University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

The appointed day at length arrived—it was
ushered in by no cheering omens from without or
within the mansion of Mrs. Fairfax. No warbling
songsters from the feathered tribes perched upon
the window of our heroine, or hopped from flower
to flower through the graden beneath, to woo
her from her slumbers; and the heavens themselves
gave lowering and sultry evidence of an approaching
storm. In the east it was misty and unsettled;
while a long curtain of dark frowning clouds,
heavily charged with electric fire, hung in portentous
masses along the whole line of the western
horizon. The atmosphere was hot and oppressive,
the whole aspect of the weather such as invariably
casts a damp upon the spirits.

Virginia required no sweet serenade to call
her from her slumbers. She was already awake,
as indeed she had been through most of the night.
A feverish dread of undefined approaching evil,
had dimly floated through her excited brain during
her waking hours, and yet more shadowy horrors
disturbed her partial and unrefreshing sleep. Her
morning habiliments were donned earlier than
usual, without the assistance of her Indian attendant;

yet she marvelled at her unwonted absence.
She usually slept in an adjoining apartment, and
hither Virginia bent her steps to chide the tardy
maiden for her strange neglect on so important an
occasion. No little surprise was visible in her
countenance, when she found not only the apartment
untenanted, but that the bed upon which
Wyanokee usually slept, was undisturbed, or that
if used at all, it had been slightly disarranged, only
as if with a deceptive purpose. She repeated her
name throughout the house and garden, but no answer
was returned. Her voice soon aroused her
mother, who was no less surprised at the circumstances
related by her daughter. Together they
went to the apartment, and again examined the
bed, which had evidently not been slept in. And
now other appearances struck them, which had
not before attracted their attention. The dress
she had worn on the previous day, hung in a closet
answering the purposes of a wardrobe, together
with the whole of her apparel, the gift of Virginia
or her mother. Not an article could be recollected
of these, which was not there. They seemed,
moreover, to have been studiously arranged so
as to attract attention in this particular. On
the other hand, every garment of Indian fabric
which she had preserved through her captivity,
was gone. The moccasins she had worn on the
previous day—the Indian beads, wampum, and
other ornaments of native origin, were nowhere
to be seen.

All the gifts of Bacon and Mr. Fairfax, some of
which were of gold and silver, were conspicuously
arranged upon a shelf in the same apartment.
Many of these she had hitherto constantly worn
in her ears, and upon her wrists and ankles.

As they were pursuing their researches Virginia
discovered the window of the room in which
her attendant had always slept, shut down upon
the end of an Indian arrow. She raised the sash
and drew in the missile, in the end of which, inserted
in a split and bound with a strip of the fibre
of a sinew, was the identical blue feather Wyanokee
had plucked from the gory locks of the slain King
Fisher, the last of the Chickahominy chiefs. The
arrow was pointed in the direction of the nation's
hunting ground. The language of these symbols
Virginia understood but too well; she had too
long made Wyanokee a subject of study, as well as
of instruction, not to understand that the feather
indicated her flight to the dwellings of her tribe.
She also thought she saw many collateral indications
in the time chosen for her elopement—the
arrangements of her English garments, and more
especially of the gifts she had received from Bacon.
She doubted not in her own mind that the
resolution of Wyanokee was in some way connected
with the approaching ceremony, but she did not
communicate her suspicions to her mother, because
they were as yet not clearly defined in her own
thoughts. They received momentary corroboration
however, as many circumstances recurred to

her mind, which were trivial in themselves, but
important in connexion with the present discovery,
and which have been from time to time
hinted at in the progress of our narrative.

The impression left upon the mind of our Heroine
by these incidents produced any thing but the
joyous, elastic and happy mood, her young dreams
had always anticipated for her wedding day. There
were many other subjects of apprehension to mar
the pleasures of the time. Governor Berkley had
left her mother's house overflowing with wrath,
and threatening speedy vengeance against her betrothed.

Few persons ever became indebted to Sir William
Berkley in a matter of personal hatred or ill
will, who did not sooner or later find him a hard
and exacting creditor. With all her love for her
uncle she knew his harsh and unyielding nature,
and dreaded his power.

The natural apprehensions of a modest, gentle,
and tenderly educated maiden on her wedding day,
are at all times sufficiently powerful of themselves;
but joined to the unfavourable omens and sources
of anxiety by which Virginia was surrounded,
they were overpowering. Her breakfast remained
before her untouched, notwithstanding her mother's
endeavours to cheer her drooping spirits.

A short and animated conversation with her
lover, as the day began to wane, partially recalled
her wonted cheerfulness, but when he was gone
she relapsed into her former mood. The aspect

of the heavens seemed to her to grow momentarily
more portentous. Already the thunder was
heard rolling in the west, and black masses of
threatening clouds were gradually closing in from
every point of the horizon. The wrath of Heaven
itself seemed to our heroine gathering over the
city. This nervous excitement of mind will not
be wondered at when it is remembered that a short
time only had intervened since dark and mysterious
injunctions had been urged against the marriage,
of which the appointed time was now so near at
hand; and to this must be added the state of alarm
and agitation in which she had since been kept by
insurrections, outrages, personal strifes and deadly
feuds between her friends; and above all, by the
violent and sudden death of her father. In the
short space of a few weeks her once tranquil and
happy existence had been changed into one of painful
trials and vicissitudes. The night was rapidly
closing in. There hung the bridal garments, and
there stood the tire woman waiting her commands.
At this juncture a carriage drove up to the door,
steps were let down, the knocker sounded, and in
the next moment the gay brides-maid bounded into
the room, arrayed for the occasion. Her countenance
was radiant with smiles as she entered, but
perceiving her friend's sombre mood she walked
round her sundry times and then raised her hands
and eyes in pretended astonishment, as she exclaimed,
“Do I mistake! Was it indeed to your wedding
that I was invited? For shame, Virginia!
shake off these sickly fancies. Come, rouse yourself,
and I will be your tire woman. Our family
will soon be here, the carriage has gone back for
them. Will that not move you? Then your lawful
lord and”—

Here Virginia rose and placed her hand upon
the lips of the lively girl, yet with a look which
seemed at the same time to intimate no unwillingness
to be cajoled or rallied from her present serious
humour.

The wedding was to be kept a profound secret
from all but the invited guests, and those who
were to officiate at the ceremony. The former
consisted only of Mr. Harrison's family, and the
latter of the clergyman of the Established Church,
who officiated at Jamestown—Charles Dudley who
was to give away the bride, and Harriet as brides-maid.

The appointed hour of nine at length arrived.
Assembled in the parlour below, the various parties
awaited the appearance of the bride. Carriages
were already at the door; the chapel lighted,
and the priest habited in the robes of his sacred
office.

Bacon, after sundry movements towards the
door at which she was expected to enter, could
subdue his impatience no longer, and at once mounted
the staircase. He met the two maidens on
their way down; Virginia apparently having imbibed
some of her friend's spirit and vivacity,
which she so much needed. She placed her hand

timidly but confidingly in that of Bacon as they
entered the room. Both she, and her attendant,
were robed in virgin white—and certainly never
were dresses more appropriate;—they were both
young, innocent, beautiful, and intensely interesting,
in the position which they now occupied.

Bacon and Dudley were dressed exactly alike,
and rather in the costume of the preceding, than
of the present reign; the latter not yet having
made its way to Jamestown. They wore doublets
of scarlet velvet, with large loose sleeves slashed
up the front; the collar covered by a falling band
of the richest point lace, with a vandyke edging.
Their breeches were of white silk, and fringed at
the bottom, where they united with their silk
stockings, amidst a profusion of ribands and ornaments
of lace. Their shoes were ornamented
over the buckle straps, with white bridal roses
wrought in silk. Hanging gallantly upon one
shoulder, they wore the short and graceful blue
cloak of the period: not in such a manner, however,
as to conceal in any degree the gay appearance
of the costume which it completed, but
so as to be thrown aside and resumed at a moment's
notice. This latter article being light and graceful,
and worn more for ornament than use, was always
thrown aside for the military buff coat on warlike
occasions.

The party, preceded by the priest, entered the
waiting vehicles. Just as they were seated according
to the order of previous arrangement,

vivid flash of lightning shot athwart the horizon,
succeeded by a crash of thunder loud and fearful,
as if the eternal hills themselves had again been
shattered into chaos. The females drew themselves
into the corners of the carriage, covering
their eyes, and the gentlemen were silent, while
the God of the Universe, spoke through his thunders.

The drive to the church was as short as it was
silent. The priest entered his desk and laid open
the sacred volume, while the various parties arranged
according to order in a semicircle round the
altar, waited upon his words.

The chapel was dimly lighted, except immediately
around the parties, in accordance with the
strict privacy of the celebration. Mrs. Fairfax
was as calm and benignant as was consistent with
her usual settled melancholy. Virginia was pale
as a marble statue, her head just sufficiently inclined
forward to suspend her bridal veil in graceful
and flowing folds before her exquisitely formed
figure. Harriet's vivacity was subdued to respectful
and mute attention. The sound of the
clergyman's voice could just be heard at intervals
between the awful peals of thunder, while the lurid
flashes contrasting with the feeble rays of the
lamps, rendered the surrounding gloom more impressive.
The words which fell from the lips of
the sacred functionary were something like the
following:

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here

in the sight of God, and in the face of this company,
to join together this Man and this Woman
in holy matrimony; which is an honourable estate
instituted of God in the time of man's innocency,
signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt
Christ and his church; which holy estate
Christ adorned and beautified with his presence and
first miracle that he wrought in Cana of Galilee;
and is commended of Saint Paul to be honourable
among all men; and therefore is not by any to be
enterprised or taken in hand unadvisedly—lightly,
or wantonly—to satisfy men's carnal lusts and
appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding;
but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly,
and in fear of God, duly considering the
causes for which matrimony was ordained.

“First, it was ordained for the procreation of
children to be brought up in the fear and nurtare
of the Lord, and to the praise of his holy name.

“Secondly, it was ordained for a remedy against
sin, and to avoid fornication, that such persons as
have not the gift of continency might marry and
keep themselves undefiled members of Christ's
body.

“Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society,
help, and comfort that the one ought to have of
the other—both in prosperity and adversity.

“Into which holy estate, these two persons present
come now to be joined. Therefore if any man
can show any just cause, why they may not law

fully be joined together, let him now speak, or else
hereafter for ever hold his peace.”

A solemn silence prevailed through the dimly
lighted aisles, as the usual pause was allowed for
the answer. At this juneture, and while the small
party around the altar held their breath in mute
astonishment and wonder, the door was rudely
thrust open, and a gigantic figure strode down the
hollow sounding aisle. His heavy footfalls rung
upon Virginia's sensitive organs like the funeral
knell of departed peace. He walked directly towards
the altar, until he stood immediately behind
the youthful pair about to plight their faith, his
tall figure towering far above their heads.[1] Over
his face he held a black mask, as he thus spoke, in
answer to the general challenge of the priest.

“Well mayest thou say that now or never is the
time to speak the just cause which interposes to
prevent the consummation of this union. That
cause know I! But its revelation, now rendered
imperative, will be like unto tearing up with
irreverent hands the mysterious secrets of the
charnel house beneath our feet. Oh God, why
could not this duty have been spared to me!”

His huge frame shuddered with convulsive emotion
as he paused and seemed to view from beneath
his mask his astounded and breathless auditors.

The clergyman seized the opportunity to
repeat with solemnity the challenge. “If any
man can show any just cause why this youthful pair
may not lawfully be joined together, let him now
speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace!”

“They cannot lawfully be joined together because
they are the children of the same mother!”

The silence of death prevailed throughout the
chapel. Respiration and reflection itself seemed
suspended upon the awful announcement of the Recluse,
while he fell back upon one of the seats of
the aisle and covered his face with his hands in
unutterable anguish.

Mrs. Fairfax had been visibly agitated from the
first moment of this startling interruption, by some
more dreadful emotion than the surprise and vague
alarm of those about her, but now desperation itself
nerved her sinking powers, as she stepped a
pace forward and uttered in a distinct voice. “It
is false! proceed with the ceremony.” Harrison
and Dudley instinctively felt for their arms,
the former exclaiming, “He is mad—staring mad!
be it our business to prevent this irreverent interruption!”

But the Recluse immediately sprung upon his
feet, throwing his mask upon the floor as he stood
full in front of Mrs. Fairfax, and exclaimed, pointing
with his index finger to his time-worn countenance;
“Look thou upon these long forgotten
lineaments, and then upon these (laying his hand
upon Bacon's head) and testify before Heaven and

earth whether I have not spoken truth! a fearful
truth!”

The person appealed to stood for some moments
like a statue, her eyes protruding from their sockets,
as if a tenant of the grave indeed stood before
her—her hand at length slowly rose from her side
and wandered through the vacant air as if she
would have submitted the spectre to the test of
feeling—imperfectly measuring the distance however
between her own person and the object sought,
it fell again powerless by her side. Her lips moved
as if she were in the act of holding a conversation
with the being who had addressed her, but no
sound issued from them. The pupils of her eyes
were painfully distended, and their whole expression
wild and bewildered. At length her chest
began to have convulsively, when she made a
wild and desperate effort to rush upon the object
of her gaze, but fell prostrate on the floor before
she had attained half the distance between them.
As she fell she cried in the most piteous accents,
“Charles! Charles!” and then swooned away.

Charles Dudley, who had till now assisted Bacon
in supporting his fainting bride, resigned his charge
to Mr. Harrison and ran to Mrs.Fairfax, supposing
himself to be the person thus piteously apostrophized.
He took the fallen lady in his arms and
raised her partly from the floor, but no symptoms
of returning animation were visible. While he
thus supported her head upon one knee, kneeling
upon the other, assisted by the clergyman and

friends, and Bacon and Mr. Harrison supporting
Virginia, who was in little better condition, a tumultuous
crowd rushed in at the door, headed by
Sir William Berkley himself, exclaiming to his
minions, “Tear him from the altar! tear the
upstart from the altar.”

But as he ran with his drawn sword towards
the pulpit, something in the attitude and expression
of the various parties at once arrested his
hand and voice.

There is a power of expression in deep and irremediable
sorrow which cannot be looked upon
without emotion. Boisterous and outrageous as Sir
William Berkley had entered the chapel, his fierce
nature was instantly subdued by the appearance of
his sister-in-law and her daughter. The crowd
which followed were instinctively awed into silence
by the same powerful and speaking appeals.

When the announcement of the lawful cause
which prevented the consummation of the union
first fell upon Bacon's ear, his head sank upon his
breast, and although he mechanically clasped Virginia
round the waist, as he felt her clinging to
him, and sinking at his side; he stood stupified
with horror, holding up his lifeless burden, entirely
enable to think or act. His habitual and superstitious
reverence for every thing uttered by the
Recluse, induced him to receive the first impression
of his words unchallenged even in his own
mind.

By the time that Sir William Berkley and his

party arrived, the Recluse had disappeared; every
one was so much absorbed by the instant and
pressing calls for assistance and sympathy from
the suffering females, that the time of his departure
was entirely unnoticed.

The Governor had no sooner recovered from
his first shock and surprise, than he made his way
to one of the young Harrisons to learn the cause
of the present appearance of the parties, so different
from what he had been taught to expect. Although
he did not believe that there was one
word of truth in the cause assigned for the interruption
of the ceremony, he was well enough
satisfied that the parties themselves, and Mrs.
Fairfax should believe it. No matter to him what
horrors they suffered, he considered it all but a
just punishment for their attempted mesalliance.
As for Bacon, and his horror-stricken feelings,
Sir William did not deign to bestow a thought
or word upon them, after the first hasty exclamation
with which he had entered the door. By
his orders, the female sufferers were placed in a
carriage, and removed to his own house. Bacon
resigned his charge with a listless apathy, bordering
on stupefaction, and to a superficial observer,
such would doubtless have been the impression;
but his was the deadly deceitful calm which precedes
the coming storm. The most horrible of
all human sufferings is that where no tear is or can
be shed—where no enemy presents himself for
vengeance—no hope for the future, all having

been perilled and lost upon a single throw. Bacon
felt himself thus situated—the cherished hopes of a
lifetime were blasted in an instant, not only for the
present, but under such circumstances as to cut off
all hope for the future. The object of his passion
could not henceforth be enshrined in a holy secret
worship of the soul, such as is sometimes kept up
through a long life of celibacy for the lost one.

No mortified pride arose to his relief! he could
not hate—he dared not love the object around
which his whole heart and soul were entwined.
The very light of his eyes—the sun of his existence—his
delights of the present—hopes of the
future—all, all were blotted from existence in a
moment. The very retrospects of the past were
poisoned. Could he bear to dwell upon the enrapturing
delights of their young loves, when
the object and participator was now discovered to
be his own sister? To whichever aspect of the
case he turned, he as speedily revolted in horror.
It was while these things were tearing and racking
his soul, that he appeared to feel externally
less than might have been expected. His mind
and feelings were precipitately rolled back upon
their own resources, and the suddenly dammed
up waters of bitterness sought vent at every avenue.
Virginia was no sooner taken from him,
however, than his perceptions seemed roused at
once to the full horror and hopelessness of his
fate. Without his castor, and still decked in his gay
bridal attire, he burst from the crowd, prostrating

the Governor's minions to the right and left, as he
felled a passage to the door. His eye had lost its
abstracted expression; it was deadly fierce and
terrifically wild as he rushed forth into the kindred
storm without—no one knew whither.