University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

Bacon heard the rusty bolt shoot into its socket,
and then the hasping and locking of the outside
door, with a sensation of utter hopelessness. He
wandered through the dark precincts of his prison,
stumbling now over an old barrel, and anon
against a meat block, until he came to some dry
bundles of fodder, which seemed to have been
spread out in one corner to answer the purpose of
a bed. Before throwing himself upon this rude
couch, he resolved to examine the structure of his
cell. By passing his hands along the walls, he
found that they were built of brick, well cemented
by a long process of time—that the summit upon
which the basement beams of the frame rested,
were entirely out of his reach, and that in the present
confined state of his hands, it would be impossible
for him to make any impression on them,
and he could distinctly hear the tramp of more
than one sentinel, as they paced their monotonous
rounds about that wing of the building. There
was yet much of the day remaining, and he resolved
to spend it in endeavouring to grind off the
end of the rivets to the iron bands enclosing his
wrists. By rubbing these against the bricks, he
found that he could wear them away by a tedious

and laborious process. Our hero was not one of
those who surrender themselves up to despondency
at the first appearance of insurmountable difficulties;
decision of character was his most striking
quality, and he knew that his devoted army only
waited for him to lead them to avenge his wrongs.
He felt the difficulties which lay between him and
Jamestown, but he did not despair, however desperate
his circumstances. For many hours he persevered
in grinding the rivets against the bricks;
with wrenching and great danger of dislocating
his wrists, he at length succeeded in so wearing
down the iron, that he could at any moment throw
aside the manacles. Encouraged with this success,
he moved the meat-block against the wall, and
made all preparations for a breach, as soon as he
should be satisfied that the darkness of night would
cover his movements.

To while away the time usefully, he threw himself
upon his rude bed, and was soon, from the
effects of great previous mental excitement and
bodily fatigue, wrapt in profound slumber.

The shadows of night had closed around this
land in the midst of waters in sombre hues, and
the prisoner still slept profoundly.

In the mean time circumstances were in progress
on the bay, which had a most important bearing
upon the fate of every one then at Accomac.

It has already been stated that Sir William
Berkley had put in requisition such of the naval
power as he could bring to bear upon his immediate

designs and pressing necessities. But, after
leaving the city in the precipitate manner which
has been related, the citizens determined to summon
to their aid, such of the ships and other vessels
of war and merchandise, as yet remained in
the river, within convenient distance of the city,
and make the old knight a prisoner at Accomae.

The Governor had not long been gone before an
armament superior to his own, was seen steering
in the course which he had taken. This consisted
of “one ship, a bark of four guns, a sloop
and schooner.” The expedition was under the
joint command of Giles Bland and William Carver,
both veteran and experienced seamen. On
board of one of the vessels, and subordinate to the
officers just mentioned, was Captain Larimore; he
was one of the most devoted friends of Sir William
Berkley, but his personal predilections and loyal
principles were entirely unknown, either at Jamestown
or on board the fleet. When this (at that
time) formidable armament arrived in sight of the
vessels at anchor, which had borne Sir William
and his partisans to Accomac, it being now dark,
(on the same evening in which Bacon lay sleeping
in his dungeon,) Capt. Larimore proposed to his
superior officers, that he would take one or two resolute
tars, and, avoiding the hostile vessels, land and
reconnoitre the position and forces of the Governor.

His proposition was promptly aceeded to, and
Larimore launched his boat, selected his men,
and protected by the thickness of the fog and the

darkness of the night, succeeded in effecting his
landing unperceived by the vessels in the service
of the Governor. If he had been aware of Bacon's
imprisonment and condemnation, and disposed to
do so, he might have rendered him the most important
services; but whether disposed to hazard
any thing in his cause or not, both he and his superiors
were ignorant of Bacon's fate.

When the boat containing the adventurer and
his two associates struck the shore, Larimore immediately
sprang upon the beach and ordered his
subordinates to push a few yards out into the bay,
and remain within sound of his whistle. He
proceeded directly towards the quarters of Sir
William Berkley, until he was challenged by one
of the sentinels with his carbine at his breast. Larimore
desired the sentinel to lead him to the Governor.
As soon as he had made himself known
to his Excellency, he informed him of his disposition
to advance the cause of the loyal party, and
submitted the following proposition.

He requested the Governor to send one or two
of his most daring and trusty officers, with one
hundred rosolute men in boats or canoes, during
that portion of the night when he should himself
be in command of the watch—and promised that
he would deliver the whole armament into the
hands of the Governor. Sir William immediately
summoned his officers and made the proposition
known to them—requesting, at the same time that
any gentleman who desired to be entrusted with

the expedition would step forward. Philip Ludwell
promptly acceded to the offer, and tendered
his services, which were as promptly accepted.
Ludwell having selected his supporters from
the hardiest of the troops and sailors, he held himself
in readiness to push off as soon as the appointed
hour should arrive. Larimore giving the concerted
signal, sprang into his boat and returned to those
who sent him, with a very different account of
Sir William's position and intentions from that
we have just related.

All this time Bacon was sleeping as soundly
upon his bed of corn blades, as if it was not to be
his last sleep on earth. Criminals condemned
to death generally do sleep soundly the night preceding
their execution, and Bacon, whether criminal
or not, was no exception to the rule.

It was some hours after the sun had gone down,
and about the same time that Larimore put off to
his vessel, when Bacon suddenly started up from
his rude couch, under an oppressive sense of
glaring light upon his eye balls. An aged and
decrepid woman was leaning over him; she was
resting upon her knees, in one hand holding the
lamp and in the other the locket which had already
exercised such an important influence upon his
destiny. She had sprung the lid, during his sleep,
and was now gazing upon the beautiful picture,
with an interest and amazement not less intense
than he had himself manifested on its first discovery
in the Indian wigwam. So absorbed was

her every faculty, that his sudden start from sleep
scarcely attracted her attention. Her eyes were
filled with water in the vain endeavour to decipher
the outlines with convincing accuracy. When the
date and the initials and the hair were submitted
to a like scrutiny, conviction settled at once upon
her mind. The feeling operated slowly at first,
but as one doubt gave way after another, her pale
and haggard features began perceptibly to assume
the life and vigour of deep excitement. The locket
fell from her grasp, and she clasped her hands—
but suddenly throwing back the curling masses
from his brow she exclaimed: “Tell me, my
master, are you called Nathaniel Bacon?”

“I am! but tell me in your turn, why do you
ask?”

She answered only by exclaiming, “O merciful
Heaven! God be praised! Wonderful are
the ways of Providence!” Bacon was on his
knees also, his manacled hands laid upon her
shoulders as he anxiously and hastily inquired,
“Tell me, good mother, what do you know of
Nathaniel Bacon?”

“More than he knows of himself, mayhap!”

“Speak it quickly—moments are more precious
than diamonds—say, whence comes your
knowledge? who are you? who am I? for God's
sake tell me quickly!”

“You are the son of as worthy a gentleman as
ever wore a sword. I knew him and your honoured
mother well—that is, if you are the same

mischievous boy whom I have mourned as drowned
these many long and lonesome years.”

The captive waited to hear no more, but springing
upon his feet, paced wildly round the damp
cellar like one in a delirium of joy. The old woman
still maintained her humble posture, her hands
again clasped, and her long wrinkled neck turning
with difficulty to follow the strange movements of
the prisoner. Suddenly, and as if stricken down
by a cannon shot, he threw himself upon the
earth his whole frame convulsed with thoughts
of his present hopeless condition. “What matters
it whether I am Nathaniel Bacon or not?
What will it avail, this time to-morrow, when
these limbs, now so full of life and vigour in the renewal
of hope, will be still in the cold embrace
of death?”

“Death!” the old woman sereamed, rising
from her knees, seizing the lamp and thrusting it in
Bacon's face—“Death, did you say, my son? or did
my old ears deceive me with the horrible word?”

“They did not,—truer words were never
spoken or heard; to-morrow, before the sun has
measured an hour in the heavens, the voice which
now addresses you, will be silenced in the everlasting
sleep of death!”

Horror struck his auditor dumb; her shrivelled
lips moved with a tremulous motion, as if she desired
to speak—but she spoke not. An ashy paleness
overspread her features, and she staggered
backward and would have fallen, had she not been

caught in the arms of her long-lost foster son. A
tumult of thoughts crowded upon her enfeebled
mind, as she recovered, gasping with the unusual
excitement, and her aged frame heaved as if it
would burst in the effort. At length a ray of hope
seemed to dawn upon her mental vision; her eye
sparkled with the thought, as she resumed the
lamp which Bacon had taken from her hand, and
placed upon the ground. “It must not, shall not
be, my son. There is your coarse food, Heaven
forgive me for not offering you better, but little
did my thoughts turn upon such a godsend. I
have a thousand things to ask and tell, but as you
say, life—precious life—hangs upon every moment
lost, so—”

At this moment the sentinel advanced directly
before them, and taking the old woman
rudely by the arm, said, “Come, old Tabby, the
prisoner can find the way to his mouth without the
light; give him his bread and water, and be off;”
thrusting her up the steps, as he spoke, slamming
the door, and once more turning the grating bolt
upon the unfortunate prisoner.

Bacon's late reviving hopes almost died within
him as he listened to the unwelcome sounds and
the retreating footsteps of his visiters.

He threw himself once more upon his rude
couch and abandoned himself to despair. But
youthful hope never despairs utterly, however
desperate the circumstances; a few moments after
saw him with his handcuffs thrown off, and busily

engaged in piling the loosened bricks upon the
floor. In less than an hour, he beheld the stars
lightly twinkling in the Heavens, through the
aperture created by the removal of a single brick,
which he had taken from the outer layer before
he was aware of his progress. Cautiously and
intently he listened for the footsteps of the sentinel;
strange sounds seemed to come from off the
water, but all in his immediate vicinity was as
quiet as the grave, except the tumultuous throbbing
of his own heart. Again he proceeded cautiously
in his work, until he had completed an
aperture sufficiently large to admit the passage
of his body. Then, bracing his nerves, he proceeded
to effect his exit through the opening,
and was vigorously struggling to free himself,
when a musket ball whistled by his ear and buried
itself in the wooden sill of the house. He
sprang back into the cellar, and stood in confusion
and amazement, until the short chuckling laugh of
the sentinel roused him from his delusive dream
of hope. He could distinctly hear the marksman
who had exhibited such a dangerous proof of his
skill, laughing and telling his comrade, who paced
before the door at the end of the house, “how
he had shaved the prisoner's head.” The unfortunate
captive now abandoned himself to despair
in earnest. A thousand times he cursed his ill
fated stars, for thus leading the old nurse into his
cell to rouse his dormant hopes, and give a new
impulse to his desires for freedom.

While these matters were in progress at the
prison of our hero, the naval armament under the
command of Bland, Carver and Larimore, belonging
to and put in motion by his friends among
the citizens, and which might have rendered him
such effectual assistance had the two principal officers
been aware of his situation, was itself about
to perform its share in the contest. The expedition
under Ludwell, as had been promised to the
traitor Larimore, was sent out at the exact time
specified, and with muffled oars skimmed along
the surface of the tranquil lake, keeping under the
shadow of the ships. As they approached, signals
were exchanged, which satisfied Ludwell that
Larimore was indeed in command of the watch,
and still ready to betray his trust. Once or twice,
indeed, a suspicion shot across his mind, that Larimore
might only be an agent in the hands of Bland
and Carver, and that his proposal was but a scheme
laid to entrap himself and followers into the power
of the rebels, as the Governor's party were pleased
to call the patriots; but it was as speedily dissipated
by the favourable train in which every thing
seemed to lie, as the traitor had promised.

The loyal party under his command was in a
very few minutes silently and stealthily climbing
up the sides of the vessels. Having gained the
decks, they proceeded at once to disarm and bind
the sentinels. These unfortunate fellows had been
induced by the traitor Larimore, to believe that
the party under Ludwell were deserters from the

ranks of Sir William Berkley, and were not undeceived
until they found themselves bound hand
and foot, and such other precautions taken that
they could not alarm their sleeping comrades
below. In less time than we have taken to record
the transaction, the whole naval armament in the
service of the patriots, together with the officers,
crews and military stores, were delivered into the
hands of Governor Berkley. The success of the
enterprise was announced to the anxious expectants
on shore, by a discharge of artillery, which was
joyously answered on their part. Sir William
Berkley was transported with delight—so lately
abandoned by the majority of the citizens and
soldiers of the capital, and compelled to desert the
legitimate seat of government, he now saw himself
in possession of a naval and military power, more
than sufficient to command the obedience, if he
could not win the affections of the rebellious citizens.
He immediately called together his officers,
and such of the cavalier gentry as had followed
his fortunes to this remote corner of the colony,
and imparted to them his determination to embark
his land forces on board the ships brought over by
himself, and those surrendered by Larimore, and
sail within the hour for the capital.

It may be readily imagined that this sudden
change in their fortunes was not received with
murmurs and discontent; on the contrary preparations
were eagerly and joyously commenced.
The captured and betrayed patriots were divided

among all the vessels, so as to preclude effectually
any chance of their rising upon the Governor and
his party. The soldiers, artillery and baggage
were placed on board, and the signal given for the
embarkation of the old knight and his staff—
family and attendants.

Our gentle heroine was not forgotten—she too
had been roused, not from her slumbers, for she
had not slept, but from her restless and feverish
pillow, and commanded to prepare for instant departure
for the capital. The stern old Cavalier,
her uncle, stood in the open plot in front of the
house surrounded by his partisans, impatiently
waiting her descent. At length she appeared,
leaning upon the arm of Frank Beverly on one
side, and that of her female attendant upon the
other—her aunt following in evident dejection of
spirits. Virginia's countenance was white as the
spotless attire in which she was enveloped. Her
eye wildly wandered over the faces crowding
around, as she emerged from the house, but soon
settled again in sullen composure as she perceived
the absence of the one sought. The pine torches,
borne by the negroes, shed a glaring and unsteady
light on the objects around; the steady tramp of the
soldiers, as they marched to and embarked on
board the boats, were heard in the direction of
the water, while other parties were seen in like
manner provided with torches, floating in the
barks already laden, toward the ships moored in
the offing. As the party that had just emerged

from the house was about to move in the same
direction, Beverly spoke aloud to the Governor.

“Sir William, are you going to leave the prisoner
in the cellar?”

“True—true, my boy,” he replied, “I was so
overjoyed at trapping so many of his compeers,
that I had entirely forgotten his generalship; but
we will care for his standing, and that right speedily.
We will elevate him—I will not say above
his desert—but certainly to a position to which he
has long had eminent claims. Ho! Sir Hangman!
Ludwell, order the hangman into our
presence; we need a cast of his office before we
set sail.”

“It was customary with the Romans, you
know, Sir William, to offer up a sacrifice before
they embarked upon any important enterprise,”
said Beverly, laughing at his own wretched attempt
at wit. But there was one countenance in
the group upon which the first intimation of
Beverly concerning the neglect of the prisoner,
wrought a fearful change. Virginia threw her
eyes wildly round, searching from face to face,
for some small evidence of sympathy on which to
cast her hopes, but they were all steeled in imperturbable
apathy, or clad in more appalling smiles
of derision. As her eye glanced around the
circle, it fell at last upon the youth supporting her
own enfeebled steps. Her knees were just sinking
under her from weakness and dismay, but the
sight of Frank Beverly's smiling countenance

aroused her energies. Her muscles were instantly
braced, her eye shot forth scorn and contempt,
while she threw his arms from her, as she would
have started from the touch of some loathsome
reptile. The youth, with a grim smile, folded his
arms in quiet serenity, to await the appearance of
the prisoner, as if conscious that his hour of sweet
revenge was near at hand.

Virginia threw herself at the feet, first of her
uncle, and then of her aunt, and earnestly prayed
for the life of her lover, as she heard the orders
for bringing him forth, but from the first she received
only a contemptuous glance, and from the
latter silent tears. She was still kneeling upon
the grass at the feet of the latter, her head fallen
in despair and exhaustion upon her bosom, when the
soldiers rushed out from the cellar, and proclaimed
the escape of the prisoner. An electric stream
poured into Virginia's sinking frame could not
have more suddenly restored her to life and animation.
She screamed, clasped her hands, sprang
to her feet, and fell back into the arms of her aunt
in a paroxysm of mingled joy and agitation.

Sir William Berkley gnashed his teeth, and
swearing vengeance against the traitors who had
permitted his enemy's escape, seized one of the
pine torches and rushed into the cellar to satisfy
himself that he was not concealed behind some of
the rubbish of the apartment; but soon found convincing
evidence of his escape, in the irons that
lay upon the ground, and the aperture through

which he had made his exit. The sentinels were
all called up, who had at any time stood guard over
the prisoner through the night. It appeared that
the one who had discharged his piece so near to
the head of the prisoner, had been some time since
relieved, and that he had merely mentioned to his
successor, the attempt of Bacon to escape, with
his own amusement in showing him how near he
could shoot to his head without wounding him.

“Would to God you had lodged the ball in his
skull,” exclaimed the enraged governor. The
truth was, that the sentinel had supposed the
prisoner still loaded with his irons when he appeared
at the breach, having merely discovered
one of the many evidences of dilapidation in the
house, and had consequently left him in the care
of his successor, with the full confidence that he
would not make a second attempt. How he was
induced to make that second attempt will appear
in the sequel. The soldier on duty, at the time
when he was supposed to have escaped, was immediately
ordered to be put in irons.

Lady Berkley was about having her niece conveyed
to the house, but her enraged husband
harshly ordered those supporting her now prostrate
form, to convey her to the vessel, which was
accordingly done. The Governor, his suite and
followers were soon also on board, and a roar of
artillery announced their final departure from the
“eastern shore.”

When Bacon threw himself upon his couch,
after his last unfortunate attempt to escape, every

thought of once more gaining his liberty abandoned
him. He very naturally supposed that his
failure would only redouble the vigilance of his
guards, and therefore resumed his irons, with the
desperate resolution of throwing them off, when
he should be led to execution on the following
morning, and selling his life as dearly as he might.

He had lain for some hours in a state of mind
that may be readily imagined from the late scenes
through which he had passed, when at length he
heard his own name softly whispered in his gloomy
cell; the voice appeared to be in his immediate
vicinity. He arose and followed the supposed
direction of the sound, and again he heard it on
the opposite side—proceeding from the still unclosed
aperture in the wall. He answered in the
same subdued whisper. “Come this way,” said
the voice of the old woman, the shadow of whose
head he could now perceive darkening the partial
light which broke through. “Come this way,
Master Bacon. Tim Jones, the sentinel, has gone
into my cabin to eat a chicken supper, and drink
some aqua vitæ which I procured for him; his place
is supplied by a soldier whom I engaged to be
ready, as if by accident. He pretends to be asleep
under the big tree yonder. Do you come forth
and proceed round the opposite end of the house
to that occupied by the other sentinel, until you
come to the bushes at the end of the garden palings—there
wait until I come to you—for your
life do not stir, until I join you there.”

Bacon succeeded in avoiding the notice of the

sentry and in gaining the spot indicated by the
old woman, where he had scarcely concealed himself,
before the discharge of artillery from the
betrayed fleet startled him from his recumbent
posture. He supposed that his own capture had
been ascertained at Jamestown, and that vessels
had been despatched to rescue him. This idea
had scarcely entered his mind, before he sprang
over the palings and was running at his utmost
speed across the garden toward the bay, for the
purpose of procuring a boat, but his attention was
instantly arrested by the appearance of the Governor
and his suite collecting in the yard in front
of the house. He was on the point of running
into the hands of the sentinel whose temporary absence
had afforded him the chance of escape, and
who now sat with his weapon ready for action,
securely guarding, as he supposed, the person who
stood just behind him. The man hailed him as
soon as he heard the rustling among the shrubbery,
but the liberated captive had seen and heard enough
to induce him to seek his hiding-place once more.