University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XI.

General Bacon's ardour and decision of character
were not in the least abated by his late perils
and imprisonment; on the contrary, recent developments
had relieved him from suspense and
inspired him with new motives for action, to say
nothing of the redress loudly demanded, by all
classes of the citizens, for the Governor's increasing
oppressions. Scarcely was sufficient time allowed
for his devoted officers to shake him cordially by
the hand, before his gallant band of patriots was
marching towards Jamestown, without music or
noise of any kind. There was a cool settled determination
visible in the countenances of all, which
was admirably evinced by the order and alacrity
with which they obeyed the general's orders.
Bacon's cause had now become personal with
every man in the ranks, composed as they were
principally of hardy planters and more chivalrous
Cavaliers, who knew not at what moment they
might themselves be subjected to like wrongs and
indignities to those from which he had just escaped.
As the chief had anticipated, the patriot army arrived
on the heights of Jamestown, just as the
shades of night were enclosing the forest. It was

not his intention that Sir William Berkley should
ascertain his arrival and position, until he had made
suitable dispositions for his reception, should he
feel disposed to pay him a visit. Accordingly, the
whole army was immediately employed in digging
an entrenchment, and erecting a barricade of fallen
trees, for the protection of the troops, should it be
found necessary in their future operations. These
transactions took place, it will be remembered, on
the evening of the same day in which Bacon parted
from the Recluse, and landed upon the main shore.

Meanwhile, Sir William Berkley, his family,
suite and followers, of high and low degree, had
effected their landing without opposition at Jamestown.
The same night that Bacon and his patriot
followers were entrenching themselves on the
heights, the Governor and his adherents were
marshalling themselves in the city. Great numbers
of the citizens, however, were decidedly opposed
to Sir William and his measures; and his
arrival and military preparations were no sooner
perceived, then they betook themselves, with
their families and property, under cover of night,
to the privacy of the neighbouring plantations:
numbers of them accidentally encountered the
patriots at their work, and immediately sending on
their families, joined their standard. Besides
the land and naval forces now at the disposal of the
Governor—and they already outnumbered his opponents—he
offered every inducement to the worthless
and dissolute loungers of the town to unite

with his army; he did not even hesitate to promise
largely of the plunder, and confiscated property of
the rebels.

On the succeeding morning, the sun rose upon
the ancient city, in unclouded splendour, for the
last time it was destined ever to shine upon the
earliest erected city in North America. It was
the dreaded day to our heroine, appointed for her
marriage. Her uncle had solemnly assured her
upon their landing on the previous day, that the one
which had now arrived, should see her the wife of
Beverly. The latter, too, claimed the fulfilment of
her solemn promise. The distressed and enfeebled
girl knew not whither to turn for sympathy and
succour; she was beset on all sides, and not a little
oppressed with the shackles of her own promise.
She did not dare to hope that her lover had already
made his way from Accomac to her own vicinity.
She remembered indeed, that the Recluse had
charged her, in case of any sudden danger or emergency,
to send him a memento of the bloody seal,
but she likewise remembered, that he had since been
the main cause of her separation from one to whom
she was heart and soul devoted. She was also oppressed
with unutterable sadness on account of her
mother's death, the true account of which she had
just heard,—the body having been sent by the patriots
to the city for burial, immediately before her
arrival. To her aunt she appealed, with touching
pathos; but alas, she could do nothing, even had
she been so disposed. Wyanokee had returned

with the body of her mother, and by her devotion
to the revered remains, revived all Virginia's former
affection, but she was powerless, and withal a
prisoner, and so wrapped up in her own gloomy
meditations, that she looked more like one of the
dumb idols of her own race, than a living maiden.
When spoken to, she started up as one from a
trance—and without speaking again, sought communion
with her own ideal world.

The hour was a second time fast approaching
for the celebration of the nuptials of our heroine.
None of the fortunate occurrences or lucky accidents
for which she had hoped, relieved the despair
of the fleeting moments. Her uncle and
Beverly had both repeatedly sent up to her apartments,
and desired to be admitted to her presence,
but on various pretences they had been as yet denied.
Her aunt had again and again urged her to
prepare for the ceremony, but hour after hour flew
by, and she was still sitting in her robe de chambre,
her neglected ringlets hanging in loose clusters
over her forehead and neck, the former of
which rested upon her hand, and it in its turn upon
her knee—her head turned slightly to one side,
where Wyanokee sat, straight as an Indian arrow,
and silent and immoveable as death. At length she
heard her uncle at the door, who swore that if she
did not dress and descend immediately to the
parlour, where the clergyman and Beverly were
in waiting, he would have the door forced, and
compel her to go through the ceremony even

should her feet refuse to sustain her. Soon after
he had retired, Lady Berkley again entered, when
the distressed and bereaved maiden clasped her
round the neck and wept bitterly. “Oh, dearest
aunt,” she exclaimed, “save me from this desecration—this
perjury! Great and merciful God,” she
cried, loosing her hold, and clasping her hands,
“how can I vow before Heaven to love, honour
and obey a man that I abhor and detest?”

“You should have thought of that, my dear
child, before you gave your solemn promise to
Frank; it is too late now to retract.”

“Is it even so? then I will swear when they
come to ask me to pledge my vows, that my love
never was mine to give away; that I learned its
existence in another's possession. They shall
not—they cannot force me to swear an untruth.
They may lead me through the outward forms of
a marriage ceremony, but racks and torments shall
not make me in any way accessary to the deed.
If I promised otherwise, it was the last despairing
refuge of outraged nature. It was the instinct
of preservation within me, and not my free and
voluntary act.” Influenced by this idea, she stood
like an automaton, and suffered her women to deck
her out in bridal array, and was then mechanically
led from her room, accompanied by her aunt,
Wyanokee, and her female dependants. She found
Sir William Berkley and Frank Beverly waiting
her approach in the entry. She shrunk back at
the sight of the latter, but he, none the less bold,
approached at the same time with her uncle, and together

they led her toward the room where the clergyman
waited, with many of the loyal Cavaliers.
When they arrived at the door, and she saw the
reverend gentleman in his robes, and the book
open before him, her excited frame could bear the
tension no longer, and she fell lifeless upon the
floor. A loud roar from the brazen throat of a cannon
at the same moment shook the windows like a
peal of thunder, and was succeeded by the echoing
blasts of the trumpet's charge, multiplying the
bold challenge as it rolled from river to cliff. This
plan of daring an opponent to battle, was strictly
in accordance with the usages of the age, and was
instantly understood by the Governor and his
friends, all of whom flew to the windows, where
they beheld a sight, which soon drove softer emotions
from their hearts, if they had any. The former
saw the smoke curling over Bacon's breastwork
and entrenchments, and was struck dumb
with amazement. But soon recovering his voice,
and throwing up the sash, he shouted to the
guard below, “to arms, to arms—for king and
country.”

Whatever were the faults of Sir William Berkley,
and they will be considered many in this refined
age and renovated country, cowardice was
not one of them. In a very few moments he mounted
his charger and, together with Beverly and
Ludwell, galloped swiftly along his forming battalions
rebuking the tardy and cheering on the
brave. With his superior numbers and heavier
appointments, he felt as sure of victory as if he

already sat in judgment, or was pronouncing sentence
upon the chief of the rebels. That Bacon
was already at the head of his army never for a
moment entered his imagination; but the knowledge
would have made no change in his arrogant
calculations, even had he possessed it.

So confident was he of an easy and speedy victory,
that he scouted the idea of remaining within
the palisade, and waiting for the attack of the patriots;
and this was indeed becoming every moment
more impracticable, for the cannon balls from
the heights were even now tearing through the
houses, riddling the ships and throwing his troops
into confusion. No time therefore was to be lost.
He ordered the vessels to draw off into the middle
of the stream, threw open the gates, and sallied
boldly out to meet the foe.

Virginia was borne to her apartment still
senseless, and the physician was immediately sent
for, but before his arrival, she had several times
opened her eyes as her aunt with real but unavailing
sorrow in her countenance applied the usual
restoratives. At every discharge of the artillery
she slightly moved; her excited imagination identified
the sound with the fearful thunder that attended
the former disastrous ceremony at the chapel.

But when her aunt explained to her the occasion
of the uproar, she sprang up in the bed, clasped
her hands, threw her eyes to Heaven, and exclaimed,—“Merciful
God, I thank thee! Providence
has indeed interposed for my preservation! Oh, if

he could only be there?—No, no, no, it is better,
perhaps, as it is—for cruel as my uncle is, I could
not bear to see him pierced by Bacon's sword, and
he would assuredly seek his life. Merciful Father,
thou orderest all things wisely. Aunt, let me
prepare you for another turn of fortune! The
patriots will be successful! my heart assures me
they will. Young Dudley and Harrison are there,
and they have lion hearts; but weep not, aunt, they
are as generous as they are brave.”

Sir William Berkley, with that blind, passionate,
and impetuous courage for which he was distinguished,
scarcely delayed to organize his troops
effectually, but rushed with reckless fury against
his enemies.

Bacon, from the moment that he perceived the
marshalling of the troops outside the gate, silenced
his cannon, and waited with coolness, and in profound
silence, the approach of the opposing
columns. Sir William began to calculate upon a
bloodless and easy victory, and even contemplated
sending in a flag with terms of capitulation. But
dearly did he pay for his error, and terribly was
he awakened from the momentary delusion.

Bacon had persisted in waiting the onset, notwithstanding
the impetuous ardour of his troops,
until he could make every shot effective; he
knew his inferiority of numbers, and determined
to compensate for his disparity of force by coolness
and precision. “Wait until you see the
white of their eyes, my fine fellows,” was his

often repeated answer to the suggestions and even
entreaties of his impatient cannoniers; but when
at length he did give the word “fire!” most effectually
was it echoed. The very heights seemed
to the panic stricken troops of the Governor, to
pour out red hot iron and smoke. They were
speedily rallied and brought again to the charge—
and again the same fearful reception awaited their
farther progress, with the addition, at the second
onset, of a volley of musketry. Dreadful was the
havoc in the royal ranks, and terrible the dismay
of the soldiery. The rabble which the Governor
had hastily collected in the town, fairly took to their
heels and fled to the protection of the fort. Again
the valiant old knight rode among his troops, and
cheered them to the onset, but at each succeeding
attack, some more fatal reserve was brought into action.
At length the patriot chief, standing upon his
rude fortification, and looking down upon the dismayed
and retreating loyalists, began to take counsel
of his youthful ardour—he longed to measure
swords with the officer whom he beheld riding so
constantly by the side of the Governor. He saw
the officers of the king, as they rode among their
troops, some with tears in their eyes endeavouring
to rally them, and others swearing and rebuking
their cowardly followers; and he determined
to permit them to rally and then bear down
upon them with his own high spirited and ardent
soldiers. He was quickly mounted, as were also
Dudley, Harrison, and the brave band of youthful
Cavaliers who had adhered so long and so faithfully
to his fortunes. When he announced this determination
to his army, the welkin rung again
with their joyous acclamations, and every heart
throbbed in unison with his own, and assured him
of victory.

“This night,” said Bacon in a low voice to
Dudley, as they rode over the entrenchment—
“Jamestown shall be a heap of ashes!”

Dudley made no reply, but smote his clenched
hand upon his harness with emphasis, returning
the glance of his commander with one of cordial
approval.

Sir William Berkley and his subordinates, seeing
the movement of their opponents, were soon
enabled to rally the disheartened troops, and as the
patriot army marched down the hill, the royalists
in turn, raised the cheering chorus.

The loyal army had not at any time during the
engagement, presented so formidable an appearance,
as they did at this moment, and they in their
turn silently awaited the sortie of the enemy. As
Bacon's followers debouched, they visibly accelerated
their pace to double quick time, and the
two bodies came together with a shock like the
explosion of a magazine. Terrible was the melee,
and dreadful the carnage which ensued. As they
closed, Bacon raised his voice, and addressing
Beverly by name, called upon him to sustain his
late charges. Consternation was visible in the
countenances both of Beverly and the Governor

at the unexpected appearance of the patriot chief,
but the former yielded to it only for an instant—
in the next the youthful champions plunged the
rowels into the flanks of their chargers, and rushed
at each other like infuriated wild beasts. The
fire flew from their swords, and their eyes flashed
not less brightly, but at the first onset, Beverly's
weapon snapped off short at the guard. Bacon
raised himself in the stirrups, and was about to
plunge his blade deep into the breast of his hated
rival, but it fell harmless upon the mane of his
charger, and he drew back to the command of his
troops. Beverly wheeled his horse and rode slowly
from the field, deeply wounded and mortified; as
much perhaps at the contrast between Bacon's forbearance
and his own late vote of condemnation,
as at the disaster and defeat he had sustained.

As Bacon returned to reanimate his troops, he
found that a new ally was doing battle in his
cause. He saw near the right wing, the flourishes
of a gigantic arm, which he had formerly seen do
service. The Recluse was indeed there; how
long since, Bacon knew not, but he seemed to be
already in the thickest of the fight. He had lost
his cap, and his bald head towered amid his fellows
and brightly glistened in the sun. His
right arm was bare to the shoulder, and dyed with
blood to the finger ends. He seemed striving to
throw his life away, and more than once thrust
himself into the very ranks of the foe, but as
often the terror-struck loyalists gave way before

him. He seemed to be perfectly invulnerable,
for not a wound had he yet received.

The consequences of the first repulse at the assault
on Bacon's intrenchments could not be overcome
by the now exhausted and dismayed loyalists.
One column after another gave way, and fled into
the town, until not more than half remained.
These were the regular troops, which had throughout
adhered so firmly to the person and fortunes of
the Governor. His friends urged him to capitulate,
but he was as obstinate in battle as he had
before shown himself in council.

He was at length almost dragged from the field
by his friends—as all his troops were flying in disorder
and confusion into the town. The patriots
rushed in, together with their flying foes. The
Recluse had seized some flying charger, and, still
bareheaded, was dealing death to those who came
within the sweep of his terrific weapon. Bacon over
and over again, offered quarter to the flying remnant,
but they fought as they ran, keeping up something
like an irregular action, the whole distance
from the field of battle to the city.

At length both parties were within the walls, and
the fight was renewed, but the loyalists were soon
driven from the field. Some escaped by boats to
the shipping—and among these, Sir William Berkley
was forcibly dragged from the city as he had
been from the field. In vain he pleaded the situation
of his wife and niece; he was assured by his
friends of their safety in the hands of the victor,

and still urged forward in his flight. Many poor
fellows plunged into the river, and endeavoured to
save themselves by swimming to the ships which
still adhered to the loyal cause, but numbers perished
in the attempt.

Bacon with difficulty restrained himself by a
sense of duty, long enough to see the victory complete,
before he leaped from his horse, and rushed
up the stairs of the Governor's house, where, in a
few moments, he was clasped in the arms of the
amazed and delighted Virginia, notwithstanding
the presence of Lady Berkley. He had no sooner
exchanged those thousand little nameless but endearing
questions and answers, that leap into life
unbidden after such an absence and such a meeting,
than he turned to Lady Berkley, and said. “Madam,
a safe escort to convey you to your husband,
waits your commands, at any moment you may
choose to leave the city.”

“But my niece—is she also free to go?”

“What says my Virginia—will she accept a soldier's
protection?”

“With all my heart and soul,” she answered.

While they discoursed thus, the bells were ringing,
and huge columns of smoke shot up past the
windows on every side, and burning timbers sparkled
and cracked with increasing and startling
rapidity. Bacon instantly understood the cause,
and taking Virginia in his arms, and bidding Lady
Berkley and Wyanokee, who till now had scarcely

been noticed, to follow, he rushed into the street,
and beheld Jamestown in flames. In a short time
it was a pile of black and scorched ruins, as it has
stood from that day to the present.