University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

After the battle and destruction of Jamestown,
Sir William Berkley, accompanied by his now
liberated Lady and his remaining followers, comprising
the still loyal marine force, retired again to
the shades of Accomac, where we will leave him
and the remaining events of his life in the hands
of the historian.

The political power of the colony was now in
the possession of the victorious chief, so lately
condemned to death. He was not long in surrendering
it to a convention of the people, summoned
to meet at Middle Plantations, (Williamsburg,)
for that purpose, and in their hands we will
leave the political affairs of the future mother of
states. Our only remaining duty is to follow the
fortunes of the principal characters of our narrative.
The successful general, after attending to
his military and political duties, accompanied his
now betrothed bride from the ruins of Jamestown
to the new seat of government. It was a delightful
summer evening—the sun was just sinking beneath
a horizon, where the darker blue of the distant
landscape softened the shades of the azure
sky, both merging in the indistinct prospect so as

to form a magnificent back ground to a panorama,
bathed in a flood of golden light. The youthful
and happy pair instinctively reined up their horses,
and gazed upon the enchanting scene, until their
hearts were full of love and adoration.

Then by one impulse they turned their horses'
heads, and gazed upon one far different, which they
were leaving. The ruins of the first civilized
settlement in North America were still sending
up volumes of smoke, through which at intervals
gleamed a lurid flash, as some more combustible
materials fell into the mass of living embers below.
But there were associations with this scene, to the
hearts of our pilgrims, which no tongue or pen can
describe; the melancholy treasures of memory collected
through long forgotten years, came gushing
back over their hearts in a resistless torrent. The
scenes of their childhood—of all their romantic
dreams, and those fairy and too unreal creations
of young life—the graves of their relations and
friends, were about to be surrendered up to the
dominion of the thistle and the ivy, there to moulder
through all future generations.[1] But this was
not all that was saddening in the view before them.
The Indian captives, some two hundred in number,
were ascending the heights to the very spot which
they occupied, on their way to the far west.

Poor and friendless beings they were! their worldly
store they wore upon their backs, consisting for
the most part of worn out leather garments, and
a few worthless baubles carried in their wallets.
They skirted along the brow of the hill in Indian
file—their steps slow and melancholy. They too
were about to leave the scenes of their long sojourn,
the broad and fertile lands which they had inherited
from the beginning of time—the honoured relies
of their dead, and all the loved associations
which cling to the heart of the rudest of mankind,
when about to leave for ever the shades of
home. They were just entering upon the wearisome
pilgrimage of the exile, under a combination
of the most cruel and unfortunate circumstances,
and in a condition the worst calculated to subdue
new countries, and battle with hostile tribes. As
they passed in review before the youthful pair of another
race, no sign of recognition manifested itself.
They moved along with the gravity and solemnity
of a funeral procession, until the last of the line
stood before them. It was Wyanokee! She paused—attempted
to pass on like her predecessors,
but her feet refused to bear her from the spot, and
turning to them she cried as if the words had burst
irresistibly from her heart, “Oh cruel and treacherous
is the white man! See you those braves,
going down the path of yonder hill? So they
have been going ever since Powhatan made the
first peace with your race. May the Great Spirit
who dwells beyond the clouds, shower mercies
upon you both, equal to the wrongs which your
people have visited upon ours.” And having thus
spoken she broke away, and ran swiftly down the
hill in pursuit of her countrymen. She saw that
Virginia was struggling with her emotions to speak,
and she rushed away lest she should again be compelled
to listen to a subject which was disagreeable
to her. Virginia, before her own departure, had
exhausted her persuasive powers in the vain effort
to induce her to remain. A hope had till now
lingered in her heart, that Wyanokee would follow
her to Middle Plantations, and once more
take up her abode in her house, but when she saw
the last traces of her receding figure through the
shadowy gloom of the forest, she knew that she
looked upon the Indian maiden for the last time
on earth.

With swimming eyes the lovers pursued their
way across the narrow peninsula. Virginia sobbed
aloud, until she had given vent to her overcharged
heart. But an easy and gentle palfrey, and
a devoted and obsequious lover, do not often fail to
revive a lady's spirits, especially through such
scenes as she now beheld, bathed as they were
in the mellow glories of a summer twilight.
“Hope told a flattering tale,” and our hero and
heroine would have been more or less than mortal,
and wise beyond their years, had they not
listened to it. Their laughter was not loud and
joyous, it is true, they were far too happy for that;
their frames trembled with the exquisite pleasure

which words warm from and to the heart produced.
Sometimes they were silent indeed, but not
for want of thoughts to interchange. Words had
exhausted their power.

They had not proceeded many miles on their
way, and the sun still hung as it were suspended
beyond the purple glories of the horizon, when Bacon
pointed with his riding whip to an object before
them which quickly changed the current of his
companion's thoughts. Like human life, their short
journey seemed destined to exhibit many dark
and gloomy shadows. It was the Recluse; he
was leaning against a tree, apparently waiting their
approach, for as they rode up, he stepped out into
the highway and saluted them. Virginia trembled
upon her saddle with very different sensations from
those to which we have just alluded, but her lover
hastily unfolded to her his name and former delusion.
“This, my young friends,” said the Recluse,
“is our last meeting on earth—and I have sought
it that I might bless you both, before my departure
from the land in which I have so long been a sojourner
and an exile from the haunts of men.”

“Whither are you going?” asked Bacon in
astonishment. “You certainly will not leave us,
now that the very time has arrived when you may
dwell here in safety. I had even calculated upon
having you as an inmate at my house.”

“It cannot be,” replied the Recluse. “My
destiny calls me to a place far north of this, where
some of my old comrades and now fellow sufferers,

dwell in comparative peace and security. But it
is only detaining you after night fall, to multiply
words. May God of his infinite mercy bless and
preserve you both,” and thus speaking he also departed,
and was seen no more.[2]

On a certain evening, not very long after the
one just spoken of, General Bacon was married to
Miss Virginia Fairfax, and at the same time and
place Charles Dudley, Esq. led to the altar Miss
Harriet Harrison.

After this happy announcement, it becomes our
painful duty to cast a melancholy blemish upon
the character of one who has figured in our narrative.
On the two several occasions, namely, of
his release from captivity by the storming and
capture of Jamestown, and his master's marriage,
Brian O'Reily was found hopelessly, helplessly
drunk; or according to his own explanation, in
that state in which a man feels upward for the
earth.