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George Washington
by
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When Washington was fourteen, his schooldays were over. Of his youth we know but little. He was not precocious, although physically he developed early; but there was no reason why the neighbors should keep tab on him and record anecdotes. They had boys of their own just as promising. He was tall and slender, long-armed, with large, bony hands and feet, very strong, a daring horseman, a good wrestler, and, living on the banks of a river, he became, as all healthy boys must, a good swimmer.
His mission among the Indians in his twenty-first year was largely successful through the personal admiration he excited among the savages. In poise, he was equal to their best, and ever being a bit proud, even if not vain, he dressed for the occasion in full Indian regalia, minus only the war-paint. The Indians at once recognized his nobility, and named him “Conotancarius”–Plunderer of Villages–and suggested that he take to wife an Indian maiden, and remain with them as chief.
When he returned home, he wrote to the Indian agent, announcing his safe arrival and sending greetings to the Indians. “Tell them,” he says, “how happy it would make Conotancarius to see them, and take them by the hand.”
His wish was gratified, for the Indians took him at his word, and fifty of them came to him, saying, “Since you could not come and live with us, we have come to live with you.” They camped on the green in front of the residence, and proceeded to inspect every room in the house, tested all the whisky they could find, appropriated eatables, and were only induced to depart after all the bedclothes had been dyed red, and a blanket or a quilt presented to each.
Throughout his life Washington had a very tender spot in his heart for women. At sixteen, he writes with all a youth’s solemnity of “a hurt of the heart uncurable.” And from that time forward there is ever some “Faire Mayde” to be seen in the shadow. In fact, Washington got along with women much better than with men; with men he was often diffident and awkward, illy concealing his uneasiness behind a forced dignity; but he knew that women admired him, and with them he was at ease. When he made that first Western trip, carrying a message to the French, he turns aside to call on the Indian princess, Aliguippa. In his journal, he says, “presented her a Blanket and a Bottle of Rum, which latter was thought the much best Present of the 2.”
In his expense-account we find items like these: “Treating the ladys 2 shillings.” “Present for Polly 5 shillings.” “My share for Music at the Dance 3 shillings.” “Lost at Loo 5 shillings.” In fact, like most Episcopalians, Washington danced and played cards. His favorite game seems to have been “Loo”; and he generally played for small stakes, and when playing with “the Ladys” usually lost, whether purposely or because otherwise absorbed, we know not.
In Seventeen Hundred Fifty-six, he made a horseback journey on military business to Boston, stopping a week going and on the way back at New York. He spent the time at the house of a former Virginian, Beverly Robinson, who had married Susannah Philipse, daughter of Frederick Philipse, one of the rich men of Manhattan. In the household was a young woman, Mary Philipse, sister of the hostess. She was older than Washington, educated, and had seen much more of polite life than he. The tall, young Virginian, fresh from the frontier, where he had had horses shot under him, excited the interest of Mary Philipse, and Washington, innocent but ardent, mistook this natural curiosity for a softer sentiment and proposed on the spot. As soon as the lady got her breath he was let down very gently.