University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

General Bacon apprehending that the rising
sun might disclose to view the approaching
columns of the army under Sir William Berkley,
had ordered the dismantled fort to be refitted in
such a manner as to afford some protection to his
exhausted troops. The trees were again brought
round to their former position, and the limbs by
which themselves had gained entrance lopped off.
The sun, however, rose above the horizon without
betraying any sign, either of the expected
army, or of the mounted scouts whom he had
sent out just before the battle. This latter circumstance
gave him not a little uneasiness, as he could
account for their protracted absence in no other
way than by supposing that they had fallen into
Sir William's hands.

Most of the troops were yet indulging in repose,
after the extraordinary fatigues of the night, and
were cheerfully indulged by their officers, in the
hope that they would rise with renewed ardour
and courage for the expected attack.

At about ten o'clock in the morning, the troops
having been roused from their slumbers, and partaken
of a hasty breakfast, the sentinel pacing

to and fro upon the top of the walls, announced
the approach of the expected foe. Bacon and his
staff quickly mounted the breastwork to examine
the number and appointments of his confident
enemy; but to his great joy and relief, the approaching
troops proved to be his own missing
scouts. He mounted his charger and galloped
over the intervening ground in order to learn
the cause of their strange absence; so impatient
was he, not only on that score, but likewise to
learn tidings from his pursuers. He very soon
met the advancing horsemen, who, upon perceiving
their general, halted in the road. The information
communicated by the commander of the
party was not less surprising to Bacon than was
the account of the battle to the officer, who had
been absent from its dangers and its glories. The
latter stated, that after having ridden about twenty
miles on the previous night, they suddenly came
upon the encampment of Sir William's army, but
having discovered their fires in sufficient time,
had avoided their pickets. They scouted round
his camp for a considerable length of time, endeavouring
to learn something of his intended
movements—the number of his soldiers, and their
disposition toward themselves, but found no
means of gaining information. At length they
narrowly escaped being discovered and intercepted
by a foraging party, and having discovered
that the troopers composing it, had come last from
the house of a planter, living not far from the en
campment, they resolved to present themselves
before him, candidly explain their business, and
throw themselves upon his patriotism for any
information which he might possess. They did
so, and were fortunate enough to find that the
planter was not only able, but willing to give
them important information, and was anxious for
the success of Bacon's expedition—his own son being
engaged in it. The amount of his information
in few words, was, that Sir William Berkley had
that very evening received an express from Jamestown,
urgently summoning him back to the capital,
with all his forces. That two influential citizens
residing in the counties south of Jamestown,
by name Walklate and Ingraham,[1] having heard of
his expedition to cut off the return of General Bacon
and his army, had immediately raised a force of
horse and foot scarcely inferior to his own, and were
marching upon the capital. Nor was this all the
unfavourable news communicated by the express:
it farther stated that the House of Burgesses, then
in session, (contrary to the promise of Sir William
to dissolve it,) were engaged upon some resolutions,
very injurious to the reputation and farther
influence of the Governor, and that they had already
approved of the proceedings of General Bacon,
and resolved to require the Governor to sign
his commission as commander in chief of the
colonial forces, besides having transmitted to the
ministry at home, testimonials of his patriotism,
talents, and bravery.

The foraging party from the army of Sir William,
had farther informed the planter, that it was
the intention of his excellency to break up his
camp by dawn of day, and return by forced
marches, to the protection of the capital.

At this juncture, the Colony of Virginia presented
the singular spectacle of three distinct and independent
armies, assembled at one time. One
at the falls, commanded by Bacon—another in
the Peninsula, commanded by Sir William Berkley,
and the third in the south, commanded by
Generals Ingraham and Walklate. The first and
last were nothing more than disciplined assemblages
of volunteers from among the people, while that
under the command of the Governor in person,
was composed in part of veteran regular troops,
and partly of loyal subjects, called together by the
urgent appeals of him who had so long been the
honoured organ of his majesty's authority in the
colony.

When General Bacon returned to the camp,
and had assembled his associates in command, and
communicated to them the foregoing particulars,
he also announced to them his intention of leaving
the temporary command of the army with his next
in rank, and repairing in person immediately to
the capital.

His views having met the approbation of the
council of officers, the sloop which had brought

up the marine part of the expedition was promptly
put in readiness, and forty chosen men embarked
for his escort.[2]

His unfortunate valet and devoted adherent,
Brian O'Reily, although much enfeebled by long
confinement and want of wholesome food, was,
at his own earnest request, added to the number.
So urgent had been the various claims upon the
time of General Bacon, that he had not yet heard
Brian's account of his sufferings and privations.

Before embarking he issued the strictest orders
for the safety, comfort, and protection of the numerous
prisoners, and of Wyanokee in particular.
He directed that she should be conveyed in the
same wagon, then preparing for the purpose of
transporting the remains of Mrs. Fairfax to Jamestown.

Before taking leave of his comrades in arms, he
entered the marqueé containing the honoured remains.
The sentinel was walking his solitary
rounds of monotonous duty, with solemn aspect.
Strange that the ceremonies attending the laying
out and decently guarding this lifeless body should
more powerfully impress this sturdy soldier than
all the heaps of slain piled into one common grave
during the night.

Bacon entered the marqueé alone. There sat
the last daughter of the kings of Chickahominy,
in precisely the attitude in which he had seen her
five hours before. She was the sole mourner at

the feet of her whom in life she had most honoured.
He was powerfully affected by the sight of many
little personal ornaments, not worn on the previous
night, but which had been collected by
Wyanokee and placed conspicuously upon the
corpse. He was struck, too, with the delicate
consideration of the Indian maiden in these native
observances in honour of the dead. Conspicuous
among the things valued by her friend while living,
was a small silver clasped pocket bible; it was
spread open upon the neat folds of her white garments,
surrounded with a profusion of wild flowers,
such as he had often known her to transplant
into her own garden.

But time pressed, and urgent circumstances called
him to the capital; he therefore lifted the covering
(a white handkerchief) from her face, and gazed
for the last time upon those features impressed
upon his heart and memory from infancy. Almost
involuntarily he drew from his doublet the
diminutive locket, reassured his heart by a momentary
comparison of the features—and then forced
himself away and proceeded to the bank of the
river, where the sloop already spread her sails to
the ready breeze.

The prisoners taken at the battle of the Falls,
or of the Bloody Run as it was more frequently
called, were placed in the centre of the army, with
the exception of Wyanokee, and the fort burnt
to the ground, after which the Colonial troops
took up their line of march for the capital. Toward

this central point three separate armies were
now advancing, while the House of Burgesses were
passing a series of resolutions in which all three
were deeply interested. A more important juncture
in the affairs of the Colony had never occurred,
and the approach of the various hostile parties toward
the capital excited the deepest anxiety in all
the reflecting inhabitants of the city.

The courier announcing the successful issue of
Bacon's campaign against the tribes of the Peninsula,
which had so long disturbed the peace and
tranquillity of the planters, was received with general
manifestations of joy and expressions of gratitude
to the youthful commander of the expedition.

By a resolution of the assembly, the State House
was ordered to be illuminated, and the inhabitants
generally were requested to follow the example.
These, with other voluntary demonstrations of rejoicing
on the part of the citizens, were about to
be carried into execution, when the vanguard of
Sir William Berkley's army, commanded by the
sturdy old knight in person, arrived at the gates
of the bridge. When he was informed of the
cause of this unusual measure, and of the resolutions
which had been passed by the House of Burgesses,
both in regard to himself and his young
rival in the popular favour, he burst into a most
ungovernable fit of rage—threw his sword into
the river, and swore he would embark for England
the next morning. He was no sooner dissuaded

from the rash step, than he resolved upon
an expedient equally inconsiderate. It was nothing
less than to march his army into the streets of
the city, and thence, with a chosen band of followers,
disperse the assembly at the point of the bayonet.
It was with the greatest difficulty, and after
long efforts, that his more discreet friends were
enabled to dissuade him from this step likewise,
nor even then until they had compromised the
affair, by agreeing that he should issue a proclamation
with the same view, and forthwith issue writs
for a new election. Accordingly, having marched
his troops into the heart of the city, and encamped
them immediately round the State House and public
grounds, he carried his threats into execution.

The dissolution of the assembly was immediately
proclaimed, and writs were issued for the election
of their successors. To such a length had Sir
William Berkley carried his high-handed measures,
from time to time, since his reaccession to the
vice-regal chair, that he imagined the people would
submit to any dictation emanating from so high a
functionary as himself—that it was only necessary
to make his will and pleasure known to the good
citizens of Jamestown, at once to put an end to all
the demonstrations of joy by which his arrival
was so unwelcomely greeted. He was led into
this error, partly by his own overweening pride,
and partly by the respect which so many years of
unclouded prosperity in the same station had naturally

engendered in the people. And doubtless
they would have endured much, and did submit
to many oppressions, rather than resist the authority
of one who had so long held the reins of government.
But the true secret of the change in
the character of that government, was in the erroneous
views conceived by the captious old knight,
during the government of the commonwealth. He
had fallen with his first Royal master and risen
with the second—and thus had come into power
the second time, with all the extravagant notions
of prerogative entertained by his transatlantic prototype,
without having derived any wholesome
lessons of experience from the fate of his first unfortunate
master.

The people heard the proclamation dissolving
the assembly, with murmurs indeed at the spirit
and motive in which it originated, but without
feelings of opposition to the measure, because it
was one which they had themselves demanded before
his departure. They therefore moodily acquiesced,
and even submitted to be bearded by the
foreign mercenaries in their streets and public
walks, but when the Governor, emboldened by
this apparent tameness undertook to issue another
document, proclaiming Bacon, Dudley, Harrison,
Walklate, Ingraham, and their followers, rebels,
the people could submit no longer. The muttered
thunders of popular discontent burst out into
all the fury of a storm. His officers were forcibly
prevented from reading his proclamations in the

streets, and public places—a general meeting of
the citizens voluntarily assembled at the State
House, surrounded as it was by his soldiers, and
there passed resolutions, condemning his recent
conduct, in the most unmeasured terms. They
also appointed a large committee to wait on him
forthwith, and not only demand the suppression
of the last proclamation, but that he should sign
the commissions, already prepared by the assembly
for the very persons so denounced. After making
these demands of the infatuated old man, they
farther informed him that two expresses were already
mounted—one to be despatched to the army
under Bacon, and the other to that headed by Ingraham
and Walklate, both of which were probably
within a short distance of the city. That besides
these preparations for any extreme measures
to which he might think proper to resort, the
citizens generally were arming themselves, and
even that many members of the late House of
Burgesses, which he had just dissolved, were taking
up arms, and held themselves in readiness to
assist in disarming and expelling the mercenaries
under his command. Sir William demanded two
hours for deliberation and consultation with his
friends. These were soon assembled, and the
committee withdrew to await the expiration of the
allotted time.

Again the Governor was destined to be mortified.
The officers assembled, most of whom had
been with him in his recent expedition, stated that

the popular spirit of revolt and insubordination,
had spread among the soldiery to such an extent
that no dependence could be placed upon them in
case of a rupture with the citizens. In this emergency
he was compelled to listen to the admonitions
of the friends, who advised that he should
endeavour to turn the popular current in his favour,
by signing the commissions, and withdrawing
the offensive proclamations. To this he was forced
to accede, and accordingly when the committee
of the citizens returned he signed the commissions.
Scarcely had he dismissed them, however, before
he began devising measures to counteract the very
purpose of his act. He ordered a representation
to be immediately drawn up for ministers, in
which the now commissioned officers in question
were represented as traitors—directed the most resolute
and trust-worthy of his adherents to embark
for Accomae, whither he resolved to transfer the
seat of Government until the citizens of the capital
should be taught that respect for his majesty's
representative in which they had shown themselves
so deficient within the last few hours; and commanded
all the armed ships not engaged in transporting
his own troops across the bay,[3] (and there
were many of them in the river,) to cruise up the
stream, in order to intercept the sloop conveying
General Bacon and his suite to the city, with strict
orders to bring him dead or alive to Accomac.
Having issued these various orders, and seen them
put in a regular train of execution, he embarked
the same night on board an armed brigantine, with
his own family and suite, not forgetting his imprisoned
and deeply injured niece.

Meanwhile General Bacon was calmly reclining
upon the deck of his little sloop; it was the second
night from his embarkation—the moon was shining
brightly in the heavens, and the stars sparkled
brilliantly through a hazy but not damp atmosphere,
and not a breath of air filled the white sails
as they flapped idly against the mast. The vessel
was drifting slowly toward her place of destination
it is true, but not with a velocity in accordance
with the ardent desires of the passengers. Every
soul on board had retired to rest except himself,
Brian O'Reily, and that part of the crew to which
belonged the duty of the watch. It was the same
night the reader will remember, on which Sir
William Berkley arrived at, and afterward so
suddenly departed, from the capital.

Brian O'Reily was for the first time explaining
to his master the manner in which he came into
the hands of the Indians. Bacon had readily
surmised the whole process, but knowing that
O'Reily must be indulged with the relation at one
time or another, and being unable to sleep in his
present excited state of mind, he had given the
impulse to Brian's garrulity, not inadvertently,
however, by the simple question,

“So Brian, you were in pursuit of me when
the Powhatans made you a prisoner?”

“Ay, by St. Stephen the martyr, and the

twelve Apostles, barrin one iv them that was a
thraitor, I was near bein a martyr myself, only
the bloody nagres had a notion to fatten me, and
that's the rason they kept me tied on me back all
the while, jist as I used to fix the misthress's blind
calf, the saints bless her soul.”

“Fatten you, Brian, for what?”

“To ate me, to be sure!”

“Pshaw, O'Reily, they are not cannibals.”

“Oh the divil burn my eyes, but I saw thim
roastin babies by the fire, and ating them like
pathriges, widout so much as salt to season them!”

“You just now told me you were tied in a dark
hole, and fed on parched corn, all the time you
were a prisoner.”

“Divil a word iv a lie's in that, any way, your
honour, and sure enough I didn't jist see thim
kooking the young ones, but didn't I smell thim
roastin? Sure and Brian O'Reily wouldn't be
after being decaived in the smell of a pig for a
sucking baby. Didn't the divil tempt me wid
that same smell any way? may be he didn't?
Wasn't I starvin myself upon short allowance iv
their murtherin popped corn, and didn't the bloody
nagers roast a baby jist whin me unconscionable
bowels came up into my throat every day, begging
for muttin and turnips? and didn't they want
to fatten me like the misthress's blind calf—me
bowels I mane? and didn't I put thim aff wid a
half score o' parched corns? Oh! if they had

only been stilled into whiskey, may be it wouldn't
iv cured the smotherin I had about the heart.”

“I suppose, Brian, you were never sober for
such a length of time together in your life before.”

“Oh! be our Lady you may say that—there
was jist nothing to ate, and the same to dhrink,
barrin the parched corn, and the babies, and may
be, an oldher sinner for Sundays, by way of a
feast.”

“You travelled on foot, I suppose, from place
to place, until they concentrated at the falls!”

“Divil a foot iv mine touched the ghround,
since they pulled me off my horse at yon town of
theirs over the river. I rode on a horse ivery
foot iv the way, your haner, and had one iv the
nagers to attind me; may be he did'nt ride behint
me on the same baste, and put his arms around
me like a butcher taking a fat wether to the
shambles.”

“You were in right good case too, when you
fell into the hands of this singular butcher, that
deals in human flesh, according to your account?”

“Ay was I, but I lost it asier than I got it—
by the five crasses, but the sweat run down to me
shoes every time I looked round at the painted
divil sittin on the same baste wid me—his nose
ornamented wid a lead ring like a wild steer.
Sure I thought the ghreat inimy was flyin away
wid me, before I was dacently buried.”

“What did he say to you, Brian?”

“Say to me, your haner! By the holy father,
but he addressed none iv his discourse to me.
Maybe he was talkin to the divil that was in him as
big as a sheep—didn't he grunt it all away down
in his pipes like a pig in a passion? Or may be
he was talkin to the horse, for he grunted too, and
one iv thim jist discoursed as well as the t'other,
to my mind.”

“Could you not tell upon what subject he
spoke, from his gestures or signs.—Did he not
point to Jamestown frequently?”

“Not he—he pointed to the colour iv me hair,
more belikes, and when they gat to you place
where your haner put so many iv thim to slape,
they all gathered round me to see it. They had
their own crowns painted the same colour, and
they wonthered at the beauty iv mine, and faith,
that was the most rasonable thing I saw among
thim, barrin that they brought me the paint-pot,
and wanted me to figure off one iv their beautiful
gourds like Brian O'Reily's. I towld thim it was
a thing out iv all rason, and pulled out some iv
the hair to show thim, and divil burn the bloody
thaives, but they cut it all aff jist for keepsakes
among thim.”

“They left you a top-knot, I see, however.”

Before O'Reily could make a reply, the sailor
on the watch cried out that there was a large ship
bearing down upon them. Bacon sprung upon his
feet, ordered Brian to alarm the soldiers, and walked
hastily forward. At the first glance, he saw a

crowd of warlike heads, and caught the reflection
of the light upon their arms. A second look at
the strange movements of the vessel, and the hostile
preparations of those on board served to convince
him that he was himself the object of their
pursuit. Taking two of the first soldiers who
made their appearance on deck, he silently entered
the boat swinging from the tafferel of the sloop,
motioned the two soldiers to follow him, and then
ordered the boat to be let down with all silence
and despatch. O'Reily seeing these preparations
as he came on deck from the performance of his
orders, sprung into the boat as one end struck the
water; it was too late, and the circumstances too
urgent for his master to order him back—the frail
bark was pushed off, therefore, with muffled oars,
and as much within the shadow of the approaching
vessels as their destined course would permit.
Scarcely were they without the protection of these,
before they discovered the yawl of the ship full of
armed men, rapidly gliding into the water, and in
the next moment, they heard musket balls whistling
over their heads, accompanied by the momentary
gleam and then the quick report of fire-arms.
Seizing an oar himself, and ordering Brian
to follow his example, they pulled with all their
strength for the shore; this once gained, he hoped
that the protection of the forest and the increasing
haziness of the atmosphere settling upon the high
banks of the river, would effectually protect his
retreat. But in spite of their utmost efforts, the
superior power with which the yawl was propelled
through the water was rapidly shortening the distance
between them. Brian threw off his jerkin,
and strenuously exhorted his master to trust himself
to the mercy of the waves, though he knew
not the nature of the threatened danger. On this
point, Bacon himself could only conjecture, that
it was some device of his old enemy to get him
secretly into his power, and hence his anxiety to
reach Jamestown at the present juncture. He
knew nothing of the change which had taken
place at the capital in his favour, but he knew his
own power over the populace, and he preferred being
made prisoner in public, to trusting himself to
the tender mercies of Sir William Berkley. In
spite of all his exertions, and the hopes of reward
held out to the soldiers in case of success, their
boat was cut off from the shore by the pursuers
interposing between it and themselves. He saw
that resistance would be madness, as the boat now
wheeling exactly in front of them contained five
times their number, and would doubtless, in case
of a struggle, be promptly sustained by assistance
from the ship, which was now nearer to them than
their own vessel. His only course, therefore, was
to submit with as much philosophy as he could
muster. He was deeply mortified and chagrined
however, for his presence seemed to him to be
most urgently called for at the capital. These
views were founded upon the information he had
received, now two days old. Could he have known
what had taken place at Jamestown only a few
hours before, and only a few miles distant from
his present position; could he have known that
Sir William Berkley was at that very moment an
adventurer upon the same waters, but a few miles
below, and driven thence by the firmness of the
patriotic citizens who belonged to his own party,
he would doubtless have made a desperate resistance.
Perhaps it was more fortunate for all
parties that he was thus ignorant of existing circumstances
at the capital, for had he fallen at this
juncture, (which was most probable) the fate of
the Republican party in the infant state might
have been very different.

He and his party soon found themselves on board
of the hostile ship, which was commanded by
Capt. Gardiner, an Englishman—a devoted loyalist
and adherent of Sir William Berkley. He was
politely received by that officer, but informed that
he must consider himself a prisoner until he could
exculpate himself before the Governor in person,
at Accomac. Until this moment Bacon had been
partially reconciled to his mishap, trusting to his
known popularity among the people of the city,
which he knew would not be diminished by the
eclat of his Indian victories; but now that he was
informed of the present residence of the Governor,
and the destination of the ship, his hopes were
totally prostrated. He began to suspect that something

was wrong with Sir William at Jamestown,
from his present singular location, and was not a
little uneasy at the secret and unusual measures
he had taken to get him into his power. He
knew the turbulent and impetuous temperament of
the old knight, and how little he was given to
consult right and humanity in too many of his
summary measures of what he chose to call justice,
to think that he would hesitate one moment
to summon a court-martial of his own partizans—
try, condemn, and execute him and his three
unfortunate followers, if not the more numerous
body, now also prisoners, in the sloop. As he
stood upon deck in the midst of his guard, weighing
these various aspects of his position, the ship
was silently gliding within view of the lights from
the city. He observed that the captain steered
his course as far from the island as the channel of
the river would permit, which confirmed his
previous suspicions as to the state of popular feeling
in the capital, and increased his uneasiness as
to the secret designs of the Governor upon himself.
From Captain Gardiner he could gain no satisfactory
information—he merely replied to Bacon's
demand for his authority, that Governor Berkley
had commanded him to bring him (Bacon) to
Accomac, and to deliver him dead or alive into
his hands.

When it was too late, Bacon saw the rashness of
the councils which had induced him to abandon

his army, and trust himself among the numerous
ships floating in the river, the commanders of
which were known adherents of his enemies.

The reflections of our hero, as he paced the
quarter deck toward morning, were bitter in the
extreme. He saw all the bright hopes of his reviving
spirits vanish like a dream, as the vessel
now just emerging from the waters of the Powhatan,
and propelled by a fresh morning breeze from
the land, was plunging with every swell of the
buoyant waves into the waters of the Chesapeake,
and receding farther and farther at every plunge
from the objects of his highest and dearest aspirations.

That portion of the magnificent bay into which
they were now entering immediately ahead, was
expanded and-lost to the eye on the limitless waves
of the ocean. On the starboard tack, like a black
cloud joining the sea and the sky together, lay
Cape Henry, and on the larboard, still more faintly
pencilled against the horizon, lay Cape Charles.
Between the two, the white bordered waves of the
Atlantic rolled their swelling volumes into the
Chesapeake.

The faint yellow tinge of dawn could just be
discerned, like a moving shadow, now upon the
waves and then upon the hazy clouds, dipping
into their bosom, while hundreds of aquatic birds,
interposed like a black cloud at intervals to intercept
the view in the distance, or more suddenly

flapped their wings from under the very prow of
the vessel as they swooped along the surface of the
stream and dipped the points of their wings like
a flash of light into the sparkling waters.

A steady breeze was blowing from off the land,
and the white sails of the ship swelled proudly
and the tapering spars bent under its influence, as
she ploughed up the waves foaming and falling in
divided masses before her prow. On any other
occasion than the present, Bacon would have enjoyed
the prospect on this grandest of all inland
seas, but now his mind was oppressed with gloomy
doubts and forebodings. Every plunge of the
vessel was bearing him more within the grasp of
his relentless foe. But the mishap of his own
personal adventure, every way unfortunate as it
was both for himself and the cause in which he had
engaged, was not that which weighed most oppressively
upon his mind. Ever since the discovery
of the miniature contained in the locket,
he had been gradually giving way to his reviving
hopes, and building upon that slender assurance
bright and glorious superstructures of imagination.
He had endured and lived, and fought and conquered
with that hope, as the polar star to his
otherwise dark and dreary course. Now again
his destinies were almost wrecked by a storm from
a quarter in which he had scarcely cast his eyes.
How could he imagine that Sir William Berkley
would be driven from the capital, by the stern

and independent resistance of the unarmed citizens?
How could he know that being thus driven
from it he would yet retain a sufficient naval force
to capture him and his escort upon the very eve
of his triumphal entry into the city? These
were the reflections which made him look with a
feeling of dark misanthropy upon the glorious
beauties of the Chesapeake. His ambition, his
pride, and his conscience were satisfied; but his
love for a bride, already once led to the very steps
of the altar, was again thwarted upon the eve of
what he had supposed and hoped would prove the
final and happy fulfilment of his most ardent hopes.
His feelings toward the devoted and interesting
maiden, who had perilled and suffered so much on
his account, were enthusiastic in the highest degree.
She stood toward him not only in the
relation of his betrothed, but his wedded bride;
and the more endearing and captivating she became
to him as he contemplated her in these relations,
the more he cursed in his heart the hard-hearted
and perverse old man who had been the
cause of all his troubles.

Every chance of escape was intensely examined;
not a word was suffered to fall unheeded from
Captain Gardiner and his subordinates. He noted
carefully the distribution of the prisoners in the
vessel in which he was himself confined, as well as
of those in the sloop following in their wake. He
took careful observations of the most prominent

objects on their route—the state of the tide in the
river which they had just left. He examined the
boats—how they were secured—the equipments
and appearance of the crew on board, and resolved
if he must fall in the midst of his reviving hopes,
to die as became the conqueror of Bloody Run and
the lover of Virginia Fairfax.