University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

“The several causes of discontent in the colony
of Virginia long nourished in secret, or manifesting
themselves in partial riots and insurrections,
were now rapidly maturing, and only the slightest
incident was wanting to precipitate them into
open rebellion.

“Since the death of Opechancanough, the Indians,
deprived of the benefits of federative concert,
had made but few attempts to disturb the
tranquillity of the colony. Several of the tribes
had retired westward, and those which remained,
reduced in their numbers and still more in strength
by the want of a common leader, lingered on the
frontiers, exchanging their superfluous productions
at stated marts with their former enemies. A long
peace, added to a deportment almost invariably pacific,
had in a great measure relaxed the vigilance
of the colonists, and the Indians were admitted to
a free intercourse with the people of all the counties.
It was scarcely to be expected that during
an intercourse so irregular and extensive no
grounds of uneasiness should arise. Several thefts
had been committed upon the tobacco, corn, and
other property of the colonists.”

These depredations were becoming daily more
numerous and alarming, and repeated petitions had
been sent in from all parts of the colony calling
upon Sir William Berkley in the most urgent
terms to afford them protection. The Governor
remained singularly deaf to these reasonable demands,
and took no steps to afford that protection
to the citizens for which government was in a
great measure established. Some excuse was offered
by his friends and supporters by pleading his
great age and long services. Sir H. Chicerly,
who had some time before arrived in the colony,
clothed with the authority of Lieutenant Governor,
and who had till now remained an inactive participator
of the gubernatorial honours, began to collect
the militia of the state; but Sir William was
no sooner informed of these proceedings, so well
calculated to allay the rising popular ferment, than
he at once construed it into an attempt to supersede
his authority, and forthwith disbanded the
troops already collected, and countermanded the
orders for raising more, which had been sent by his
subordinate through the several counties. These
high-handed measures of an obstinate and superannuated
man, inflamed the public mind. Meetings
were called without any previous concert in
almost every county in the province, and the most
indignant remonstrances were sent in to the Governor.
These, however, only served to stimulate his
obstinacy, while the continued depredations of the
Indians wrought up the general feeling of dissatisfaction

into a blaze of discontent. While these
things were in progress, a circumstance happened,
which, while it brought the contest to an immediate
issue, had at the same time an important
bearing upon all the principal personages of our narrative.
On the night succeeding the melancholy
catastrophe at the chapel, related in the last chapter,
the tribes of Indians which had formerly been
leagued together in the Powhatan confederacy, simultaneously
rose at dead of night and perpetrated
the most horrid butcheries upon men, women, and
children, in every part of the colony. The council
had scarcely convened on the next morning before
couriers from every direction arrived with the
dreadful tidings. Among others, there came one
who announced to the Governor that his own country
seat had been consumed by the fires of the savage
incendiaries, and that Mrs. Fairfax, who had
been removed thither for change of scene by the advice
of her physician, was either buried in its ruins
or carried away captive by the Indians. Public
indignation was roused to its highest pitch, but it
was confidently expected, now that his excellency
himself was a sufferer both in property and feelings,
that he would recede from his obstinate refusal
to afford relief. But strange to say, in defiance
of enemies, and regardless of the remonstrances
of his friends, he still persisted. The result
ensued which might have been expected; meetings
of the people, which had before been called
called from the impulse of the moment, and without
concert, were now regularly organized, and immediate
steps taken to produce uniformity of action
throughout the different counties.

While these elements of civil discord are fermenting,
we will pursue the adventures of our
hero, whom we left just rescued from the hands
of the relentless savages. The new queen of the
Chickahominies, after having conducted Bacon to
her own rude palace, retired for a short period in order
to allow him just time to prepare himself for
her reception. An Indian doctor was immediately
summoned and directed to extract the splinters
and dress the wounds. The departure of this
wild and fantastical practitioner of the healing art
was the signal for her own entrance. Slowly and
doubtfully she approached her visiter, who was reclining
almost exhausted upon a mat. Upon her
entrance he attempted to rise and profess his gratitude,
but overcome with pain, sorrow, and weakness,
he fell back upon his rude couch, a grim
smile and wild expression crossing his features.
She gracefully and benignantly motioned him to
desist, and at once waived all ceremony by seating
herself on a mat beside him. Both remained in a
profound and painful silence for some moments.
Bacon's mind could dwell upon nothing but the
horrid images of the preceding hours of the night.
Regardless of her presence and her ignorance of
those circumstances which dwelt so painfully upon
his memory, he remained in a wild abstraction,
now and then casting a glance of startled recognition
and surprise at his royal hostess.

She examined him far more intently and with not
less surprise, after the subsidence of her first embarrassment.
Her sparkling eyes ran over his
strange dress and condition, with the rapidity of
thought, but evidently with no satisfactory result.
She was completely at a loss to understand the
cause of his visit, and the singular time and appearance
in which he had chosen to make it. It is not
improbable that female vanity, or the whisperings
of a more tender passion, connected it in some way
with her own recent flight. These scarcely recognised
impressions produced however an evident
embarrassment in her manner of proceeding. She
longed to ask if Virginia was his bride, yet dreaded
to do so both on her own account and his. She
had lived long enough in civilized society to understand
the signification of his bridal dress, but
she was utterly at a loss to divine why he should
appear in such a garb covered with mud, as if he
had ridden in haste, in the midst of a warlike nation,
and on the very night appointed for the celebration
of his nuptials, unless indeed she might
solve the mystery in the agreeable way before suggested.
Catching one of the originally white bridal
flowers of his attire between her slender fingers,
she said with a searching glance; “Faded so
soon?” He covered his face with his hands, and
threw himself prostrate upon the mat, writhing like
one in the throes of expiring agony.

His benevolent hostess immediately called a
little Indian attendant, in order to despatch him
for the doctor; but her guest shook his head and

motioned with his uplifted hand for her to desis.
She reseated herself, more at a loss than ever to
account for his present appearance and conduct.
She had supposed that he was suffering from the
pain of his wounds, but she now saw that of these
he was entirely regardless. She became aware
that a more deeply seated pain afflicted him. Again
he turned his face toward the roof of the hut, his
hands crossed upon his breast, and his bosom racked
with unutterable misery.

“Is the pretty Virginia dead?”

The blackness of hell and horror was in his
face as he turned a scowl upon his interrogator,
and replied, “Is this a new method of savage torture?
If so, call in the first set, they are kind and
benignant compared to you.” But seeming suddenly
to recollect that she was ignorant of the pain she
inflicted, he took her hand kindly and respectfully,
and continued, “Yes, Wyanokee, she is indeed
dead to me. If you regard the peace of my soul,
or the preservation of my senses, never whisper
her name to the winds where it will be wafted to
my ears. Never breathe what she has taught you.
Be an Indian princess, but for God's sake look,
speak, or act not in such a way as to remind me of
passed days. Tear open these wounds, inflict
fresh tortures—yea, torture others if you will, so I
but horrify my mind with any other picture than
her's. O God, did ever sister rise before man's
imagination in such a damning form of loveliness?
With most men, that little word would suffice to

dispel the horrid illusion! but with me, cursed
as I have been from my birth, and as I still am
deeper cursed, the further I pursue this wretched
shadow called happiness, I would wed her to-morrow,
yea were the curse of the unpardonable
sin denounced upon me from the altar instead of
the benediction. For her I would go forth to the
world, branded with a deeper damnation than ever
encircled the brows of the first great murderer. I
would be the scorn, the jest, the by-word of present
generations, and a never dying beacon to
warn those who come after me.”

As he proceeded, Wyanokee fixed her dark
penetrating eyes upon his face, until her own
countenance settled into the expression of reverential
awe, with which the Indian invariably listens
to the ravings of the maniac. At every period
she moved herself backward on the mat, until at
the conclusion, she had arrived at a respectful distance,
and crossed her hands in superstitious dread.
A single glance conveyed her impressions to his
mind, and he resumed, “No, no, my gentle preserver,
reason is not dethroned, she still presides
here, (striking his forehead,) a stern spectator of
the unholy strife which is kept up between her
sister faculties.” Leaning toward her upon his
elbow, he continued in a thrilling whisper, “You
have heard me read from the sacred volume of the
tortures prepared for the damned! of a future existence,
in which the torments of ten thousand
deaths shall be inflicted, and yet the immortal

sufferer find no death! His soul will be prepared
for the endurance! I have already a foretaste of
that horrible eternity! And yet you see I preserve
the power to know and to endure! Is it not a
dread mystery in this frail compound of ours—
and portentous of evil to come, that this faculty
of supporting misery so long outlives the good?
The wise men of our race teach us that every
pain endured is a preparation of the opposite faculty
to enjoy pleasure! that our torpid fluids would
stagnate without these contrasted stimulants; 'tis
all a delusion, a miserable invention of the enemy.
Man can suffer in this life a compound of horrors,
for which its pleasures and allurements have no
equivalent; yea, and he suffers them after all chance
for happiness has vanished for ever. The pleasures
of the world are like the morning glories of a sea
of ice. The sun rises and sparkles in glittering
rainbows for an hour, and then sinks behind the
dark blue horizon, and leaves the late enraptured
beholder, to feel the chill of death creeping along
his veins, until his heart is as cold and dead as the
icebergs around `an atom of pleasure, and a universe
of pain.”'

His hearer sat in the most profound bewilderment;
much of his discourse was to her unintelligible,
and notwithstanding his protestations to
the contrary, she still retained her first impressions
as to the state of his mind. She knew something of
the various relations existing between the most
important personages of our story, and in her own

mind, had already begun to account for his present
state. She supposed him to have been rudely torn
from his bride. Her object therefore in the following
words, was to learn something more of these
particulars, and at the same time to soothe the excited
feelings of her guest.

“The great Father of the white man at Jamestown
will restore your bride. Does not your
good book say, `whom the' Great Spirit `has
joined together let no man put asunder?”'

“Ay!” replied Bacon, “but what does it say
when they are first joined together by the ties of
blood? Besides, he never did join us together in
the holy covenant. He stamped it with his curse?
He denounced his veto against it at the very foot
of the altar. The same voice which thundered
upon mount Sinai spoke there. His servant stood
up before him and asked, `If any man can show
just cause why they may not lawfully be joined
together let him now speak, or else hereafter forever
hold his peace.' And lo, both heaven and
earth interposed at the same moment. The thunders
of heaven rent the air, and that most fearful
man appeared as if by miracle.” Again lowering
his voice to a whisper, he continued, “As I rode
upon the storm last night, and communed with the
spirits of the air, some one whispered in my ear,
that the heavens were rent asunder and he came
upon a thunderbolt. And then again as I walked
upon the waves, and the black curtains gathered
around, a bright light darted into my brain and I

saw the old Roundheads who were executed the
other day, sitting upon a glorious cloud, mocking
at my misery! yea, they mouthed at me. Ha, ha,
ha!” The sound of his own unnatural laughter
startled him like an electric shock—and instantly
he seemed to recollect himself.

He covered his face with his hands, and rested
them upon his knees in silence. Some one entered
and spoke to the queen in a low voice, and she immediately
informed her guest that his horse was
dead. “Dead!” said he, as he sprang upon his
feet. “His last—best—most highly prized gift
dead! All on the same night—am I indeed cursed—in
going out and in coming in? Are even
the poor brutes that cling to me with affection,
thus cut down? but I would see him ere he is cold.”

A torch-bearer soon appeared at the summons
of his mistress, and the royal hostess and her
guest proceeded to the spot. There lay the noble
animal, his once proud neck straightened in the
gaunt deformity of death. His master threw himself
upon his body and wept like an infant. The
tears, the first he had shed, humanized and soothed
his harrowed feelings. Slowly he arose, and gazing
upon the lifeless beast, exclaimed with a piteous
voice, “Alas poor Bardolph, thy lot is happier
than thy master's!”

The day was now dawning, and the morning air
came fresh and invigorating to the senses, redolent
of the wild perfumes blown upon the moor and
forest, from the influence of a humid night. These

reviving influences however fell dead upon the benumbed
faculties of our hero. In accordance with
the urgent solicitations of his hostess, he agreed to
swallow an Indian soporific, and try to lose his
sorrows and his memory in that nearest semblance
of death. He did not fail, as he re-entered the wigwam,
to observe that the whole village (called
Orapacs) was busily preparing for some imposing
ceremony, and that great accessions had been made
to the numbers of the previous night.

Long and soundly he slept; when he awoke the
sun was coursing high in the heavens. The air
was balmy and serene, and his own monomaniacal
hallucinations were dissipated, partly worn out by
their own violence and partly dispelled by many
hours of uninterrupted repose. Dreadful is that
affliction which sleep will not alleviate. It is true
that one suffering under a weight of misery which
no hope lightens, no reasoning assuages, wakes to
a present sense of his condition with a startling
and miserable consciousness, yet upon the whole,
the violence of grief has been soothed and moderated.
So it was with our hero, and he walked forth
a new and revived creature.

But as he stepped from the wigwam, a spectacle
greeted his eye more akin to the fantasies of
the previous night than to stern reality. The village
was situated on a plain near the banks of the
river. The forest remained much as it first grew,
save that the undergrowth had been burned away
and the ground afterwards overgrown with a luxuriant

coat of grass. This summary method of
trimming the primitive forest gives it much the resemblance
of a noble park, cleared of its shrubs,
undergrowth, and limbs, by the careful hands of
the woodman. The scene, as Bacon looked along
the woodland vista, had a wild novelty, and its aspect
would doubtless have been sedative in its effect
had it not been for the spectacle already alluded
to, which we shall now endeavour to describe.
An immense concourse of Indians was collected
just without the external range of wigwams. They
were seated in groups, in each of which he recognised
the distinguishing marks of separate tribes,
the representatives of each distinct nation of the
peninsula having a distinct and separate place. At
the head of this warlike assemblage, on a rude
throne sat the youthful Queen of the Chickahominies.
Immediately around the foot of this elevation
were seated the few grim warriors yet remaining
of that once powerful nation, and on her right
hand the Powhatans. A fantastically dressed prophet
of the latter tribe, with a curiously coloured heron's
feather run through the cartilage of his nose
stood in the centre of the assembled nations, and
harangued the deputies with the most violent gesticulations,
every now and then pointing in the direction
first of Jamestown, and then of Middle Plantations,
(now Williamsburg,) and in succession after
these, to the other most thickly peopled settlements
of the whites. His rude eloquence seemed to have
a powerful effect upon his warlike audience, from
the repeated yells of savage cheering by which
each appeal was followed. He concluded his harangue
by brandishing a bloody tomahawk over
his head, and then striking it with great dexterity
into a pole erected in the centre of the area. Numerous
warriors and prophets from other tribes
followed with similar effect and like purpose, to
all of whom the stern savages listened with an
eager yet respectful attention. When they had
concluded, the youthful queen of the Chickahominies
descended one step from her throne, and addressed
the assembled nations; but her discourse
was received in a far different spirit from that
which had attended the eloquence of her predecessors.
She was evidently maintaining the opposite
side of the question which occupied the grave
assembly, and it was apparent that the feelings of
her auditors were hostile to her wishes and opinions.
No evidences of delight greeted her benevolent
counsels, and she resumed her seat almost
overpowered by the loud and general murmurs of
discontent which arose at the conclusion of her
“talk.” She felt herself a solitary advocate of
the plainest dictates of justice and humanity—she
felt the difficulty and embarrassment of addressing
enlightened arguments to savage ears and uncultivated
understandings, and a painful sense of her
own responsibility, and of regret for having assumed
her present station, pressed heavily upon
heart.

Bacon saw only the eloquent language of their

signs and gestures; but some knowledge of the outrages
already perpetrated easily enabled him to
interpret their intentions. He knew that bloodshed
and murder were the objects of their meeting,
and he resolved to seize the earliest opportunity to
escape, in order to take part in the defence of his
country. His mind turned eagerly to this wholesome
excitement, as the best outlet which was now
left for the warring impulses within his breast.