University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

The retirement of Wyanokee from her temporary
presidency in the grand council of the confederated
nations, was the signal for beginning
the general carouse, by which such meetings were
usually terminated. Two huge bucks, with their
throats cut, had been some time suspended from a
pole laid across a pair of stout forked saplings,
driven into the ground at the distance of a few
feet from each other; these were now brought
into the centre of the area, and quickly deprived
of their skins. The neighbourhood of civilized
man had already introduced that bane of savage
morals, whiskey; and plentiful supplies of this,
together with pipes and tobacco, were now served
to the representatives. A general scene of rude
and savage debauch immediately followed. Meat
was broiled or roasted upon the coals—whiskey
was handed round in calabashes, while the more
gay and volatile members of the assemblage found
an outlet for their animated feelings in the violent
and energetic movements of the Indian dance.
The sounds which issued from the forest were a
mingled din of tinkling metals—rattling bones,
and the monotonous humming of the singers, occasionally
enlivened by a sharp shrill whoop from

some young savage, as his animal spirits became
excited by the exercise. The squaws performed
the part of menials, and bore wood, water, and
corn, to supply the feast for their lords and masters.

The new queen of the nation, upon whose
ground these carousals were held, retired to her
own wigwam, as much disgusted with the moral
blindness and depravity of the deputies, as with
the commencing revels. Besides her disgust of
what was left behind, there was an attraction for
her in her own sylvan palace, which, till a few
hours back, it had sadly wanted in her eyes; not
that she approached it with any hope that her
passion would now or ever meet with a return
from its object—but still there was a melancholy
pleasure in holding communion with one so far
superior to the rude, untutored beings she had
just left. She felt also a longing desire, not only
to learn more of the mysterious transactions of
which she had gathered some vague indications
from Bacon's discourse, but to take advantage of
present circumstances in returning some of the
many favours heaped upon herself by her white
friends. There was a nobler motive for this than
mere gratitude; she wished to show to Bacon and
Virginia, that she could sacrifice her own happiness
to promote theirs. She felt now satisfied that
both of them had discovered the existence of her
passion, long before she was aware of the impropriety
of its exhibition according to civilized

usages, and she was anxious to evince to them how
nobly an Indian maiden could cover this false step
with honour. Full of these ennobling, and as it
proved, delusive ideas, she entered the wigwam
with a mien and step which would not have disgraced
a far more regal palace.

Bacon was found upon a mat, reclining in melancholy
mood against the side of the apartment, intently
eyeing the movements of the savages upon
the green. She followed his eye for a moment in
shame and confusion for the spectacle exhibited
by the men of her own race.

“Do you mark the difference,” said Bacon,
“between the dances in yonder forest and those
at Jamestown? Why do not the women join in
the merry-making? We consider them worthy to
partake of all our happiness.”

“Ay, 'tis true, there is no Virginia there!”

His brow settled into a look of stern displeasure
and offence, as he replied, “Would you renew the
scenes of the last night?”

“No, Wyanokee desires not to give pain, but
to remove it—as she came here now to show. You
heard me claim you last night as a husband.”—A
crimson tint struggled with the darker hue of her
cheek, as she forced herself to proceed.—“But it
was only to save you from the cruel hands of my
countrymen. You may, therefore, give up all uneasiness
on that subject—I know well that the Great
Spirit has decreed it otherwise that I desired, and
I submit without a murmur. It is useless for me to

conceal that I had learned too quickly to feel the
difference between a youth of your race, and one
of yon rude beings; but it was more owing to my
ignorance of your customs than any want of
proper maidenly reserve. That is now passed,
you are a married man, and as such I can converse
with you in confidence.”

“Yes,” said Bacon, a bitter smile playing over
his countenance, “I am married to stern adversity!
'Tis a solemn contract, and binds me to a
bride from whom I may not easily be divorced.
Death may cut the knot, but no other minister of
justice can. I must say too, that the ceremonies
of last night were fitting and proper. I wooed my
bride through earth, air, and water; in thunder,
lightning, and in rain. Nor was she coy or prudish.
She came to my arms with a right willing grace,
and clings to me through evil and through good
report. I am hers, wholly hers for ever. It is
meet that I should learn to love her at once. Ay,
and I do hug her to my heart. Is she not my
own? do we not learn to love our own deformities?
then why not learn to love our own sorrows?
Doubtless we shall be very happy—a few little
matrimonial bickerings at first, perhaps, but these
will soon be merged in growing congeniality. Man
cannot long live with any companion, without bestowing
upon it his affection; the snake, the spider,
the toad, the scorpion, all have been loved and
cherished: shall I not then love my bride? Is
there not a hallowed memory around her birth?

was she not nurtured and trained by these very
hands? Is there not wild romance too, in her
adventures and our loves? Is she not faithful and
true? yea, and young too! not coy perhaps, but
constant and devoted.”

Although this language was prompted by very
different states, both of heart and head, from that of
the preceding night, yet its literal construction
by the Indian maiden betrayed her into very little
more understanding of its import. She better
comprehended the language of his countenance.
That, she saw, indicated the bitterness of death, but
the cause was still a mystery. She therefore continued
her kind endeavours with something more
of doubt and embarrassment. “My intention was
to offer you and Virginia a home as soon as these
warlike men are pacified and gone—that you might
come here and live with me until her grand uncle
will receive her and you. Oh, it will make Wyanokee
very happy.”

She would, no doubt, have continued in this
strain for some time, but his impatience could be
contained no longer. “Is it possible that you do not
yet understand the depth and hopelessness of my
misery? Know it then in all its horrors. I was
half married last night to my own half sister! Did
fate, fortune or hell ever more ingeniously contrive
to blight the happiness of mortal man at one
fell blow? View it for a moment. There was the
game beautifully contrived—the stake was apparently
trifling, but the prize glittered with India's

richest rubies—the very thoughts of them conjured
up scenes of fairy land. The richest fantasies
of romance sparkled before the eye of the player.
The wildest dream of earthly happiness allured
him to each renewed attempt. First a little was
staked—then another portion—then another to insure
the two former, and so on until houses and
lands and goods and chattels—yea and life itself, or
all that made it valuable, were hazarded upon the
throw. Lo, he wins! Joy unutterable fills his
breast—he is about to place the jewels next his
heart, but behold they turn into scorpions. Rich
and beautiful in all their former ruby colour—but
there is a fearful talismanic power in their beauty.
There is a deadly poison in the sight! They charm
to kill. Lay them not near the heart or else the
great magician, the king of evil—the prince of
darkness himself, has bought you body and soul!
That was my case. I won the glorious stake, I
had it here (striking his breast), yea, and have it
now, and the devil is tempting me to lay it next
my heart. I have wrestled with him all the night,
but again he is at work. See that you do not help
him!”

Again she was lost in reverential awe. As his
paroxysm by slow degrees returned, she exhibited
in the mirror of her own countenance the passion,
the wild enthusiasm, reflected from his, until the
final charge to herself, when she was overcome with
wonder and fear. His own preternaturally quick
perceptions caught the effect produced, and he again

folded his arms and leaned back in grim and
sullen silence, but with the keen eye of the serpent
watching the changing countenance of his auditor.
She was sunk in abstraction for some moments, and
then, as if rather thinking aloud than communing
with another, she said, “Is it possible?”

“Yea, as true as that the serpent infused his
poison into the ear of the mother of mankind. As
true as that man was the first creature that died on
the face of the earth by the hands of his fellow.
As true as death and hell! As true as that there
is a hereafter. Happiness is negative! Misery
positive. There is always a subtle doubt lingering
upon our most substantial scenes of happiness;
but with misery it is slow, certain and enduring;
the proof conclusive and damning. It is more real
than our existence, and exists when it is no more.
Our nerves are strung to vibrate to the touches of
harmony and happiness only when played upon by
inspirations from above, but they vibrate in discord
to the earth, the air, the winds, the waves,
the thunder—the lightning. They are rudely handled
by men, beasts, reptiles, devils, by famine,
disease and death. Am I not a wretched monument
of its truth? Are not these miserable and
faded trappings, the funeral emblems of my moral
decease? Am I not a living tomb of my own soul?
A memento of him that was, with an inscription
on my forehead, `Here walks the body of Nathaniel
Bacon, whose soul was burned out on the ever
memorable night of his own wedding, by an incendiary

in the mortal habiliments of his own Father,
with a torch lit up in pandemonium itself?
His body still walks the earth as a beacon and a
warning to those who would commit incest!' ”

The door was darkened for a moment, and in
the next the Recluse stood before him. His giant
limbs lost none of their extent or proportions as
viewed through the dim light which fell in scanty
and checkered masses from the insterstices of the
sylvan walls. He stood in the light of the only
door,—his features wan and cadaverous, and his
countenance wretchedly haggard. “Why lingerest
thou here in the lap of the tawny maiden, when
thy countrymen will so soon need the assistance of
thy arm? This night the torch of savage warfare
and cruelty will in all probability be lighted
up in the houses of thy friends and kindred.
Is it becoming, is it manly in thee to seek these
effeminate pastimes, in order to drown the images
of thy own idle fancy? If thou hast unconsciously
erred, and thereby cruelly afflicted thy nearest
kindred, is this the way to repair the evil? Set
thou them the example! Be a man—the son of a
soldier. Thy father before thee has suffered tortures
of the mind, and privations of the body, to
which thine are but the feeble finger-aches of
childhood as compared to the agonies of a painful
and protracted death. Rouse thyself from thy
unmanly stupor, and hie thee hence to the protection
of those who should look up to thee. Be not
anxious for me, maiden; I see thy furtive glances

at the besotted men of thy race, and thence to me.
I have long watched their movements. They see
me not; they will attempt no injury—and if they
should their blows would fall upon one reckless of
danger—who has nought to gain or lose,—who
has long had his lights trimmed, and lamp burning,
ready for the welcome summons.”

When he first entered the wigwam, Bacon
sprang upon his feet, and gazed upon the unwelcome
apparition as if he doubted his humanity;
but as his hollow and sepulchral voice fell upon
his ear in the well known, deep excited intonations
of the chapel, he moved backward, his
hands clasped, until his shoulders rested against
the wall. There, shuddering with emotion, he
gazed earnestly and in silence upon his visiter,
whose words fell upon an indiscriminating ear.
The Recluse perceived something of his condition
as he continued, “Hearest thou not?—seest
thou not? Rouse thee from this unmanly weakness.
I saw thy dead horse upon the moor. I
will leave thee mine at the head of the Chickahominy
Swamp. When night closes upon yonder
brutal scene, mount and ride as if for thy life, even
then thou mayst be too late! Remember! This
night be thou in Jamestown!”

Having thus spoken, he stooped through the
door, and vanished among the trees behind the
wigwam, as he had come. Bacon still gazed upon
the place where he had been, as if he still occupied
the spot, his eyelids never closing upon the distended

iris, until he fell upon the floor in a swoon.
Such restoratives as an Indian wigwam afforded,
were speedily administered, and very soon the
desired effect was produced. While he lay thus
worn down by the sufferings produced by the
tortures of the previous night, and the cruel excitement
of his feelings, Wyanokee discovered,
as she was bathing his temples, the small gold
locket, which he had worn suspended from his
neck, since the death of Mr. Fairfax. Apparently
it contained nothing but the plaited hair
and the inscription already mentioned. She caught
it with childlike eagerness, and turned it from
side to side, with admiring glances, when her finger
touched a spring and it flew open; the interior
exhibited to view the features of a young and lovely
female.

At this juncture Bacon revived. His countenance
was pale and haggard from the exhaustion
of mental and bodily sufferings. His perceptions
seemed clearer, but his heart was burdened and oppressed—he
longed for speedy death to terminate
the wretched strife. The prospect was dark and
lowering in whatever direction he cast his thoughts;
no light of hope broke in upon his soul—all before
him seemed a dreary joyless waste. In this mood
he accidentally felt the open trinket within the
facings of his doublet, and inserting his hand he
drew it forth. His head was elevated instantly,
his eyes distended and his whole countenance exhibited
the utmost astonishment. His first emotion

was any thing but pleasant—as if he had drawn
from his bosom one of his own figurative scorpions,
but this was speedily succeeded by one of a different
nature. The first sensation of pleasure which
he had felt since he left Jamestown beamed upon
his mind; it was mingled with the most unbounded
surprise; but quick as thought the light of hope broke
in upon his dark and cheerless prospects. Again and
again the picture was closely scrutinized, but with
the same conviction, never before had he beheld that
face. It was resplendent with smiles and beauty.
The dark hazel eyes seemed to beam upon him with
affectionate regard. The auburn tresses almost fluttering
in the breeze, so warm and mellow were
the lights and shadows. But what rivetted his attention
was the want of resemblance in the picture
to the lady whom he had been so recently and so
painfully taught to believe his mother. The latter
had light flaxen ringlets and blue eyes, and the
tout ensemble of the features were totally dissimilar.
He imagined he saw a far greater resemblance
between the picture and himself, and hence the
ray of hope. But in the place of despair came
feverish suspense—he now longed again to meet
the Recluse, whose presence had so lately filled
him with horror. His mind sought in vain within
its own resources for means to bring the question
to an immediate issue. Was he the first-born
son of Mrs. Fairfax or not? Perhaps Brian O'
Reily could tell something of the picture, or had
seen the original. No sooner had this faint glimmering
prospect of unravelling the mystery dawned
upon his mind, than he was seized with the
most feverish desire to set out for Jamestown.

The savages still kept up the carouse, but it
would be hazardous in the extreme, as he was assured
by his hostess, to attempt to leave Orapacs
until the conclusion of the feast, which perhaps
would last till night. At that time they were all
to proceed to the Powhatan domain. He was
compelled therefore to content himself with reading
the lineaments of the interesting countenance
just opened to his view.

Upon what a frail foundation will a despairing
man build up his fallen castles in the air. Such
was the occupation of our hero until the light of
the sun had vanished over the western hills. He
lay upon his mat in the twilight gloom, indulging
in vague uncertain reveries. He had examined
the picture so long, so intently, and under such a
morbid excitement of the imagination, that he supposed
himself capable of recollecting the features.
He had called up dim and misty shadows of memory
(or those of the imagination nearly resembling
them) from a period wrapped in obscurity
and darkness. He endeavoured to go back step
by step to his years of childhood, until his excited
mind became completely bewildered among the
fading recollections of long passed days. As the
rippling waters of the purling stream mingled with
the monotonous whistling of the evening breeze,
his versatile imagination fell into a kindred train.
The music of the nursery, by which his childish

struggles had been lulled to repose, floated over his
memory in the tenderest and purest melancholy.
Who that has music in his soul has not, at a like
season and hour, refreshed his heart with these
early impressions? Nor are they entirely confined
to an inviting melancholy mood and the hour
of twilight. In the full vigour of physical and
mental power, and when the spirits are bounding
and elastic—in the midst of dramatic representations
or the wildest creations of Italian musical
genius, these stores of memory's richest treasures
will suddenly flood the soul, touched perhaps by
the vibration of some kindred chord. Bacon's
harassed mind was refreshed by the tender and
softened mood into which he had fallen. Besides,
he was now stimulated by the glimmering dawn
of hope. When therefore darkness had completely
covered the face of the land, he arose to go upon
his mission, a different being. Although his own
emotions on parting were faint compared to those
of Wyanokee, they were yet sorrowful and tender.
He lamented the lot of the Indian maiden,
and respected the virtues and accomplishments
which elevated her so far above those by whom
she was surrounded. He bade her adieu with the
most heartfelt gratitude for her services, and aspirations
for her welfare.

When he stepped from the wigwam he was
astonished to see the huge fires, upon which they
had cooked the feast, still burning with undiminished
brilliancy, and still more startled to observe
twenty or more savages lying drunk around them,

and half as many sober ones holding vigils over
their slumbers. He immediately changed his intended
direction, and skirted round the forest in
which they lay, so as to arrive at the place pointed
out by the Recluse by a circuitous rout.

When he came opposite to the fires, and half way
upon his circuit, he was not a little alarmed to hear
the astounding warwhoop yelled by one of the
sentinels. Casting his eyes in that direction he saw
that all the guard were on the qui vive, and some
of the slumberers slowly shaking off their stupidity.
He supposed that one of the sentinels had
heard his footsteps, and thus alarmed the rest.
Taking advantage of the trees, and the distance
he had already gained, he was enabled to elude
their vigilant senses. But when he came to the
spot pointed out by the Recluse, a greater difficulty
presented itself. The horse was already gone, but
not taken by the one who brought him there, as he
saw evidently from the impressions of his feet in
the earth, where he had stood most of the afternoon.
He soon came to the conclusion that the Indians
had found and carried him off. This was the more
probable as they adjourned their council about
the time he must have been taken. His call to
Jamestown was too urgent to be postponed, and
however feeble in body he determined to exert
his utmost strength to arrive there during the night.