Preface. The Esmonds Of Virginia
The estate of Castlewood, in Virginia, which was given to our ancestors byKing Charles the First, as some return for the sacrifices made in hisMajesty's cause by the Esmond family, lies in Westmoreland county, betweenthe rivers Potomac and Rappahannoc, and was once as great as an EnglishPrincipality, though in the early times its revenues were but small.Indeed, for near eighty years after our forefathers possessed them, ourplantations were in the hands of factors, who enriched themselves oneafter another, though a few scores of hogsheads of tobacco were all theproduce that, for long after the Restoration, our family received fromtheir Virginian estates.
My dear and honoured father, Colonel Henry Esmond, whose history, writtenby himself, is contained in the accompanying volume, came to Virginia inthe year 1718, built his house of Castlewood, and here permanentlysettled. After a long stormy life in England, he passed the remainder ofhis many years in peace and honour in this country; how beloved andrespected by all his fellow citizens, how inexpressibly dear to hisfamily, I need not say. His whole life was a benefit to all who wereconnected with him. He gave the best example, the best advice, the mostbounteous hospitality to his friends; the tenderest care to hisdependants; and bestowed on those of his immediate family such a blessingof fatherly love and protection, as can never be thought of, by us atleast, without veneration and thankfulness; and my son's children, whetherestablished here in our Republick, or at home in the always beloved mothercountry, from which our late quarrel hath separated us, may surely beproud to be descended from one who in all ways was so truly noble.
My dear mother died in 1736, soon after our return from England, whithermy parents took me for my education; and where I made the acquaintance ofMr. Warrington, whom my children never saw. When it pleased Heaven, in thebloom of his youth, and after but a few months of a most happy union, toremove him from me, I owed my recovery from the grief which that calamitycaused me, mainly to my dearest father's tenderness, and then to theblessing vouchsafed to me in the birth of my two beloved boys. I know thefatal differences which separated them in politics never disunited theirhearts; and as I can love them both, whether wearing the king's colours orthe Republick's, I am sure that they love me, and one another, and himabove all, my father and theirs, the dearest friend of their childhood,the noble gentleman who bred them from their infancy in the practice andknowledge of Truth, and Love, and Honour.
My children will never forget the appearance and figure of their reveredgrandfather; and I wish I possessed the art of drawing (which my papa hadin perfection), so that I could leave to our descendants a portrait of onewho was so good and so respected. My father was of a dark complexion, witha very great forehead and dark hazel eyes, overhung by eyebrows whichremained black long after his hair was white. His nose was aquiline, hissmile extraordinary sweet. How well I remember it, and how little anydescription I can write can recall his image! He was of rather lowstature, not being above five feet seven inches in height; he used tolaugh at my sons, whom he called his crutches, and say they were grown tootall for him to lean upon. But small as he was he had a perfect grace andmajesty of deportment, such as I have never seen in this country, exceptperhaps in our friend Mr. Washington, and commanded respect wherever heappeared.
In all bodily exercises he excelled, and showed an extraordinary quicknessand agility. Of fencing he was especially fond, and made my two boysproficient in that art; so much so, that when the French came to thiscountry with Monsieur Rochambeau, not one of his officers was superior tomy Henry, and he was not the equal of my poor George, who had taken theking's side in our lamentable but glorious War of Independence.
Neither my father nor my mother ever wore powder in their hair; both theirheads were as white as silver, as I can remember them. My dear motherpossessed to the last an extraordinary brightness and freshness ofcomplexion; nor would people believe that she did not wear rouge. At sixtyyears of age she still looked young, and was quite agile. It was not untilafter that dreadful siege of our house by the Indians, which left me awidow ere I was a mother, that my dear mother's health broke. She neverrecovered her terror and anxiety of those days, which ended so fatally forme, then a bride scarce six months married, and died in my father's armsere my own year of widowhood was over.
From that day, until the last of his dear and honoured life, it was mydelight and consolation to remain with him as his comforter and companion;and from those little notes which my mother hath made here and there inthe volume in which my father describes his adventures in Europe, I canwell understand the extreme devotion with which she regarded him--adevotion so passionate and exclusive as to prevent her, I think, fromloving any other person except with an inferior regard; her whole thoughtsbeing centred on this one object of affection and worship. I know that,before her, my dear father did not show the love which he had for hisdaughter; and in her last and most sacred moments, this dear and tenderparent owned to me her repentance that she had not loved me enough: herjealousy even that my father should give his affection to any but herself;and in the most fond and beautiful words of affection and admonition, shebade me never to leave him, and to supply the place which she wasquitting. With a clear conscience, and a heart inexpressibly thankful, Ithink I can say that I fulfilled those dying commands, and that until hislast hour my dearest father never had to complain that his daughter's loveand fidelity failed him.
And it is since I knew him entirely, for during my mother's life he neverquite opened himself to me--since I knew the value and splendour of thataffection which he bestowed upon me, that I have come to understand andpardon what, I own, used to anger me in my mother's lifetime, her jealousyrespecting her husband's love. 'Twas a gift so precious, that no wondershe who had it was for keeping it all, and could part with none of it,even to her daughter.
Though I never heard my father use a rough word, 'twas extraordinary withhow much awe his people regarded him; and the servants on our plantation,both those assigned from England and the purchased negroes, obeyed himwith an eagerness such as the most severe taskmasters round about us couldnever get from their people. He was never familiar, though perfectlysimple and natural; he was the same with the meanest man as with thegreatest, and as courteous to a black slave-girl as to the governor'swife. No one ever thought of taking a liberty with him (except once atipsy gentleman from York, and I am bound to own that my papa neverforgave him): he set the humblest people at once on their ease with him,and brought down the most arrogant by a grave satiric way, which madepersons exceedingly afraid of him. His courtesy was not put on like aSunday suit, and laid by when the company went away; it was always thesame; as he was always dressed the same whether for a dinner by ourselvesor for a great entertainment. They say he liked to be the first in hiscompany; but what company was there in which he would not be first? When Iwent to Europe for my education, and we passed a winter at London with myhalf-brother, my Lord Castlewood and his second lady, I saw at herMajesty's Court some of the most famous gentlemen of those days; and Ithought to myself, "None of these are better than my papa"; and the famousLord Bolingbroke, who came to us from Dawley, said as much, and that themen of that time were not like those of his youth:--"Were your father,madam," he said, "to go into the woods, the Indians would elect himSachem;" and his lordship was pleased to call me Pocahontas.
I did not see our other relative, Bishop Tusher's lady, of whom so much issaid in my papa's memoirs--although my mamma went to visit her in thecountry. I have no pride (as I showed by complying with my mother'srequest, and marrying a gentleman who was but the younger son of a Suffolkbaronet), yet I own to a _decent respect_ for my name, and wonder how one,who ever bore it, should change it for that of Mrs. _Thomas Tusher_. Ipass over as odious and unworthy of credit those reports (which I heard inEurope, and was then too young to understand), how this person, having_left her family_ and fled to Paris, out of jealousy of the Pretender,betrayed his secrets to my Lord Stair, King George's ambassador, andnearly caused the prince's
death there; how she came to England andmarried this Mr. Tusher, and became a great favourite of King George theSecond, by whom Mr. Tusher was made a dean, and then a bishop. I did notsee the lady, who chose to remain _at her palace_ all the time we were inLondon; but after visiting her, my poor mamma said she had lost all hergood looks, and warned me not to set too much store by any such giftswhich nature had bestowed upon me. She grew exceedingly stout; and Iremember my brother's wife, Lady Castlewood, saying--"No wonder she becamea favourite, for the king likes them old and ugly, as his father didbefore him." On which papa said--"All women were alike; that there wasnever one so beautiful as that one; and that we could forgive hereverything but her beauty." And hereupon my mamma looked vexed, and myLord Castlewood began to laugh; and I, of course, being a young creature,could not understand what was the subject of their conversation.
After the circumstances narrated in the third book of these memoirs, myfather and mother both went abroad, being advised by their friends toleave the country in consequence of the transactions which are recountedat the close of the volume of the memoirs. But my brother, hearing how the_future bishop's lady_ had quitted Castlewood and joined the Pretender atParis, pursued him, and would have killed him, prince as he was, had notthe prince managed to make his escape. On his expedition to Scotlanddirectly after, Castlewood was so enraged against him that he asked leaveto serve as a volunteer, and join the Duke of Argyle's army in Scotland,which the Pretender never had the courage to face; and thenceforth my lordwas quite reconciled to the present reigning family, from whom he hatheven received promotion.
Mrs. Tusher was by this time as angry against the Pretender as any of herrelations could be, and used to boast, as I have heard, that she not onlybrought back my lord to the Church of England, but procured the Englishpeerage for him, which the _junior branch_ of our family at presentenjoys. She was a great friend of Sir Robert Walpole, and would not restuntil her husband slept at Lambeth, my papa used laughing to say. However,the bishop died of apoplexy suddenly, and his wife erected a greatmonument over him; and the pair sleep under that stone, with a canopy ofmarble clouds and angels above them--the first Mrs. Tusher lying sixtymiles off at Castlewood.
But my papa's genius and education are both greater than any a woman canbe expected to have, and his adventures in Europe far more exciting thanhis life in this country, which was past in the tranquil offices of loveand duty; and I shall say no more by way of introduction to his memoirs,nor keep my children from the perusal of a story which is much moreinteresting than that of their affectionate old mother,
Rachel Esmond Warrington.
CASTLEWOOD, VIRGINIA,November 3, 1778.