The Rose of Old St. Louis

by Mary Dillon

  CHAPTER XVI

  A VIRGINIA FARMER

  "Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear."

  "What, Fatima! You refuse?"

  I dismounted and led her carefully down the steep bank and on to theferry-boat. She followed me very willingly, but I stood with my armover her glossy neck, for I saw she eyed the water distrustfully, andwhile I had no fear of her being disobedient to my word of command, Iknew it would comfort her to feel my arm about her neck. She neighedher appreciation, and gently rubbed her nostrils against my side, evera token of affection with her. When the boat began to move, the twostalwart negroes pulling at their great oars and chanting dismally intime to their pulling, Fatima again showed signs of excitement, but Ieasily quieted her, and then I had leisure to use my eyes.

  This crossing the Potomac to Washington reminded me vividly ofcrossing the Mississippi to St. Louis more than three months before.Nor did the capital look more impressive at this distance than thevillage of St. Louis. Both were embowered in trees, and, but for thetwo imposing white buildings,--the President's Palace and theCapitol,--Washington was much the less prepossessing village of thetwo, and I thought how much more worthy was our own city ofPhiladelphia to be the capital of the nation.

  Indeed, when I had led Fatima off the ferry, she sank over herfetlocks in mud, and I had to lead her some distance before I foundground firm enough to warrant my mounting her, lest my weight shouldmake the poor creature flounder hopelessly in the mire.

  I bore in my pocket a letter from Captain Clarke introducing me to Mr.Meriwether Lewis, which he had written at Mulberry Hill, after theboat that was to bear me away was in sight, and also an address he hadgiven me of a respectable innkeeper where I might find lodging. Theinn was my first quest, and that once found and a suitable toiletmade, I was eager to present my letter of introduction, and, if chancefavored me, meet the President also.

  It was still early, and the road I found myself upon (for it could notbe called a street, since there were no pavements and only at longintervals a house) was filled with a well-dressed throng all wendingtheir way in one direction. It seemed to me too early an hour forgentlemen to be seeking a place of amusement, and too late and thethrong too generally well dressed to be on their way to business. Somewere in coaches, with coachmen in livery on the box and footmenstanding up behind, and some were on horseback and some on foot, butall, or nearly all, were wearing silk stockings and fine ruffledshirts and carefully powdered queues and shining shoe-buckles.

  A little stretch of brick sidewalk gave an air of distinction to asolidly built two-story house with sloping roof and dormer-windows,and in front of the house, on a stool planted on the curb, sat an oldnegro, bandy-legged, with snowy wool, industriously polishing a row ofshoes neatly arranged in front of him, and crooning happily aplantation melody as he worked. I drew Fatima to the curb.

  "Good morning, uncle," I said as the negro slowly lifted his head,bowed over his brush. "Can you tell me who all these people are andwhere they are going?"

  "Mohnen, marsa," the negro returned politely, and then looked at mewith round-eyed astonishment. "Yo' dunno whar they's gwine? Why, sah,dey's de Senatahs and Represenatahs, sah, and dey gwine to de Cap'tul,sah."

  Of course! It was very stupid of me not to have thought of it. Thenegro evidently thought so, too, but a sudden excuse suggested itselfto him.

  "Mought yo' be a stranger in Washington, sah?" with a glance of suchundisguised pity for any barbarian who did not know the capital that Ifelt myself coloring, and to recover my self-respect assured him thatI had set foot in this "domtiferous" mud-hole for the first time justfifteen minutes before.

  He was greatly impressed with my emphatic word, and addressed me withmuch-increased respect.

  "Den, sah, if I might be so libertious, p'r'aps yo' like me to p'intout de 'stinguished gen'lemen."

  Nothing could have pleased me better, and I drew Fatima still closerto the curb while Bandy Jim--for that, he said, was hisname--proceeded to point out the celebrities.

  There was passing at that moment a very elegant coach, with mountedpostilions in pink plush and gold lace, and an exceedingly handsomeman with an aristocratic face leaning back among the cushions, hiseyes half closed, as if mentally conning a speech for delivery inCongress. Bandy Jim did not wait for the eager question on the tip ofmy tongue.

  "Dat, sah, is de welfiest and most 'stocratic gen'leman in Washington.Dat am Mistah Gubernoor Morris of de gre't city of New York. I 'low hestudying dis minnit on a speech 'bout de Mississippi Riber and demSpanish men."

  I looked at him again, more eagerly than before. I knew GouverneurMorris well by reputation, though I had never seen him, as one of themost polished and scholarly men of the country, and the devoted friendof Hamilton, whom I idolized as all that was brilliant, great, andnoble. But my eagerness was largely due to Bandy Jim's suggestion thatthey were discussing the Mississippi question in Congress, and as Ilooked more keenly I hoped he was on the right side, for I thoughtthat broad white brow could think great thoughts and those clear-cutlips could utter them with force.

  "Why do you think it will be on the Mississippi this morning, uncle?"I inquired, amused that the old darky should seem to know the doingsin Congress. "Do you go up to the Capitol to listen to the debates?"

  "Sometimes, sah, but mos'ly I reads dem in de 'Post,' sah!" And theproud air with which he let me know of his unusual accomplishmentbeggars description.

  "And so you can read, Uncle? And who taught you?"

  "Ole Miss, sah. I's a free nigger, sah. Ole Miss gib me my papers so Imought stay wid my fambly when she follow de gin'ral and his father toMulberry Hill in Kaintuck'."

  I confess Bandy Jim seemed like an old friend at once when I found hehad belonged to the Clarkes, and in my delight at seeing "one of thefamily" in a strange land, I slipped from Fatima's back and graspedhim by the hand.

  When he found I was just from Kentucky and Mulberry Hill, he was moreexcited than I, and especially was he eager for news of "MarseWilliam."

  "He mah baby, sah!" he repeated over and over, his old eyes shiningwith visions of other days.

  "An' Yorke, sah,--you know Yorke?--he mah son!" with great dignity andmuch evident pride in a son of such distinction.

  I had many things to tell him of Yorke's prowess and address thatpleased the old fellow greatly. I might also have recounted the manytimes when I had had all the will in the world to horsewhip therascal, but I did not distress his old father with any of hisshortcomings.

  The morning was fast slipping away when I bethought me it was time tobe looking up my lodging and making myself ready for my call at thePresident's Palace. I flung Bandy Jim a piece of gold and told him Iwould see him again. And then as I was in the act of mounting Fatimait occurred to me he could no doubt direct me.

  "Can you tell me how to find the Mansion House, Uncle?"

  "Right here, sah," grinning with delight; and sure enough, what hadseemed to me the home of some respectable citizen proved to be mineinn. And a very good one indeed; for when Bandy Jim had called a boyto lead Fatima around the house to the stables in the rear, andanother to take me in to the landlord, I found myself in as clean andcomfortable a hostelry as one could hope to find. My chamber was alarge square one, on the second landing, and from its windows I couldcatch glimpses through the bare trees of the white building on thehill that I knew was the Capitol.

  And when a boy had brought my saddle-bags, Bandy Jim himself hobbledin to help me dress. He had been body-servant to both General Clarkeand his father, and, old as he was, bent nearly double and dim ofsight, his fingers were skilled for lacers and laces, for buckles andribbons.

  I thought I looked quite as a gentleman should for a morning call atthe "White House," for that, I understand, is what Mr. Jeffersonprefers to have the President's Palace called. Indeed, I have heard hevery vehemently objects to having it called a palace at all. I waswearing a plain cloth habit of dark green
with no lace at wrist orknee and only a small lace tie at the neck. My shoe-buckles were ofthe plainest silver, but Bandy Jim had polished them till they shonelike new. I had some thoughts of deferring my visit until later in theday, when I might with a good grace have worn satin and velvet andfine lace ruffles, for I am afraid I was something of a beau in thosedays in my liking for dress. But bethinking me that the plainness ofmy costume would only be an additional recommendation in the eyes ofthe President, should I have the good fortune to meet him, I set offon Fatima's back, following the straight road, as Bandy Jim haddirected.

  A more forlorn village it has rarely been my lot to see: stretches ofmud road with neither houses nor fields to outline it, and then for ablock or more bare and ugly houses, hideous in their newness, nothaving even the grace of age to soften their ill proportions. I wasglad mademoiselle was not there to gaze upon the capital of Americawith eyes that knew so well how to be scornful, and that would so soonfind her own gay French capital so beautiful.

  I was in the very act of saying to myself for the twentieth time,"Idiots and dolts, not to have selected beautiful Philadelphia for anation's capital!" when there rode up beside me a farmer in plain,almost rough, clothes, but riding a magnificent horse. He was about topass me (for I was riding slowly, out of respect to the mud, whichmight easily have bespattered me so that I would be in no conditionfor a call), but I hailed him:

  "Are you going my way, my friend?"

  "If you are going mine."

  "I am going straight ahead to the President's Palace."

  "And I to the White House, sir."

  "Then our ways lie together. Are you acquainted in Washington?"

  "Somewhat, sir."

  I began to think this rather a surly farmer, he was so chary of words,so I looked at him more narrowly. But I saw nothing surly in his face.Indeed, at a second glance, I decided it was as fine a face, itsfeatures as clearly chiseled, as one often sees, and the eyes, beneaththe broad white brow, were full, open, and benignant.

  "He is no ordinary farmer," I said to myself, "but most like a wealthyVirginia planter of education and social standing, but careless inmatters of dress." Therefore I addressed him with a shade more ofrespect than I had hitherto used:

  "I am a stranger in Washington, sir," I said, "and if you are betteracquainted here, I thought perhaps you would be so good as to tell mesomething of the city."

  He unbent immediately, and not only pointed out every object ofinterest on the road, but in a very delicate and gentlemanly mannerproceeded also to pump me as to my name and errand in Washington. Iwas not more amused at his curiosity than at the skilful method heemployed in trying to satisfy it, but, as I flattered myself, I gavehim but little satisfaction.

  In reply to some question of mine about the debate in Congress on theMississippi question, he gave me such a masterly exposition of thewhole subject, so clearly and concisely put into a nutshell, I beganto think my eccentric planter was a political genius, possibly amember of Congress, though if so I thought his horse was headed thewrong way.

  But evidently I had lighted unwittingly upon a rich mine ofinformation. It was never my way to neglect my opportunities, and Ibegan at once to ply him with questions about men and things inWashington. Last of all, I asked him about Mr. Jefferson.

  Now my family was not of Mr. Jefferson's party: we were ardentadmirers and strong partizans of Mr. Hamilton. Not that we had anyfault to find with Mr. Jefferson, except for his quarrel withHamilton. But bethinking me that it was quite possible my plantermight be a "Democrat," as Mr. Jefferson calls his party, I spokeguardedly, I thought.

  "Can you tell me something of the President, sir? Do you admire him?And is it true he is such a sloven in dress as they say he is?"

  I could not tell from his face whether he were Democrat or Whig, forit changed not a whit. He answered readily:

  "I know Mr. Jefferson quite well. I can hardly say whether I admirehim or not, but I like him. In fact, he is quite a friend of mine. Asto his being a sloven in dress, is that what they say about him? Hedresses as well as I do: would you call that being a sloven?"

  "Not at all, sir, not at all!" I answered quickly; but to myself Isaid, "If he dresses no better, God help us!" I added aloud:

  "I hope, sir, what I have said about the President has not offendedyou, since he is a friend of yours. I have never seen him, and wasonly repeating the general report."

  The stream of people that had been setting eastward earlier in themorning had ceased entirely. We had ridden on some distance withoutmeeting any one, but at this moment we met two gentlemen on horseback,and both took off their hats and kept them off until we had passed. Ithought it probable that from my fine clothes (which, though plain,were of undeniable elegance) they took me for a stranger ofdistinction, and I bowed most graciously in return. My farmer friendbut touched his hat with his riding-whip, and then pointed off throughthe woods to where we could see the chimneys of a large house, on thebanks of the river.

  "That," he said, "is Mr. Law's mansion. You may have heard of him?"

  "Oh, yes," I answered; "he married Miss Custis, and I used to know herquite well, when we were both children."

  We mounted a little elevation in the road, not enough to be called ahill, but enough to give a more extended view over the wide acres ofbrick-kilns and huts of laborers and dismal waste land unfenced anduncultivated. To the east, in the direction of the Capitol, he pointedout the towers of Doddington Manor, the house of Daniel Carroll. Wehad passed so many houses that seemed to me but little more thanhovels or barracks that it was a relief to me to see from Mr. Law'sand Mr. Carroll's places that there were some gentlemen's residencesin the capital. When I said something of the kind to my guide, hereplied, with some asperity, that there were many gentlemen'sresidences at Alexandria and Arlington and Georgetown, only a shortgallop away, and that it would not be many years until Washingtonitself could claim as many as New York or Philadelphia.

  I saw he was one of those violent partizans of the "ten-mile square"(probably because his farm lay somewhere near), so discreetly turnedthe discourse, since I did not want to bring up the vexed question ofthe superior merits of New York, Philadelphia, and the ten-mile squareas a seat for the capital.

  By this time the President's Palace was in full view, and a beautifulbuilding it was, looking very large and very white, and, it must beconfessed, very bare, since there were no gardens surrounding it,nothing but mud in front and marsh behind, between it and the Potomac.

  Fatima picked her way daintily through the mud, often half stoppingfor better footing (as if she knew she must not bespatter me when Iwas going to call at the President's house), and by that means thefarmer's powerful horse (who seemed not to mind the mud, knowing therewas no finery to be hurt by it) got well ahead. I was myself so muchengaged with the badness of the road that I did not, for a fewminutes, look up. When I did, I observed that two orderlies wereholding the farmer's horse, from which he had just dismounted, whilethe farmer himself stood on the steps awaiting my approach. Oneorderly led his horse away as I rode up, but the exclamation ofdisgust for the mud that rose to my lips never passed them. As Iglanced up at this "farmer" in corduroy small-clothes, red plushwaistcoat, rough riding-boots splashed with mud, he had suddenly growntall and majestic.

  "Orderly, take this gentleman's horse to the stable!" he said, with anair of command, and then turned to me with stately dignity.

  "Welcome to the White House, my young Philadelphia friend," he said,and smiled.

  For my confusion knew no bounds. I was never quick where a puzzle ortrick was concerned, but now it slowly dawned upon me that my farmerfriend was the President of the United States! and I had beencriticizing him to his face, and talking flippantly to him, and evensuperciliously. My consternation grew; I knew not what was the properthing to do, but I stammered out the most abject apology I could thinkof.

  Mr. Jefferson only laughed at my confusion.

  "Come, come, sir," he said genially, "there is
no great harm done.Don't you suppose I know what people say of me? You were onlyrepeating the 'general report,' you know." And then he addedseriously, as he saw my confusion was but increased by his raillery:

  "Where no offense is intended, sir, none is taken. I beg you willenter the White House, and I will send my secretary to you, Mr.Meriwether Lewis."

  As he spoke he led the way into the house and into a very large andbeautiful room, with a full-length portrait of General Washington onthe walls.

  "I shall hope to see you later," he said pleasantly as he left me; "ifI mistake not, I have some communications of interest for you." Thenhe turned and went up the grand staircase and left me alone to mymiserable pastime of recalling every word and every incident of thatwretched ride to the White House, and from not one of them could Iextract an atom of comfort to soothe my wounded self-esteem.