_ No boyhood could have been happier than mine, and throughout it, ever
present with me, were a shadow and a light. The shadow was my Uncle
Grafton. I know not what strange intuition of the child made me think
of him so constantly after that visit he paid us, but often I would wake
from my sleep with his name upon my lips, and a dread at my heart. The
light--need I say?--was Miss Dorothy Manners. Little Miss Dolly was
often at the Hall after that happy week we spent together; and her home,
Wilmot House, was scarce three miles across wood and field by our
plantation roads. I was a stout little fellow enough, and before I was
twelve I had learned to follow to hounds my grandfather's guests on my
pony; and Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Carvel when they shot on the duck points.
Ay, and what may surprise you, my dears, I was given a weak little toddy
off the noggin at night, while the gentlemen stretched their limbs before
the fire, or played at whist or loo Mr. Carvel would have no milksop, so
he said. But he early impressed upon me that moderation was the mark of
a true man, even as excess was that of a weak one.
And so it was no wonder that I frequently found my way to Wilmot House
alone. There I often stayed the whole day long, romping with Dolly at
games of our own invention, and many the time I was sent home after dark
by Mrs. Manners with Jim, the groom. About once in the week Mr. and Mrs.
Manners would bring Dorothy over for dinner or tea at the Hall. She grew
quickly--so quickly that I scarce realized--into a tall slip of a girl,
who could be wilful and cruel, laughing or forgiving, shy or impudent, in
a breath. She had as many moods as the sea. I have heard her entertain
Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Bordley and the ladies, and my grandfather, by the
hour, while I sat by silent and miserable, but proud of her all the same.
Boylike, I had grown to think of her as my possession, tho' she gave me
no reason whatever. I believe I had held my hand over fire for her, at a
word. And, indeed, I did many of her biddings to make me wonder, now,
that I was not killed. It used to please her, Ivie too, to see me go the
round of the windmill, tho' she would cry out after I left the ground.
And once, when it was turning faster than common and Ivie not there to
prevent, I near lost my hold at the top, and was thrown at the bottom
with such force that I lay stunned for a full minute. I opened my eyes
to find her bending over me with such a look of fright and remorse upon
her face as I shall never forget. Again, walking out on the bowsprit of
the 'Oriole' while she stood watching me from the dock, I lost my balance
and fell into the water. On another occasion I fought Will Fotheringay,
whose parents had come for a visit, because he dared say he would marry
her.
"She is to marry an earl," I cried, tho' I had thrashed another lad for
saying so. "Mr. Manners is to take her home when she is grown, to marry
her to an earl."
"At least she will not marry you, Master Richard," sneered Will. And
then I hit him.
Indeed, even at that early day the girl's beauty was enough to make her
talked about. And that foolish little fop, her father, had more than
once declared before a company in our dining room that it was high time
another title came into his family, and that he meant to take Dolly
abroad when she was sixteen. Lad that I was, I would mark with pain the
blush on Mrs. Manners's cheek, and clinch my fists as she tried to pass
this off as a joke of her husband's. But Dolly, who sat next me at a
side table, would make a wry little face at my angry one.
"You shall call me 'my lady,' Richard. And sometimes, if you are good,
you shall ride inside my coroneted coach when you come home."
Ah, that was the worst of it! The vixen was conscious of her beauty.
But her airs were so natural that young and old bowed before her.
Nothing but worship had she had from the cradle. I would that Mr.
Peale had painted her in her girlhood as a type of our Maryland lady of
quality. Harvey was right when he called her a thoroughbred. Her nose
was of patrician straightness, and the curves of her mouth came from
generations of proud ancestors. And she had blue eyes to conquer and
subdue; with long lashes to hide them under when she chose, and black
hair with blue gloss upon it in the slanting lights. I believe I loved
her best in the riding-habit that was the colour of the red holly in our
Maryland woods. At Christmas-tide, when we came to the eastern shore, we
would gallop together through miles of country, the farmers and servants
tipping and staring after her as she laid her silver-handled whip upon
her pony. She knew not the meaning of fear, and would take a fence or a
ditch that a man might pause at. And so I fell into the habit of leading
her the easy way round, for dread that she would be hurt.
How those Christmas times of childhood come sweeping back on my memory!
Often, and without warning, my grandfather would say to me: "Richard, we
shall celebrate at the Hall this year." And it rarely turned out that
arrangements had not been made with the Lloyds and the Bordleys and the
Manners, and other neighbours, to go to the country for the holidays. I
have no occasion in these pages to mention my intimacy with the sons and
daughters of those good friends of the Carvels', Colonel Lloyd and Mr.
Bordley. Some of them are dead now, and the rest can thank God and
look back upon worthy and useful lives. And if any of these, my old
playmates, could read this manuscript, perchance they might feel a tingle
of recollection of Children's Day, when Maryland was a province. We
rarely had snow; sometimes a crust upon the ground that was melted into
paste by the noonday sun, but more frequently, so it seems to me, a
foggy, drizzly Christmas, with the fires crackling in saloon and lady's
chamber. And when my grandfather and the ladies and gentlemen, his
guests, came down the curving stairs, there were the broadly smiling
servants drawn up in the wide hall,--all who could gather there,--and the
rest on the lawn outside, to wish "Merry Chris'mas" to "de quality." The
redemptioners in front, headed by Ivie and Jonas Tree, tho' they had long
served their terms, and with them old Harvey and his son; next the house
blacks and the outside liveries, and then the oldest slaves from the
quarters. This line reached the door, which Scipio would throw open at
"de quality's" appearance, disclosing the rest of the field servants, in
bright-coloured gowns, and the little negroes on the green. Then Mr.
Carvel would make them a little speech of thanks and of good-will, and
white-haired Johnson of the senior quarters, who had been with my great-
grandfather, would start the carol in a quaver. How clear and sweet the
melody of those negro voices comes back to me through the generations!
And the picture of the hall, loaded with holly and mistletoe even to the
great arch that spanned it, with the generous bowls of egg-nog and punch
on the mahogany by the wall! And the ladies our guests, in cap and
apron, joining in the swelling hymn; ay, and the men, too. And then,
after the breakfast of sweet ham and venison, and hot bread and sausage,
made under Mrs. Willis, and tea and coffee and chocolate steaming in the
silver, and ale for the gentlemen if they preferred, came the prayers and
more carols in the big drawing-room. And then music in the big house, or
perhaps a ride afield to greet the neighbours, and fiddling and dancing
in the two big quarters, Hank's and Johnson's, when the tables were
cleared after the bountiful feast Mr. Carvel was wont to give them.
There was no stint, my dears,--naught but good cheer and praising God
in sheer happiness at Carvel Hall.
At night there was always a ball, sometimes at Wilmot House, sometimes at
Colonel Lloyd's or Mr. Bordley's, and sometimes at Carvel Hall, for my
grandfather dearly loved the company of the young. He himself would lead
off the minuet,--save when once or twice his Excellency Governor Sharpe
chanced to be present,--and would draw his sword with the young gallants
that the ladies might pass under. And I have seen him join merrily in
the country dances too, to the clapping of hands of the company. That
was before Dolly and I were let upon the floor. We sat with the other
children, our mammies at our sides, in the narrow gallery with the tiny
rail that ran around the ball-room, where the sweet odour of the green
myrtleberry candles mixed with that of the powder and perfume of the
dancers. And when the beauty of the evening was led out, Dolly would
lean over the rail, and pout and smile by turns. The mischievous little
baggage could hardly wait for the conquering years to come.
They came soon enough, alack! The season Dorothy was fourteen, we had a
ball at the Hall the last day of the year. When she was that age she had
near arrived at her growth, and was full as tall as many young ladies of
twenty. I had cantered with her that morning from Wilmot House to Mr.
Lloyd's, and thence to Carvel Hall, where she was to stay to dinner. The
sun was shining warmly, and after young Harvey had taken our horses we
strayed through the house, where the servants were busy decorating, and
out into my grandfather's old English flower garden, and took the seat
by the sundial. I remember that it gave no shadow. We sat silent for
a while, Dorothy toying with old Knipe, lying at our feet, and humming
gayly the burden of a minuet. She had been flighty on the ride, with
scarce a word to say to me, for the prospect of the dance had gone to her
head.
"Have you a new suit to wear to-night, to see the New Year in, Master
Sober?" she asked presently, looking up. "I am to wear a brocade that
came out this autumn from London, and papa says I look like a duchess
when I have my grandmother's pearls."
"Always the ball!" cried I, slapping my boots in a temper. "Is it,
then, such a matter of importance? I am sure you have danced before--at
my birthdays in Marlboro' Street and at your own, and Will Fotheringay's,
and I know not how many others."
"Of course," replies Dolly, sweetly; "but never with a real man. Boys
like you and Will and the Lloyds do not count. Dr. Courtenay is at
Wilmot House, and is coming to-night; and he has asked me out. Think
of it, Richard! Dr. Courtenay!"
"A plague upon him! He is a fop!"
"A fop!" exclaimed Dolly, her humour bettering as mine went down. "Oh,
no; you are jealous. He is more sought after than any gentleman at the
assemblies, and Miss Dulany vows his steps are ravishing. There's for
you, my lad! He may not be able to keep pace with you in the chase, but
he has writ the most delicate verses ever printed in Maryland, and no
other man in the colony can turn a compliment with his grace. Shall I
tell you more? He sat with me for over an hour last night, until mamma
sent me off to bed, and was very angry at you because I had engaged to
ride with you to-day."
"And I suppose you wish you had stayed with him," I flung back, hotly.
"He had spun you a score of fine speeches and a hundred empty compliments
by now."
"He had been better company than you, sir," she laughed provokingly.
"I never heard you turn a compliment in your life, and you are now
seventeen. What headway do you expect to make at the assemblies?"
"None," I answered, rather sadly than otherwise. For she had touched
me upon a sore spot. "But if I cannot win a woman save by compliments,"
I added, flaring up, "then may I pay a bachelor's tax!"
My lady drew her whip across my knee.
"You must tell us we are beautiful, Richard," said she, in another tone.
"You have but to look in a pier-glass," I retorted. "And, besides, that
is not sufficient. You will want some rhyming couplet out of a mythology
before you are content."
She laughed again.
"Sir," answered she, "but you have wit, if you can but be got angry."
She leaned over the dial's face, and began to draw the Latin numerals
with her finger. So arch, withal, that I forgot my ill-humour.
"If you would but agree to stay angry for a day," she went on, in a low
tone, "perhaps--"
"Perhaps?"
"Perhaps you would be better company," said Dorothy. "You would surely
be more entertaining."
"Dorothy, I love you," I said.
"To be sure. I know that," she replied. "I think you have said that
before."
I admitted it sadly. "But I should be a better husband than Dr.
Courtenay."
"La!" cried she; "I am not thinking of husbands. I shall have a good
time, sir, I promise you, before I marry. And then I should never marry
you. You are much too rough, and too masterful. And you would require
obedience. I shall never obey any man. You would be too strict a
master, sir. I can see it with your dogs and your servants. And your
friends, too. For you thrash any boy who does not agree with you. I
want no rough squire for a husband. And then, you are a Whig. I could
never marry a Whig. You behaved disgracefully at King William's School
last year. Don't deny it!"
"Deny it!" I cried warmly; "I would as soon deny that you are an arrant
flirt, Dorothy Manners, and will be a worse one."
"Yes, I shall have my fling," said the minx. "I shall begin to-night,
with you for an audience. I shall make the doctor look to himself. But
there is the dressing-bell." And as we went into the house, "I believe
my mother is a Whig, Richard. All the Brices are."
"And yet you are a Tory?"
"I am a loyalist," says my lady, tossing her head proudly; "and we are
one day to kiss her Majesty's hand, and tell her so. And if I were the
Queen," she finished in a flash, "I would teach you surly gentlemen not
to meddle."
And she swept up the stairs so stately, that Scipio was moved to say
slyly: "Dem's de kind of ladies, Marse Richard, I jes dotes t' wait on!"
Of the affair at King William's School I shall tell later.
We had some dozen guests staying at the Hall for the ball. At dinner my
grandfather and the gentlemen twitted her, and laughed heartily at her
apt retorts, and even toasted her when she was gone. The ladies shook
their heads and nudged one another, and no doubt each of the mothers had
her notion of what she would do in Mrs. Manners's place. But when my
lady came down dressed for the ball in her pink brocade with the pearls
around her neck, fresh from the hands of Nester and those of her own
tremulous mammy, Mr. Carvel must needs go up to her and hold her at arm's
length in admiration, and then kiss her on both her cheeks. Whereat she
blushed right prettily.
"Bless me!" says he; "and can this be Richard's little playmate grown?
Upon my word, Miss Dolly, you'll be the belle of the ball. Eh, Lloyd?
Bless me, bless me, you must not mind a kiss from an old man. The young
ones may have their turn after a while." He laughed as my grandfather
only could laugh, and turned to me, who had reddened to my forehead.
"And so, Richard, she has outstripped you, fair and square. You are only
an awkward lad, and she--why, i' faith, in two years she'll be beyond my
protection. Come, Miss Dolly," says he; "I'll show you the mistletoe,
that you may beware of it."
And he led her off on his arm. "The old year and the new, gentlemen!"
he cried merrily, as he passed the door, with Dolly's mammy and Nester
simpering with pride on the landing.
The company arrived in coach and saddle, many having come so far that
they were to stay the night. Young Mr. Beall carried his bride on a
pillion behind him, her red riding-cloak flung over her ball dress. Mr.
Bordley and family came in his barge, Mr. Marmaduke and his wife in coach
and four. With them was Dr. Courtenay, arrayed in peach-coloured coat
and waistcoat, with black satin breeches and white silk stockings, and
pinchbeck buckles a-sparkle on his shoes. How I envied him as he
descended the stairs, stroking his ruffles and greeting the company with
the indifferent ease that was then the fashion. I fancied I saw his eyes
wander among the ladies, and not marking her he crossed over to where I
stood disconsolate before the fireplace.
"Why, Richard, my lad," says he, "you are quite grown since I saw you.
And the little girl that was your playmate,--Miss Dolly, I mean,--has
outstripped me, egad. She has become suddenly une belle demoiselle, like
a rose that blooms in a night."
I answered nothing at all. But I had given much to know whether my
stolid manner disconcerted him. Unconsciously I sought the bluff face
above the chimney, depicted in all its ruggedness by the painter of King
Charles's day, and contrasted with the bundle of finery at my side.
Dr. Courtenay certainly caught the look. He opened his snuff-box,
took a pinch, turned on his heel, and sauntered off.
"What did you say, Richard?" asked Mr. Lloyd, coming up to me, laughing,
for he had seen the incident.
"I looked merely at the man of Marston Moor, sir, and said nothing."
"Faith, 'twas a better answer than if you had used your tongue, I think,"
answered my friend. But he teased me a deal that night when Dolly danced
with the doctor, and my grandfather bade me look to my honours. My young
lady flung her head higher than ever, and made a minuet as well as any
dame upon the floor, while I stood very glum at the thought of the prize
slipping from my grasp. Now and then, in the midst of a figure, she
would shoot me an arch glance, as much as to say that her pinions were
strong now. But when it came to the country dances my lady comes up to
me ever so prettily and asks the favour.
"Tis a monstrous state, indeed, when I have to beg you for a reel!" says
she.
And so was I made happy. _