The cavaliers of Virginia, or, The recluse of Jamestown an historical romance of the Old Dominion |
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 | CHAPTER VI. The cavaliers of Virginia, or, The recluse of Jamestown |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
Our hero was not deceived in his supposition,
that the savage tribes inhabiting the Peninsula
would make a desperate effort to retain possession
of a country so admirably adapted to their mode
of life. Two noble rivers, one on either hand,
abounding with a variety of fish, and a fertile soil,
yielding its treasures with little culture, were considerations
in the eyes of these ignorant but not
misjudging sons of the forest, not to be surrendered
without a struggle.
As the army of the colonists pursued its march
toward the point already indicated as the rendezvous
of the again confederated tribes, it was constantly
harassed with alarms—signal fires and flying
bodies of mounted warriors, first cutting off
their communication with the river—now assailing
the vanguard, and then hovering upon the
rear. Three weeks and more were thus consumed
in partial and unsatisfactory engagements;
the skirmishers first approaching one river, upon
the representation of some treacherous savage, and
then hurrying back in the opposite direction to meet
some illusive demonstration made by the cunning
enemy. The youthful commander soon perceived
to the nature and condition of his foes, and the
least adapted to the impetuous courage of his own
troops. He saw too, that the savages had the
double design of wearying out their invaders in
the manner we have described, and of collecting
and concentrating their forces, at some point where
their own mode of warfare could be rendered available,
without exposing themselves to the destructive
discharges of artillery which they still held
in superstitious terror. A very little reflection
satisfied him that there would be no immediate
danger in pursuing the direct route between the
Powhatan and Chickahominy rivers, toward the
falls of the former, where he had already some intimation
that the enemy were collecting in great
force. He was well satisfied that the tribes already
dislodged had removed all their winter provisions,
and their wigwams being destroyed, there could
be little hazard to the city in disregarding their
daily demonstrations in his front, flank, and
rear. Accordingly his troops were concentrated
in a solid column, and marched directly toward the
falls, entirely disregarding the petty annoyances
which had already detained them so ingloriously
in the Peninsula.
While they were marching toward the scene of
the great and final struggle for supremacy between
their own race and the Aborigines, in this narrow
neck of land, which had so long been the scene of
contention, we will retrace our steps for a short
Jamestown to the point at which we have just arrived.
In doing so, however, it is not our intention to
fatigue the reader with a minute account of the
long and tedious days, and still more wretched
nights, spent by our heroine after the shock given
to her delicate constitution by the painful and unexpected
adventure in the chapel, and by the subsequently
reported death of her mother under peculiarly
awful and afflicting circumstances. The
reader has doubtless more truly imagined her condition
during the first paroxysms of the fever,
than we could describe it. Down to the time when
her favourite and confidant was permitted to enter
her room, the daily occurrences of her yet endangered
life were sad and monotonous enough, but
the paramount cravings of diseased nature once
assuaged, her mental excitement once more rose in
the ascendant. Not that her reason ever became
deranged, except from violent febrile action during
the height of the attack; however feeble her physical
organization, her mental powers were clear
and unclouded, and her spirits, though of necessity
somewhat broken, were firm and elastic. The
truth is, that she did not believe the assertion of
the Recluse by which the nuptial ceremony was
so dreadfully interrupted. She had indeed a feeling
of superstitious reverence for whatever came
from his lips, but she had also seen the wild fire
of his eye when under deep excitement, and she
declaration he should make.
This questioning of his oracular authority was
an after-consideration it is true, and was itself
prompted by other feelings, having their foundation
in the affections of the heart. She could not
believe that her lover was her own brother; her
feelings toward him were peculiar—powerful, and
different from the love of mere kindred. Besides,
there were little almost undefinable circumstances
in the intercourse of their halcyon days, which
she did not believe, could in the nature of man,
have taken place between brother and sister. She
most truly thought that her lover and herself were
expressly created for each other; that their union
had been decreed in heaven. That in the first
dawnings of their mutual understanding of each
other, there had been electrical, spiritual and ever
sublime transmissions of mutual intelligence and
exquisite pleasure, which could not exist between
children of the same parents. These were some
of the reasonings which first led her to doubt the
infallibility of the Recluse, or rather this was
something like the process by which she arrived
at firm and undoubting conviction. She viewed
the case in this light from the very first moment
of unclouded perception, but at first it was a wild
tumultuous and suffocating mixture of vague perceptions,
and scarcely permitted hopes. As she
gradually analyzed her feelings, and examined the
reasons for her convictions, the truth dawned
one day sitting, propped up on her couch, during
the three weeks in which Bacon was engaged in
his Indian campaign, the doctor sitting by her
side with his finger upon her pulse. Both were
silent and abstracted. The pale beautiful countenance
of the invalid was fixed in deep and earnest
thought. Her eyes wandered through an open
window, and sought a resting place upon some
sunny spot of green and refreshing nature. Her
lips moved just perceptibly, as if she were conversing
with some one in an under tone. At length she
slightly raised her head, her eyes sparkled with the
brilliancy of stars, waxing brighter and brighter,
and her head rising higher and higher from her
pillow, until she screamed in wild delight, “The
light of heaven and love's inspiration itself declare
it false.”
The doctor rose with a grave and anxious look,
and placing one hand upon her shoulders, and with
the other removing the pillows that supported
her, laid her gently down, saying,
“I fear there is more excitement about your
head to-day, my dear young lady; if it continues
you must lose blood again.”
“Oh, dear doctor, there is indeed excitement
about my head and my heart too, but it is not the
excitement of fever; or if it is, it is a dear delightful
fever, which I trust in God will never leave
me, for it came just now wafted on my brain as if
by the music of the spheres.”
“Your room must be darkened again, and the
cold applications to your head repeated.”
“You think I am losing my senses again, dear
doctor, but I assure you I am just regaining them,
as I will show you from this time forward. I
have now done with physic. I have a medicine
here,” (and she laid her hand upon her heart,
while a bewitching smile played around her
mouth, that staggered the good doctor,) “which
is worth more to me than all the costly drugs of
India, or the islands of the sea.”
And the event justified her words. Her mind
was no sooner settled in deep conviction, and her
heart comparatively at ease, than she began rapidly
to recover. It was some days before the scene
just related, when Harriet Harrison was admitted
to her presence, and when, as the reader has already
learned from that maiden herself, Virginia
propounded to her the questions touching her
lover's belief in their reported relationship, which
were repeated by Miss Harrison to Bacon.
So long as that interview continued between the
two intimates, untramelled by the presence of a
third person, it was one of deep interest; but unfortunately
the heir of the house had too much
reason to suspect that Harriet's feelings were engaged
in another's interest, long to indulge them
with an unoroken interview. Virginia barely
had time to ask those questions, and whisper to
her friend the tidings of her own dawning hopes,
before the doctor entered, attended to the door
by Frank Beverly himself; she therefore took her
leave, promising a speedy return.
As she retired from the chamber of the invalid,
she accidentally overheard the Governor's orders
for Bacon's arrest, the result of which has already
been related. Her next visit to the house was on
the day of the scene between the doctor and his
patient, which we have just attempted to describe.
She was ushered into the room of state, usually
occupied by the Governor for the reception of his
most distinguished guests. No formality was
neglected in duly receiving her at the door, and
conducting her to this presence chamber of his
Excellency, by the official who acted as master of
ceremonies.
“I have no business of state to communicate to
the Governor, Sir Porter; I came to see his niece!”
The porter bowed profoundly as he replied,
“But his Excellency has some business with you,
madam, as he informed me, when he directed me
to usher you into this apartment.” Another profound
inclination followed, with an accompaniment
of rubbing hands and shuffing his feet backward;
while the arch, but somewhat alarmed and astonished
maiden, was left to con her speech to the Governor
at her leisure. After a most tedious interval
of half an hour, the formal representative of majesty
made his appearance, with such a profusion
of bows that his merry master himself would have
smiled to witness them. Of course Harriet bit her
While the old knight drew a chair, and after sundry
hems and stroking his chin, thus gravely
addressed her: “I am informed, Madam, that
you are desirous of an interview with me; will
you be so good as to enlighten me as to the cause
of the unexpected honour?”
“Some one must have deceived you with a most
egregious story, Sir William. I desired no such
thing. I came here to see my friend, Virginia Fairfax.”
“I am exceedingly pained to inform you, Miss
Harriet, that from certain late circumstances, which
it is needless to particularize, and in which you
were somewhat a participator, I, as Virginia's natural
guardian, have thought proper to end the intercourse
between you at once. My niece is destined
soon to become the wife of my young kinsman,
Beverly, and it is most prudent to keep her
from the sight of such persons and things as might
remind her of that most strange and disgraceful
transaction of which I will not speak more openly.
I am very sorry to give you pain, but there was
no other course left for me to pursue than to be
plain and candid with you.”
“And does this marriage take place with Virginia's
consent?”
“She has not been consulted as yet; her health,
in the first place, did not admit of it, and in the
second, the evidence which she so lately gave o
being utterly incapable of choosing a husband calculated
honour upon her family and connexions, has caused
that duty to devolve on me.”
“But, Sir William, suppose she should refuse
to accept the husband of your choice? You certainly
will not enforce your determination.”
“Her lamented father and myself entered long
since into a covenant by which these young people
were to be united. On the very morning of his
death, we talked the matter over; he freely and
fully consented to the completion of the engagement,
and forthwith it shall be carried into execution,
if sufficient authority remains to me in these
turbulent and rebellious times to enforce it.”
“But you will give her time to assuage her
grief, and make up her mind to the lot which
awaits her. You surely will not precipitate her
into the celebration of these nuptials?”
“You talk, young lady, as if it were some horrible
and revolting monster to whom I intended
uniting her, instead of the presumptive heir and
mearest kinsman of Sir William Berkley, well
favoured and highly accomplished, as you must
acknowledge that he is. She has had time
enough to recover her equanimity, and as soon
as her health is equally restored; the ceremony
shall be performed; and whether or not, it
is my purpose to complete it before the return of
that arch-rebel Bacon to the city. Please God,
however, I intend he shall return in irons to undergo
of his country.”
“And you will not permit me to see my friend
for five minutes—only five minutes?”
“No! lady, you are now advised of my intentions
touching the disposal of my niece, and you
may readily comprehend the reasons of your exclusion
from her presence, without my entering
into further and more painful explanations.”
With this answer, Harriet was compelled to be
content, and therefore making a reverence, more
than usually formal, to his Excellency, she withdrew.
It was not in her nature, however, to resign
her friend to the fate which threatened her,
without an effort to relieve her. From the gubernatorial
mansion she immediately hastened in pursuit
of O'Reily, in order to despatch him with a
communication for his master. But Brian was nowhere
to be found; her own researches and those
of the servant whom she despatched in pursuit of
him were of no effect; she was therefore compelled
to entrust her message to one of her father's
negroes, who was well mounted, and despatched
upon his errand, within less than two hours from
the time of her interview with his Excellency.
During the absence of the army in the Peninsula,
Sir William Berkley had not been idle, as
has already been intimated. The commands borne
by his couriers to those Cavaliers throughout the
colony, who were yet well affected to his government,
began now to bring them in from all directions,
which were so offensive to the citizens, were
marching rapidly upon the capital from every quarter.
Some had already arrived, and the city was
once more thronged with eager faces. Sounds
of martial music were again heard through the
streets, and the more quiet citizens again disturbed
with the stern preparations for war.
The present military and Cavalier assemblages
in the capital were, however, of a very different
political character, and brought together with
very different motives from those which had preceded
them. They were not less in numbers,
spirit and appointments; but their object was not
to cope with the savage—it was to measure arms
in deadly strife with their own countrymen and
fellow-citizens. The army now assembling, was
intended by the Governor to suppress what he
called the rebellion, and his purpose was, as soon as
his forces should all arrive, to march at once to the
Falls of the Powhatan, and while the popular army
were engaged in front with the savage enemies of
their country, to fall upon their rear, and either
cut them in pieces, or compel them to surrender
as rebels found bearing arms against his majesty's
authority in the colony.
Seldom have political parties of any country
presented so strange an aspect as did those of Virginia
at this period. First, the people of the city
had been divided between the Cavaliers and Roundheads.
The latter were no sooner brought into
took place, by which their distinctive character
was lost. Then, growing out of the puerile obstinacy
of Sir William Berkley, in refusing to repel
the incursions of the Indians merely because he
had at first maintained that there was no danger
to be apprehended from their hostility, the popular
or conservative party sprang into existence.
Against these were now arrayed the loyalist faction,
and most of those descended from noble ancestors
or bearing titles, headed by the Governor
himself.
In a very few days this latter party had assembled
their whole military force in the city, and
the most active preparations were made to march
against Bacon and his followers who were carrying
fire and sword into the very heart of the country
occupied by the real enemies of the colony.
The temporary duties of the government were
resigned into the hands of Sir H. Chicherley,
while Sir William Berkley, Sir Herbert Jeffries,
Francis Beverly, Philip Ludwell, and their compeers,
assumed the most important stations of command
in the army of the loyalists. Much the larger
portion of the regular troops were composed of
foreign mercenaries, sent over from England to
perform those very duties which Bacon and his
followers were now to be punished for assuming.
The very soldiers who ought to have protected the
whites against the incursions of the Indians were
to be turned against the patriot band which had
deferred with safety to the colony. It is true that
the commissions of Bacon and his officers were not
legally signed by the constituted authorities; but
an emergency had arisen which threw the citizens
back at once upon their original rights and powers.
The government having failed to afford
them protection for their lives and property, they
had assumed that office for themselves. This was
the condition of the colony at the juncture of
which we write.
While Sir William and his coadjutors were thus
busily collecting and disciplining their forces, the
citizens of the capital were not uninterested spectators
of this unwonted succession of military preparations.
Most of those remaining in the city
had friends and relations in the ranks of the popular
army, and though they dared not openly express
their disapprobation of the Governor's proceedings,
their discontent was deep and settled,
and only awaited the departure of the present overpowering
force, again to burst into open resistance
against the government.
While these preparations for civil strife were
going on in the streets of the city, a discussion of
not less interesting import to some of the leading
characters of our story, was carried on within the
walls of the Governor's mansion. The stout old
Cavalier had fixed upon the day preceding the departure
of his army, for the solemnization of the
He had himself held several interviews
with the former, but had failed to make the least
impression on her mind, either by his reasoning or
his more artful appeals to her filial duty and affections.
In vain had he detailed her father's plans and
expectations. In vain had he appealed to her love
and respect for his memory. In vain had he descended
from his dignity to reproach her with the
late disastrous occurrence at the chapel. In vain
had he coarsely charged her with desiring an alliance,
contrary alike to the laws of God and man.
She was deaf to his arguments and his threats.
But the time approached with fearful rapidity,
which he had appointed for the ceremony. The
intended bridegroom held an important command
in the expedition now preparing, and it was Sir
William's intention that he should be married and
set out on the succeeding morning. Notwithstanding
our heroine's apparent firmness, therefore, in
presence of her stern relative, every note of preparation
which was wafted into her chamber sent
the blood oppressively to her heart. Her naturally
mild and gentle nature shrunk from the contemplation
of the violence which her fears and her
knowledge of her kinsman induced her to believe
would be used to overcome her resolution.
His pretended dread of the disgrace which he
charged her with desiring to bring upon his family
the arbitrary measures necessary to the completion
of the plan.
She was alone in the world. No one now stood
ready to give her rescue from the relentless hands
which placed restraint upon her inclinations. Her
nearest kindred had, as she believed, fallen by the
savage tomahawk, and her only remaining relative
was about to force her into a marriage which she
detested. Notwithstanding all these depressing
circumstances, her elastic mind and sanguine temperament
had hitherto risen above the accumulating
weight of her misfortunes. She had still preserved
the vague yet constant hope, so natural to
youth, that some fortunate occurrence, some unexpected
accident would yet take place to mar the
well laid plans of the Governor. But as the time
approached, and the preparations moved steadily
forward without any evidence of coming succour,
or the fortunate event which was to release her
from her dreadful situation, her heart began to
misgive her—she was compelled in some measure
to assume an humbler posture towards the stern
old man in whose hands her destiny seemed
placed. Her ingenuity had turned the subject
in all its various aspects—every chance of escape
was provided against. Even the presence
of her friend Harriet, upon which she had founded
most of her hopes, was rigidly and perseveringly
denied to her. As a last and desperate
uninterrupted interview with him to whom he
purposed to marry her; and Sir William seeing
nothing in this request calculated to defeat his
plans, but on the contrary hoping that it proceeded
from a wavering resolution, granted the request.
She sat upon a large leathern-backed chair, her
head leaning upon the window sill, and her flaxen
ringlets clustering around her pale and attenuated,
but still beautiful features. Her robe de chamber
was white and simple in its fashion, and her hands
were listlessly and languidly twined into its folds,
seeming, every now and then, as if her delicate
fingers would pierce the yielding texture. A
solitary tear seemed as if it had already departed
from its pure fountain, as tremblingly it hung upon
the long dewy eyelash, the mere closing of which
dissipated it into a thin misty veil of sadness to
her liquid melancholy blue eye, as it was turned in
fearful expectation towards the door.
At length Beverly entered. She had until
this moment strenuously resisted all endeavours to
promote an interview, and once, on a former similar
occasion, had covered her face and pertinaciously
resisted all attempts on his part to lead her
into conversation. He now entered with the
knowledge that the invitation came from herself;
he felt his supposed power; and a lofty smile played
upon his proud but handsome features. As he
approached, she sank upon her knees, and clasped
burst the restraints of thought and internal oppression,
and rapidly coursed each other down her
cheeks as she spoke, “You see before you, sir,
a solitary female and an orphan, bereaved suddenly
and cruelly of her natural protectors—deserted
or oppressed by those who should have supplied
their place. Before the distracting grief for these
afflictions has had time to lose its first intensity,
she has been cruelly beset and importuned to become
a party to a marriage, of which she had
never before thought. You, sir, are the other
party! I entreat, I implore you on my knees, at
least to postpone this intended ceremony. If it is
performed to-night, as my uncle has appointed,
the wrath of Heaven will be poured out upon such
a desecration of its holy institutions. You, sir,
will wed a corpse or a raving maniac! Interpose
then, I pray you. Petition Sir William, as from
yourself alone, for its postponement, at least until
your return from the intended campaign, and I
will pray for your happiness until the end of my
existence. I will then indeed believe that you
desire mine.”
He made several attempts to raise her from her
supplicating posture, during her appeal, but she
maintained her attitude. Having paused to catch
her exhausted breath, he seized the opportunity
to say, “Are you sure, madam, that there is no
lurking weakness, no sinister design, in this demand
for farther time?”
“Of what design, what weakness do you suspect
me?” she exclaimed, raising her head boldly, and
losing almost instantly the subdued tone of entreaty.
“Of base and criminal affections for one who
should be blotted from the tablets of your memory
for his villany, if not for his kindred blood!”
She was on her feet in an instant; her ringlets
wildly tossed back by a quick motion of the head,
and a corresponding effort with both hands, which
she held still clasped in her hair, as she stared at
him an instant before she replied,
“Are you a man? A gentleman? A Cavalier?
That you come here to insult and trample upon
one already deserted of all mankind? Her whom
you pretend to desire for a companion through joy
and wo! How base, how cowardly, to insult a helpless
female, and that female your kinswoman—
one whom you pretend to love. Out upon you,
sir, for a dastard! Were he now here whom you
so basely slander, you would not dare employ such
language!”
“Softly, softly, my dear lady. You are only
betraying your own feelings, and counteracting
the relenting mood into which your well acted
appeal was near betraying me.”
“Oh, then, forget what I have said, and be indeed
the high minded, generous Beverly, I once
believed you! We were children together, caressed
by the same friends and owning a common origin.
Can you then witness unmoved my forlorn
condition, without one feeling of compassion?”
Beverly was not wholly without tender feelings,
although they were so concentrated upon
himself, that it required the touch of a master hand
to reach his heart. Selfish men, however, are
sometimes easily worked upon by allusions or
appeals to their family pride. Their connexions
are a constituent part of the idol of their worship
—self; and it is not the least remarkable feature
in their characters, that such men are almost always
affectionate husbands and devoted parents.
These are but a part of self; their kindred by a
farther remove are generally valued in proportion
to their ability to confer honour upon the common
stock.
“He that feels not love,” says Goethe, “must
learn to flatter.” Doubtless the great German
poet was contemplating the difficulties of the
supremely selfish man in love, when he penned
this aphorism. But Beverly was not so profoundly
skilled in the human heart; he ardently desired
to possess the hand of his fair kinswoman,
as well on account of her many personal attractions,
as of the rich inheritance of which she was
the heiress; but he had not learned his own harsh
defects of character, and of course could not substitute
the arts of flattery for the softer eloquence
of love. He felt and enjoyed his power, as compensating
in some degree for the want of admiration
of himself in his intended bride, and such
were the feelings operating upon him when he
to move his selfish nature, as he paused to contemplate
the eloquent suppliant before he replied.
“Suppose that I obtain from Sir William his
consent for the postponement of the ceremony,
will you then give me your hand of your own free
will?”
She paused before replying. The case was
desperate; no succour seemed now within the
bounds of probability. The shades of evening
were fast gathering around the gloomy precincts of
her secluded apartment. She knew her uncle's
determination of character. One only chance of
escape appeared remaining open to her, and she
desperately resolved to seize it. Such was the
train of reasoning by which she rapidly arrived at
this conclusion, and replied,
“Our inclinations are not always within our
own control, but if you obtain this reprieve, I
promise to give you my hand upon the return of
the present expedition, provided that nothing occurs
in the mean time to free me from the necessity.
For I will be plain and honest with you,
and avow mydetermination to escape this marriage
if I can.”
“I understand you, fair cousin; you expect
deliverance at the hands of your degraded and
new found kinsman; but trust me, he will need
succour himself before that time arrives. I expect
to march him through these streets in irons on my
indignation upon your brow—it shall be even so.
But time wears apace; so pledge yourself before
Heaven, that if I obtain Sir William's consent to
this delay, you will be mine upon the return of
the army.”
“Before Heaven I promise you, under the condition
I have named.”
“It is then a bargain, and I will seek the Governor
to fulfil my part of it; should he consent,
see that you remember your plighted faith. As
for your condition, I take no thought of that;”
and with this remark he left the room.
It was with the greatest difficulty that she could
suppress her rising indignation, upon his again
alluding to her new found kinsman; but she did
so far suppress it as to force herself through the
required promise. The door had no sooner closed
upon his retreating footsteps, than she clasped her
hands, and exclaimed fervently, raising her eyes
toward heaven, “Thank God! I am now freed
from the immediate apprehension of this most
hated union. Oh, if he does but come within the
allotted time! and come as my flattering hopes
persuade me that he will—a conqueror! hailed a
the deliverer of his country—the champion of her
oppressed and outraged people, and the preserver
of the most wretched of her maidens! what blessings
will be his! Be he brother or kinsman or
lover, he shall live for ever in this grateful heart.
Brother indeed! He is a brother in kindness,
kindred blood, my heart assures me he is not.”
The door was again opened after the lapse of
a short time, and Beverly entered to say, “I have
seen Sir William, and presented my request; he
refused at first, but when I told him that you had
promised to be mine at the expiration of the required
time, he yielded his consent. I purposely
concealed from him that there was any condition
in the case, first, because I take no heed to it myself,
and secondly, because it might have precluded
his concurrence, and would most certainly be a
motive with him for placing you under still more
rigid restraint. You see, sweet coz, that I study
your happiness far more than you give me credit
for. Why will you not freely then make me its
guardian for life?”
“How very different is the selfish man,” thought
Virginia, “who thus blazons his own little acts of
merest charity, for refined and delicate attentions,
from him who possesses innate benevolence and
gentleness of heart? He would have studiously
concealed a hundred greater kindnesses than this.”
But under present circumstances, even such unfavourable
comparisons did not prevent her from
replying,
“For every act of kindness towards me, Mr.
Beverly, I am sure I try to feel very grateful, and
since I have been within these walls, my feelings
have been so little exercised in that way that it is
really refreshing to feel under their influence,
treat me as a lost and abandoned creature. Those
of my own sex that once professed love and respect
for me, fly from the apartment when I speak to them,
as if there were contamination in my very voice.
I know that some horrible tale has been told them
about me: would you but take the trouble to correct
the false impression, before you depart, my
solitary lot might be greatly softened, and I would
then have double cause for gratitude.”
“With the domestic arrangements of the house
I dare not interfere—Sir William has directed all
those things himself.”
“And is it by his orders too that my aunt comes
not to see me, nor sends a kind word of inquiry
as to my health these long sad days, or a book to
while away the longer and more gloomy nights?”
“It is. She has wept as many foolish tears almost
as yourself, since your confinement to this room.”
“Thank God! You have taken a load from off
my heart. There is then one soul within the
house, of my own sex and blood too, who sympathises
with me during these stern severities.”
“Your trials will soon be over, my pretty coz,
and then we will remove to a house of our own,
and you shall lord it over some of these blackies,
in revenge for their want of respect, to your heart's
content.” Attempting to chuck her under the
chin, as he spoke, she was compelled to turn her
head suddenly toward the window, for the double
purpose of placing herself beyond the reach of his
and contempt that glowed upon her countenance.
She saw that he treated her as a child—that he
imagined such conversation suited to the level of
her capacity, and longed to humble his proud self-sufficiency,
but dared not under present circumstances.
For the first time in her life, she found
herself compelled to disguise her natural feelings,
and suppress the bitter words which rose upon her
tongue. She therefore, by way of changing the
conversation, and knowing not what else to say,
inquired, “How soon does your army expect to
return?”
“Soon, my dear coz, very soon. In ten days
at farthest, I hope to lay some of the trophies of
victory at your feet, and twine you a bridal turban
from the standard of the rebel chief.” Again
she was forced to turn her head away. And the
harmony of their meeting, constrained and unnatural
as it was, would probably very soon have
been ruptured by the almost bursting indignation
which agitated her bosom, had not the martial
summons to the evening parade called her tormentor
from her presence.
By dawn of day, on the morning after the interview
just related, the army under the command
of Sir William Berkley took up its line of march
toward the falls of the Powhatan.
Virginia was a sad and silent spectator of the
imposing pageant. She stood at her window facing
one of the cross streets, through which their march
after banner, as they moved along in martial
pomp, to the soul-inspiring music of the drums
and trumpets. No sympathizing emotions or half
embodied supplications to the Ruler of Nations for
the safety of their persons or the success of their
arms burst from her lips. She saw the proud
and self-satisfied Beverly curvetting by on his
equally proud steed; she even saw him gayly wave
his towering plumes in recognition of her presence
without an answering nod or a single indication of
approval. Her heart and hopes followed the standard
of the youthful Captain who commanded the
force which these were summoned to scatter and
destroy. Long after the last ensign had passed
from her sight, and the music was heard only in
faint and distant echoes as it swelled and died
away upon the air, she stood in the same spot, her
eyes apparently still occupied with passing objects.
It was not so—she was endeavouring to look into
futurity. She pictured in her imagination the
army of the Cavaliers, under Bacon, struggling in
the murderous ambuscade of the concentrated savage
tribes in front, and mercilessly cut down by
their own countrymen in the rear. She saw the
stern and uncompromising Sir William and his
veteran compeers, brandishing their sabres over
the heads of the younger Cavaliers, and Beverly
and Bacon engaged in the deadly contest of personal
rivalry and political hatred. Notwithstanding
the disadvantages of the latter's position, youthful
the victory to the cause which she believed the
just one. She had already, as by miracle, escaped
a fate which she considered far more to be deplored
than death, and resolved to trust her own cause,
and that in which it was involved, to him who
rules the destinies of battles. She remembered,
with feelings of adoration, that he had said that the
race was not always to the swift nor the battle to
the strong.
| CHAPTER VI. The cavaliers of Virginia, or, The recluse of Jamestown | |