University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER V.

On the morning of the Anniversary of the Restoration,
the sun was just emerging above the
eastern horizon, the sky was unclouded and serene,
the air balmy and elastic, and the volumes of misty
drapery from the river were fast rolling away over
the hills, as the Recluse stood upon one of the
highest points of the river cliffs, with folded arms,
surveying the scene around him.

Far back as the eye could reach to the west, all
was interminable forest—the foreground exhibiting
occasional specks of cleared land, where some
planter, more adventurous than his fellows, had
boldly trusted his fortunes to the mercy of the
savage.

He looked upon the little city beneath, as the
weary mariner on a long voyage may be supposed
to look upon a green island in the midst of
a desert of waters. His chest heaved as the swelling
emotions of pent up years burst from his overloaded
heart. Bacon, the manly and ingenuous
youth, whom the reader will remember as having
been appointed to visit him on this morning, had just
sprung upon a mettled and pawing charger, which
was now throwing the fire and pebbles from his
heels in thick volleys, as his master with a fire

and impetuosity scarcely inferior to his own, bent
over his uncurbed neck as he descended into the
plain. Several pieces of light artillery, together
with volleys of musketry in quick succession,
thundered over the smooth waters of the Powhatan,
and reverberated in multiplied peals under the
feet of the Recluse. There was something connected
with this day, and its celebration, which
seemed powerfully to have stirred up the still
waters within him. Thick coming fancies connected
with by-gone days were rolling over his
soul in an uncontrolled torrent. But we must
leave him for a time to his own reflections, amidst
the solitary grandeur of the scene, while we pursue
the road of the flying Cavalier towards the city.

The bells from the Church and State House were
now also heard in the intervals of the cannonade,
and as we approach nearer to the scene, a strange
confusion of many sounds greet the ear. Drums
and fifes, violins and banjoes, and even jews-harps,
all lent their aid to swell the burst of joy and
gratulation. Smiling and happy faces were grouped
along the streets, while gay damsels, in their
holyday finery, adorned the doors and windows of
the busy citizens. A perfect Babel of commingled
noises issued from the spacious area of a tobacco
warehouse, which, after the usual fashion, consisted
of an extensive roof, supported by colonnades to
every front. Here was congregrated the rising
generation—boisterous and happy in the midst of
their games and sports. No schoolmaster was

abroad on that day, to rush in upon the unwary
urchins, and wreak upon them the vengeance of
Samson upon the Philistines.

Our forefathers suffered their children to follow
very much their own humours in the selection
of those amusements suited to their age and condition.
We see not but the result was as happy
as that of the systems of our day, when every
thing is regulated by system, even to the games
and amusements of our children. The time is
certainly not far distant when Geography will be
taught by a game at cards; Chemistry by set conversations
upon the constituents of our edibles,
and Natural Philosophy developed in nursery
rhymes, that we may imbibe it with our lullabies.

On the morning in question, as merry a set of
boisterous lads kicked up the dust in the old warehouse,
as ever fought over a game of marbles, or
laughed through one of leap-frog. And while the
merry urchins, whom we have taken under our
special protection, were thus enjoying a glorious
holyday, their elders and superiors were moved
by the same impulses. The mansion of the
Governor itself was in visible commotion; servants
swelling with importance, aped the grandeur
of their masters' looks, while they ran from room
to room on their various duties. A provincial
band of music was stationed under the windows,
uniting their sweet sounds to the Babel-like uproar,
in the well known tune of “Over the waters
to Charley.”

There was one little green spotupon the common
inviting the contemplative mind to pleasing reveries.
Here a few of the humbler maidens of
the city were adorning the overhanging bushes
with gay garlands of flowers, preparatory to the
evening dance, which they contemplated celebrating
in imitation of their superiors, who were to
move in more stately measures at the mansion of
the Governor.

The household of Gideon Fairfax was likewise
earlier than usual on the alert, and he being one of
the council of the Colony, came in also for a share
of the honours noised forth under the windows of
the most distinguished Cavaliers.

Breakfast had been some time waiting at the
table, and the fondly indulged daughter had been
repeatedly summoned, but still she came not.
This excited the more surprise in the minds of
her parents, as they supposed, that on this
eventful morning, of all others in the year, she
would be up with the lark. The truth was, that
after retiring at such an unusual hour of the
night, or rather morning—her slumbers were disturbed
between sleeping and waking, by shadowy
dreams of yelling savages, chivalrous youths, and
mighty giants.

At length, however, she appeared, but instead
of bounding into the room with gay and elastic
steps, and more buoyant spirits, in happy anticipation
of the promised enjoyments of the day, her
movements were slow and heavy—her eyes red

and swollen, and her whole appearance indicative
of languor and dejection. Her fond parents were
instantly at her side—each taking a hand as she
walked into the room, and striving to learn from
the fancied invalid the nature of her sufferings.
She assured them that she had nothing to complain
of but want of rest, and with this they were the
more readily satisfied, as towards morning there
had indeed been much firing of guns, and other
demonstrations of loyalty. Her parents being
thus satisfied, that her account of the matter was
the true one, Virginia was suffered to assume her
place at the head of the table—a place she had
for some time occupied on account of the delicate
state of her mother's health. Meanwhile the
anxious parents assumed their own places, and
endeavoured to beguile their daughter's languor
by allusions to the merry sounds, and gay group
without, not forgetting the assembly at the Governor's;
and it is more than probable that they
would have succeeded, as few spirited and blooming
beauties of sixteen can long listen unmoved to
such details, had not Virginia, raising her half
cheerful face at that moment to a large mirror
which hung opposite, caught the reflection of a
person in whose welfare she took a lively interest,
standing in one corner of the room, and partly
behind her chair, with a countenance and attitude
which expressed the deepest misery. This was
no other that Wyanokee, her own little Indian attendant,
who officiated near the person of her
mistress, in a medium capacity between friend
and servant; the mistress only requiring the companion,
and the maid spontaneously offering the
services due both from affection and gratitude.

The figure of Wyanokee was diminutive, but like
most of the aboriginal females, exquisitely proportioned,
and graceful, after the fashion of nature's
finest schooling. Her face was oval and between
a brown and yellow colour, yet there was a vital
tinge occasionally illuminating this predominant
dark ground, which bespoke the refined female,
in language intelligible to all, and far more eloquently
than the tongue. Her hair was jet black,
and folded upon her small round head after the
fashion of the Europeans; and her brilliant teeth
exhibited a striking contrast to the dark shades of
her skin, and darker sparkling eyes. The delicately
penciled brows, arched beautifully over a
countenance strikingly feminine and lady-like;
and the general expression was that calm sadness
which has been remarked as characteristic of the
domesticated aborigines from that day to the present.
Her dress was essentially after the fashion
of the whites of that day, just retaining sufficient
of the Indian costume, however, to set off her
slight but graceful figure to the best advantage.
The exquisite proportions of her finely shaped foot
and ankle were displayed in a closely fitting deer
skin moccasin, studded around the eyelet holes,
and wrought in curious, but not unpleasing figures,
with party-coloured beads and porcupine quills,

Around her neck, and falling upon her gently
swelling bosom, were many ingeniously wrought
ornaments of wampum and silver—and around
her wrists, bracelets of the same materials. Wyanokee
was of the Chickahominy tribe, and had
been taken prisoner after the murder of her parents
by one of the neighbouring tribes, who at
the time were at war with the Chickahominies.
Nathaniel Bacon saw her in one of his hunting
excursions, and struck with her native beauty, and
pleading countenance, redeemed her from captivity
at the expense of a string of blue beads.
From thence he brought her to Jamestown, to remain
until some opportunity should occur of
restoring her to her tribe. Her parents having
been slain, however, as we have already said, and
much time necessarily having elapsed before such
opportunity occurred, Virginia took advantage of
it, and by mild and affectionate treatment, endeavoured
to win her to herself. A mutual and peculiar
attachment was the consequence, so that when
the opportunity actually occurred, Wyanokee refused
to return to the almost extinct tribe of her
fathers. Two years had now elapsed since her
introduction into the Fairfax family, during which
time Virginia, an assiduous pupil herself, became
in her turn instructress to her little protegée.
Already had she learned many of the little feminine
arts and accomplishments of civilized life,
and made considerable proficiency in the English
language—which, however, she never employed
except in private to her instructress, or on some
urgent occasion. Half the young Cavaliers in
Jamestown would have been willing devotees at
the shrine of Wyanokee's beauty, after the corrupt
fashions of the parent court and country. But
such celebrity was not suited to the taste or ambition
of the Indian maiden. Whenever the little
errands of her patroness led her to the shops of
the city, instead of encouraging the forward and
impudent gallantries of the young profligates, she
would trip along like a frightened partridge—
always turning a deaf ear to their flatteries, and
keeping her eyes fixed upon the earth, in the
most modest, natural and simple guise. Notwithstanding
her habitual indifference to the flatteries
of her many admirers, there was one youth
whose very step upon the door sill her practised ear
could detect. Not that her deliverer had ever taken
advantage of her gratitude to him—her ignorance
of civilized refinements, or her dependent situation,
to poison her mind with the deceitful flatteries
too common with his comrades of that day.
The passion was perhaps the growth of time and
reflection and the effect of gratitude, as the little
Indian maiden became capable of instituting
comparisons between his conduct towards herself
and that of the young Cavaliers, whose assiduities
have been already mentioned. Certain it is, that
if it had been from some sudden impulse in their
earlier intercourse, the customs of her race would
have fully borne her out in declaring her passion to
its object at once. At the time of which we
write, however, this feeling was a profound secret
within her own bosom, as she hoped and believed;
and the more Virginia impressed upon her mind
the necessity of reserve and modesty in her intercourse
with the other sex, the more jealous she
became in concealing the passion that possessed
her heart. Nevertheless, it influenced all her
after life, and gave a touching interest to the progress
of her moral and intellectual development.

Some few of her Indian peculiarities were still
retained by Wyanokee; her gesticulation was far
more powerful and expressive than her small compass
of language, and the ordinary indifference of
her race to passing and exciting themes, was yet
preserved by her. Her gentle mistress could indeed
work upon her sensibilities through the medium
of her affection and gratitude, like a skilful
musician upon a finely toned instrument, but the
master key was still wanting even to her. There
was one peculiarity of her race not quite so agreeable
or inoffensive as those already mentioned—
namely, the silence and celerity of her movements;
sometimes she would appear to Virginia in the
middle of the night with the imagined abruptness
of an unearthly spirit. Often would the fair maiden
awake from her slumbers and find her stooping
over her couch—with the saddest and most
intense interest expressed in her countenance—
and again she would glide through the silent apartments
of the spacious mansion with a movement

so shadowy and noiseless, that it seemed almost
impossible to be effected by a substantial being.

When Virginia raised her eyes from the breakfast-table,
and beheld Wyanokee's mute despair, as
exhibited in the opposite mirror, her former nervous
alarm and agitation instantly returned.

She was entirely at a loss to account for the unusual
feeling exhibited by her attendant, except by
connecting it in some way with her late nocturnal
adventures. And it was a fearful supposition
which flashed through her mind, that Wyanokee
was acquainted with her last night's undertaking;
yet at the same time ignorant of her motives.
Hurrying mechanically through the meal, she rose,
and taking the hand of the young Indian, was
about to retire; but at that moment Nathaniel Bacon
rode up to the door, his charger covered with
dust and foam; leaping from his back and throwing
the rein to an attendant, he entered the room
at the very moment when the two maidens were
about to make their exit. Under the peculiar circumstances
of the case perhaps no one could have
entered more mal-appropos. Mr. Fairfax himself
and Bacon had parted, at the termination of their
last interview, with excited and unpleasant feelings,
both having lost command of temper. Virginia
had last seen him under circumstances also which
in themselves were calculated to excite no very
pleasing reminiscences; but considering the precise
attitude in which she stood at that moment
with regard to Wyanokee, the interview promised

to be still more embarrassing. Nor was the promise
falsified—the salutations of the gentlemen
were cold, formal, and embarrassing to both parties,
while the two maidens stood on the eve of departure,
each labouring under her own peculiar difficulties.
Virginia felt as if all the adventures of
the preceding night stood revealed to her parents,
without any of the justificatory motives which had
satisfied her own mind for embarking in them—
while her attendant looked to her as if she too
was labouring under a weight of surreptitious
knowledge. Mrs. Fairfax was the only one of the
party who preserved self-possession enough to
welcome their young friend, after so long an absence,
in intelligible language.

With the peculiar tact of the cultivated female
mind she judiciously led the conversation to such
subjects of universal interest at the time, as to induce
her husband and the young Cavalier to forget
their late unpleasant difference, and Virginia to resume
her seat at the table, where she busied herself
in helping the visiter to his breakfast. It was
singular enough too, as Virginia no doubt thought,
that one of these subjects should have direct reference
to some personages who had so lately and
so intently occupied her own thoughts—namely
the Roundheads and Independents. Frank Beverly
it seems had already blown abroad the meeting
of these persons in secret conclave, as mentioned
in the first chapter. The meal being concluded,
Bacon again sprang upon his horse and hurried

forward to the portico of the Berkley Arms, in
which were now displayed no very equivocal evidences
of loyalty, from the master of the house
and his numerous guests, who thronged its area
upon his approach. All the elite of the Cavalier
youth were there in a perfect throng.

No sooner had Bacon alighted and made his
way into the throng, than the tumultuous discussion
of the youths was hushed into silence.
This was not so much owing to any sternness in the
dignity of the youth as to the peculiar nature of
the discussion which was going on between Dudley
and Beverly, and their several partizans, at the very
moment of his entrance. The tumblers of julip
were held in suspense, while heavy bets were offered,
and about to be taken, upon the disputed
question whether the very person who so suddenly
appeared among them would be present at the
celebration. No sooner had he set foot on the
premises, however, than the fat landlord came waddling
up, grasping the hand of our hero in one of
his own, while in the other he presented him with
a goblet of the national beverage.

“A pledge! a pledge!” now resounded from several
quarters of the well filled Tap. It may well
be supposed that the suspected one had no very
great relish for julip after breakfast, but knowing
the importance of such trifles on an occasion like the
present, and under all the peculiar circumstances
in which he was placed he took the cup, and elevating

it, said—“Here's to the merry king Charles,
who shall be king but Charley.”

“Bravely done,” shouted the host—and “huzzah
for Bacon,” shouted his own immediate partisans,
many of whom belonged to a volunteer military
company of which he was the commander, and
whom to see was the very object of his visit to
the Arms. Taking Dudley therefore by the arm,
and calling to others of the corps, he invited them
to a private interview in another apartment. As
Bacon passed Frank Beverly a mutual but cold
salutation was exchanged—dignified and polite on
the part of the former, and cold, haughty and sneering
on that of the latter—the ungracious feeling
not at all lessened, it is probable, by the pointed exclusion
of Beverly and his partisans from the private
meeting just alluded to.

Although this was Bacon's first appearance in
public, since his abrupt departure from the house
of his friend and patron, it was not the first visit
he had paid to the hotel, where he and his partisans
now held their meeting. He had privately
visited the landlord on the preceding evening, previous
to the adventures related in the last chapter,
for some purposes connected with the present meeting
of his friends, but which he was by no means
willing should be generally known. At that visit
he was informed by the landlord of the mis,
chievous plot laid by his rival to deprive him of
the pleasure of Virginia's hand during the approaching

festivities at the Mansion of the Governor,
and his first intention was to counteract their
machinations. But so intensely had his mind been
engaged with the adventures of the preceding evening,
that all minor interests escaped his recollection.
It was the object of his visit on this morning, to
remedy that oversight; but so cold and formal was
his reception by Mr. Fairfax, and so embarrassed
was that of his daughter, that he gave up the scheme
for the present, leaving the house with any thing
but pleasant emotions. Indeed, from the various
combinations of parties and factions, he saw his
own position becoming hourly more embarrassing
and difficult, and still more so from the neutral
position in which he was thrown—partly from the
mystery connected with his origin, and partly
from his connexion with the Recluse. But let
the Independents on the one hand, and the Cavaliers
on the other, plot and counterplot as they
might, his course was clearly taken in his own
mind. None of the doubts as to what cause
he should espouse, which had been hinted at by
some of the personages of our narrative, really existed
in his mind. His course was plain, manly,
upright, and straight forward. Nevertheless, as
has been seen, he had not thus far entirely escaped
suspicion. But trusting to the uprightness of his
intentions, he took his measures on this eventful
morning with a single eye to the public peace
and the cause of truth, justice and humanity. It
was to promote these great ends, that he now assembled
the members of the military company of
which he was the commander. Upon what service
they were to be engaged, will appear in the succeeding
chapters.