all he saw. The town was as straggling as Alexandria, or as Fredericksburg, but there was that unmistakable air of a capital which the presence of the seat of government always gives. As they drove rapidly, and with great clatter and noise, down Duke of Gloucester Street, George noticed many gentlemen in both naval and military uniforms, and others in the unpowdered wig of the scholar, which last he inferred were professors and tutors at the college. Of collegians there were not a few, and George noticed they always appeared in gangs, and seemed to regard themselves as quite aloof from other persons and slightly superior to them. As the coach drove quickly through the Palace Green, with the palace on one hand and the college on the other, both were brilliantly lighted. A couple of sentries in red coats marched up and down before the palace—a long, rambling brick building with its two generous wings, and its great courtyard with fine iron gates. On top was a cupola, which was only lighted up on gala nights. On both sides of the palace were spacious gardens, with a straight canal, bordered with cedars, cut in the stiff, artificial manner of the time, and with small summer-houses, in the form of Greek temples, made of stucco. A coach was driving out and another was driving in, while an officer, evidently an aide-de-camp, picked his way along the gravelled path that led to the side where the offices were. Opposite the palace towered the plain but substantial brick buildings of William and Mary College, and a crowd of students were going into the common hall for supper. It all seemed very grand to George’s eyes, and when they alighted at the Raleigh Tavern, the tavern-keeper, wearing silk stockings and carrying two silver candlesticks, came out to meet them, and ushered them into a handsome private room, ornamented over the mantel by a print of his majesty, King George the Second. The tavern-keeper was not by any means like the sturdy citizens who kept houses of entertainment between Fredericksburg and the mountains. He “my lorded” the earl at every turn, and was evidently used to fine company. He was happy to say that he was then entertaining Sir John Peyton, of Gloucester, who had come to Williamsburg for the winter season, and Colonel Byrd, of Westover. Also, the Honorable John Tyler, marshal of the colony, was attending the governor’s council upon matters of importance, and was occupying the second-best rooms in the tavern—my lord having the best, of course, according to his rank. The earl was a little wearied with all this, but bore with it civilly until the tavern-keeper bowed himself out, when William Fairfax burst in, delighted to see them. William was neither so tall nor so handsome as George, but he was a fine young fellow, overflowing with health and spirits.