Richard Judkins' Wooing: A Tale of Virginia in the Revolution

I was sitting in an arm chair with my feet upon the hand rail of the verandah--very much at my ease--when Major Bullbeggor rode around the bend of the turnpike and came into view.

I watched him lazily and noted the action of his mare's hind feet as she threw little jets of dust off to either side. The jets mingled together and formed a yellow cloud in the rear, through which could be seen the grinning teeth of Snake in the Grass, the Major's nigger, who always acted as his body-servant. Snake was mounted ungracefully upon an old spavined clay bank, and he came loping along some three or four fathoms behind his master.

The sky was cloudless and the warm sunshine appeared to annoy the Major.

I was so comfortable, sitting there with the buzzards soaring in silent circles overhead and listening to the small birds singing in the shrubbery on the lawn, that I had just made up my mind to hail the horseman and ask him to accept the hospitalities of Judkins' Hall--and all who have been anywhere in the state know the reputation of my house--when the single-footing mare turned sharply from the main road and came loping up the carriage drive toward me.

I might as well tell you now, that the Judkinses were never of a nervous or excitable temperament. Even the first Richard Judkins, Earl of Belldon, and viscount Ansley, was noted for his cool and calculating disposition. But if you think I am overstepping the bounds of courtesy by dwelling too much upon the characteristics of my family, I will say that I only do so for fear someone may hear this who is a stranger in the colonies, and who might, therefore, get a wrong impression of the manners bred in and taught to a Virginia gentleman.

As I said before, I am not nervous; so I sat calmly watching the Major and his servant until they halted within ten feet of the soles of my shoes.

"Good morning, Major!" I cried, "How are you to-day? Jump down and come in!" And with that I took down my feet and rose to greet him.

The Major's face seldom relaxed its grave expression, although he had a sympathetic eye, but this day he looked more stern and military than ever. His dress added to this effect, for he now appeared for the first time in the uniform of Woodford's irregulars, with a long, straight sword dangling from his broad belt.

He stroked his pointed, tuft-like beard which hung from the end of his chin, and twirled his long, grey moustaches, while his eyes looked from one object to another as if searching for something. Then he saluted, saying, "Is there a Prince George county nigger about here, Mr. Judkins?"

Snake in the Grass bent forward in his saddle, and I noticed a thin, rod-like contrivance rise from the back of his coat collar and lift off his hat, replacing it again the instant he sat up straight.

"Yes, sir, there is. Here, Sam!" I cried, and my boy stepped out from behind a corner of the house and stood attention.

"If there is," continued the Major, "he can hold my horse a few moments while Snake, there, takes up my left stirrup a hole or two. It is an outrage the way some saddles are built, and I'm certain this one will be the death of me yet. It has already given me trouble in my left knee joint."

I gave a look at Sam who sprang to the Major's bridle--and I might say here, that for an all-around good nigger, my boy Sam was hard to beat. He stood six feet one inch on a pair of ham like feet and weighed two hundred weight. He was a black, big-limbed, bullet-headed, broad-faced, hog-nosed nigger of the pure Guinea breed, and he came from the best stock in Prince George's--but that goes without saying, for the Major would rather have seen his favorite mare struck with a whip than in care of any other but a Prince George nigger.

"Well, sir, how do you feel, and what is the news to-day?" I asked, as I stepped down from the verandah and shook his hand when he had dismounted.

It was always the custom to ask Major Bullbeggor how he felt, for although he was only fifty, or but little over twice my age, he always appeared to be suffering very much.

"I feel a little better than I did last week," he answered, "but I have some pains shooting all through me, sir. Yes, sir, a pain, now and then, a shooting all through me. I've been taking Miranda Jones' spring medicine, but it don't seem to do me much good. I'm quite certain there's a settling in my joints, coupled with a numbing of the nerves and twitching of the scalp. Dr. McGuire bled me twice last week and drenched me three times--but no matter, a soldier has no time to devote to talking about his physical sufferings, even if they are unwarranted. News I have, unless you have seen Roger Booker to speak to while he was riding an express to the assembly at Richmond."

"No!" I answered, "I've not seen Booker since last May, when he went with you to help organize some of the colonial companies. But what has happened? No more of that rioting and massacre like the affair of Concord and Lexington, I hope?"

The Major walked slowly up the steps and seated himself comfortably in the arm-chair I had just occupied, and then waited patiently until I drew up a chair and was seated. I saw he had some important news, but, of course, was not discourteous in my haste to find it out. The Major had served through the entire French war with Colonel George Washington, and was a man of the most pronounced military method in all things. It would have been showing a gross disregard for his training had I even suggested that he should hurry and tell me what was uppermost in his mind, before he had thought carefully upon the proper manner and time for doing so. For himself, he was most punctilious, at all times, in his manner and address to gentlemen of his own rank and station. He was sometimes truculent of speech, but he even went so far into the matter of politeness and good breeding that when his trusty body servant, Snake in the Grass--he always had a humorous way of naming his people--forgot to bow properly and remove his hat on one or two occasions, he had the rod-like contrivance rigged upon the slave's back which lifted and replaced his hat as I have described. The idea that Snake was a lazy, shiftless nigger, never entered the Major's head. Snake may have been a good servant, but for my part, I've always stuck to the old method of training one's people and have seen more than one Prince George county nigger all the better for a little dressing with a small hickory switch; especially when extenuating his circumstances.

My cousin, Will Byrd, who was a few years my senior, came out of the house on hearing us talking, and, after greeting the Major, had a small table brought within easy reach. Upon this was placed a bottle of brandy, some sugar, ice and sprigs of young mint.

The Major sat there silently stroking his beard while Will mixed the beverage, nor did he even offer my cousin a suggestion, knowing well the mixture that had been famous in Judkins' Hall ever since the days my grandfather and Lord George Fairfax honored its roof.

But because we held our English ancestry dear, and observed their customs, don't think that we were rank tories.

Will and I had both been friends of Lord Dunmore, before he started his aggressive policy, but since then we had had little to do with him. We also held aloof from the too radical followers of Mr. Patrick Henry. That is, from all except Major Bullbeggor. The Major had been my father's friend, and since his death had always been a welcome visitor at the Hall, even though he had helped to raise a company sent to Boston, and had joined Colonel Woodford's militia.

Berkley Harrison and Captain Barron were in the breakfast room talking to my mother and sister. They had just finished lunch. Harrison was an outspoken tory who lived upon the adjoining plantation, and who, though only thirty years of age, was one of the richest planters on the James river. My mother had a high regard for his many accomplishments, for he had lived much in England, and had the bearing of a man who had seen something of the life at His Majesty's court.

Therefore Will and I were anxious to hear what important news the Major had to tell before anyone else joined us, for we were afraid lest his radical views should reach the ears of Mr. Harrison.

When the Major put down his glass he looked at us, and it was strange to note the effects of the liquor in the old soldier's face. Every line, from the heavy creases about his square jaw to the fan-like wrinkles that stretched away from the corners of his eyes, seemed to stand out more clearly. His eyes brightened and he spoke with great feeling--

"Gage's men stormed the hill defenses at Boston last week, and carried them by assault," he said.

"The devil," said Will.

"And then what happened?" I asked, jumping from my chair.

"What could happen with a lot of yokels against regular troops, hey? What could happen? But," he added, and his eyes fairly flashed, "our boys made a fine stand, sir. Yes, sir, stood there on Bunker Hill 'till the last dram of powder was burned, and the scoundrels were running in and jabbing them with the bayonet. Yes, sir, by Gad, sir, they have the making of the finest men in them that ever stood up to be killed."

"I wish I had been there," said Will.

"Wish thunder!" roared Bullbeggor, half rising from his chair. "What's the use of wishing! Why don't you do something besides lying around here and wishing. Holy thunder! If I was your age I would have been there in the thick of it with our company of Prince George boys. Wish to thunder!" And the old soldier reached for the bottle.

"That is as may be," remarked Will, quietly, referring to the Major's imaginary military movements.

"Wish smoke and blazes!" growled the old fighter, putting down his empty glass. "If it wasn't for this settling in the bones and numbing of the joints, and having pains shooting all through me, to say nothing of a vertigris in the head when I stoop over, I'd have gone up there with the boys. As it is, I'll do what I can against that rascal Dunmore,--and stay here with Woodford toe do it."

"But give us the details of the Boston fight," I urged.

"That's all I know," he answered. "I met Booker riding an express to Richmond, and he told me just what I've told you. I think you and Will here would be welcome at Woodford's--if you don't want to go so far from home--and he will give you enough fighting before the year is out. But isn't that Berk Harrison's voice I hear? He's hand and glove with Phripps and Dunmore, and, perhaps, he would not care to hear my sentiments on the affairs of the day."

"Old Captain Barron is in there with him," said Will, motioning with his hand toward the room. "It's nearly two, so they ought to be through breakfast and be out in a few minutes."

"There isn't a better soldier than old Barron alive, although he places too much value in the small sword and pistol--two worthless weapons for real fighting--Ah!"

At this instance the figure of Berk Harrison appeared, issuing from the window of the breakfast room, which being cut level with the floor within enabled anyone to walk out on the verandah. He was closely followed by Captain Barron and my sister, Mary. Harrison was dressed with his usual care, wearing a buff waistcoat and snowy ruffles. Although he had slept in the Hall over night, he had not appeared in the breakfast room until after I had finished my midday meal. He wore his hair carefully queued, and his lean, smooth face, with its arched eyebrows, aquiline nose, and thin, straight lips, bespoke the cynical man of the world--and also of fierce passion.