From Farm House to the White House Part 10

"I should like to see you try, George," remarked another of his friends present. "You can ride him if any one can. But how do you know that you can't ride him? Have you ever tried?"

"No."

"Did any one ever try?"

"I believe Jake has; or, at least, he has tried to get on his back."

"If I were in your place I would see whether I could ride him or not,"

suggested his friend. "What's the harm?"

"Mother would not allow it," answered George; "She would expect to see my brains beat out if I should attempt it."

"But your mother would like it if you succeeded in riding him," rejoined his friend, by way of inducing him to make the attempt.

"I have no doubt she would; but if I should break my neck, instead of the colt, she would not be glad at all."

"Of course not; but I don't see any particular need of breaking your neck or limbs by making the attempt; and it would be a feather in your cap to manage the colt. Suppose we try;" and this proposition was made by George's companion in good faith.

"I have no fears for myself," answered George; "there is no danger in trying to get upon his back that I see, and once there, I will risk being thrown."

"That is so," continued his friend, "and suppose we try it some day."

After some more discussion upon the subject, George agreed to make the attempt to mount the colt early the following morning, and his young friend seconded his decision heartily.

The next morning, a full hour before breakfast-time, the boys were out, eager to partic.i.p.ate in the sport of conquering a wild colt. The colt appeared to snuff trouble, for he was unusually gay and crank that morning. His head and tail were up, as he went prancing around the field, when the boys put in their appearance.

"Drive him into a corner!" exclaimed George.

"Drive the wind into a corner as easily," replied one of the boys, just beginning to appreciate the difficulties of the situation.

"Well, he must be caught before he can be mounted," said George, philosophically. "I did not promise to mount him until he was bridled."

"That is so," responded another boy, more hopeful of results. "That corner yonder is a good place for the business," pointing to the eastward.

So they all rallied to drive the colt into the proposed corner; and, in the language of another who has described the scene, "after a deal of chasing and racing, heading and doubling, falling down and picking themselves up again, and more shouting and laughing than they had breath to spare for, they at last succeeded in driving the panting and affrighted young animal into the corner. Here, by some means or other (it was difficult to tell precisely how) they managed to bridle him, although at no small risk of a broken head or two from his heels, that he seemed to fling about him in a dozen different directions at once."

"Lead him away from this corner," said one of the boys.

"Yes," answered George, "we must go well toward the centre of the field; he will want room to throw me."

So, throwing the bridle-reins over the colt's neck, and taking hold of the bridle close by the bits, the animal was led toward the centre of the field.

Before the boys or the colt were aware of George's purpose, with one bound he leaped upon the colt's back, and, seizing the reins, was prepared for the worst. His playmates were as much astonished as the animal was at this unexpected feat, and they rushed away to escape disaster.

"Look out, George!" shouted one, as the colt reared and stood upon his hind legs.

"He'll throw you, George, if you don't look out!" screamed another, as the animal reversed his position and sent his hind legs high into the air.

"Stick, George, stick!" they cried, as the colt dashed forward like the wind a few rods, then stopped, reared, and kicked again, as if determined to throw the rider. All the while George's companions were alarmed at the fearful plunges of the animal, fearing that he would dash him to the ground.

At length the furious beast took the bits between his teeth and plunged forward upon the "dead run." George had no control over him as he dashed forward like mad. He hung to the reins like a veteran horseman as the wild creature leaped and plunged and kicked. His companions looked on in breathless interest, expecting every moment to see the young rider hurled to the ground. But, to their surprise, the colt stumbled, staggered a few steps, and fell, George still upon his back. They ran to the rescue, when George exclaimed, "The colt is dead!"

"Dead?" responded one of the boys in astonishment, "more likely his leg is broken."

"No, he is dead, sure. See the blood running from his mouth."

Sure enough, the animal was dying. In his fearful plunging he had ruptured a blood-vessel, and was bleeding to death. In a few moments the young Arabian colt was dead.

"Too bad!" mournfully spoke George, with big tears starting to his eyes.

"I wish I had never made the attempt to ride him."

"_I_ wish so now," answered one of his companions; "but who ever thought that the colt could kill himself?"

"Mother will feel bad enough now," continued George. "I am sorry that I have caused her so much trouble."

"What shall you tell her?" inquired a companion.

"I shall tell her the truth," manfully answered George; "that is all there is to tell about it."

The boys were soon at the breakfast-table, as cheerful as the circ.u.mstances would permit.

"Well, boys, have you seen the Arabian colt in your walks this morning?"

Mrs. Was.h.i.+ngton inquired.

There was no reply for a moment. The boys looked at each other as if the crisis had come, and they were not quite prepared for it. At length George answered frankly:

"Mother, the colt is dead."

"Dead!" his mother exclaimed, "what can you mean, George?"

"He is certainly dead, mother."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes; and I know that he is dead."

"How could such a thing happen?" said his mother, sadly and musingly.

"I will tell you all about it, mother," replied George, resolved upon making a clean breast of the affair. He went on to narrate how he arrived at the conclusion to ride the colt, not forgetting to say that he thought his mother would be pleased with the act if he succeeded in riding the fractious animal successfully. He described the manner of catching, bridling, and mounting the colt, as well as his furious plunging, rearing, and running; and he closed by the honest confession, "I did wrong, mother, and I am very sorry that I attempted to ride the colt. I hope that you will forgive me, and I will never be so disobedient again."

"Forgive you, my son," his mother answered, evidently too well satisfied with the truthfulness of her boy to think much of her loss, "your frankness in telling me the truth is worth a thousand colts to me. Most gladly do I forgive you, and trust that the lesson you are taught by this unfortunate affair will go with you through life."

In this incident we discover the daring, adventurous spirit of George.

His courage was equal to his honesty. No act of his life approached so nearly to disobedience as this. Yet the spirit of disobedience was not in his heart. His mother had forbidden any one to ride the colt, but it was because she feared the colt would injure them. "If I can ride him successfully, and prove that he can be broken to the saddle, mother will be delighted," he reasoned. His thoughts were of pleasing instead of disobeying his mother. Were there any doubt on this point, his rehearsal of the whole story, with no attempt to s.h.i.+eld himself from censure, together with his sincere desire to be forgiven, settles the question beyond controversy.

After George left Mr. Williams' school, and had gone to reside with his brother Lawrence at Mount Vernon, a companion discovered in his journal several verses that breathed love for an unknown "lowland beauty."

"What is this, George?" he asked. "Are you the poet who writes such lines as these?" And he read aloud the verses.