University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.
THE DAY OF DEPARTURE.

The eventful day at length dawned upon the thronged capital of Virginia—that
day pregnant with so many bright hopes—so long looked for,
and so ardently desired, in particular by the chivalrous Governor of the
Colony.

At the first peep of ay, the drums and trumpets were in requisition, and
the young gentry were seen marshalling their little bands of followers in
separate squads, over the common and in the by lanes and streets. Any
one who has ever seen a militia training, or a “general muster,” in Old
Virginia, may form a pretty accurate idea of these raw troops and their
manœuvres.

The Rangers, or regular troops, as they may be called, presented quite a
different aspect. They were paraded in Gloucester street, in full uniform,
well equipped and mounted. They had long been under the supervision of
the old veteran their commander, and presented an array never before seen
in Virginia, for they had never before paraded at the capital in one body.

In addition to this solid column of soldierly looking men, there was drawn
up on the other side of the street a long line of sumpter mules, loaded with
every kind of dried provisions, clothing, cooking utensils, tools and iron.
Many carts and wagons were also in requisition, with the heavier baggage
and provender. These were intended to go no farther than the frontier,
when the tents and baggage would be transferred to the backs of the
mules, and the wagons would return.

Even thus early in the morning, Gen. Spotswood was mounted upon his
horse, and was busily superintending the delivery of arms from the round

tower, to the militia, of whom we have already spoken. The old hero could
scarce preserve his gravity, as he, one after the other, ordered up the militia
in review before him. He had yet to learn, in actual service in the field,
the worth of these hardy tatterdemalions. They were mostly dressed in
hunting shirts and foraging caps, rudely put together, from the fur of
every sort of wild animal—many of them still flourishing the tail which
belonged to the animal. To any but the stern military eye of their
camp drilled commander, their appearance would have been quite picturesque.

Such a parade, it may be readily believed, was not without interest to
those who were not to be of the expedition—the ladies filled every window,
balcony or cupola, and gaily fluttered their white handkerchiefs in
the wind, as some well known young cavalier rode by with his troops.

Frank Lee and young Nathaniel Dandridge had been appointed aids to
the Governor, and their occupations on this busy morning were arduous
indeed. They were kept constantly on the gallop—bringing up one troop,
and marching off another—both, doubtless, though glorying in their appointments,
would have far preferred another occupation on this particular occasion.
There remained a hundred unsaid things to their lady-loves, which
they now recalled for the first time; but they did not yet despair of saying
at least farewell, once again. Often they caught the beam of a bright eye
upon them, as they rode though the streets. The Governor's two daughters
already had their horses saddled at the court of the Palace, intending
to accompany the expedition for some miles on the journey.

There was yet one solemn public ceremony which remained to be performed,
after the distribution of arms and ammunition was completed. A
platform had been erected in front of the new church, on Gloucester
street, and here, it was understood, the Reverend Commissary would dismiss
the little army, with an exhortation and solemn benediction.

After the morning meal was completed, the troops were set in motion
towards this point. The open space, enclosed for a cemetery, was already
filled with a crowd of spectators, and the troops now closely packed in
front of the church and along the square, in front of the Palace, formed quite
an imposing array. The bell had ceased its summons, and a solemn silence
pervaded the assembly, when the Reverend Commissary, accompanied by the
Rev. Hugh Jones, appeared in front of the church. Instantly every hat was
doffed, and the clear voice of the good old prelate was heard in earnest exhortation.
He approved decidedly of the enterprise, and urged them to go forward
in the great march of civilization, and told them that thousands yet
unborn would bless the hardy pioneers then about to set out upon the exploration
of a new and unknown country. He told them that it was no idle
military conquest, barren of all useful results—no pageant, to result in unmeaning
and fruitless trophies, but emphatically an enterprise in behalf of their
country—of the age—of the world. He trusted, he said, that their conquests
would be bloodless ones, and their message to the benighted inhabitants of
the regions to which they were bound, one of peace, and mercy, and good
will—that the past conduct of his excellent friend, their commander, in
behalf of the aborigines, was a sure guarantee of his future conduct towards
them.

He said that his chief aid in the ministry, the Reverend Gentleman then
present, would accompany them, and he trusted that they would continue to
render homage to that Being, in whose hands was the success or defeat of
their enterprise.

Every knee was then bowed, to supplicate the divine favor for the undertaking,
in which they were all about to engage with so much enthusiasm. It
was a solemn sight—to behold those gay young cavaliers and their rude followers,
and the more disciplined Rangers, all kneeling beside their horses,

and every tongue hushed to a solemn stillness, while the venerable prelate
poured forth his honest and eloquent appeals in their behalf.

Then followed a scene of indescribable confusion—the leave taking.
Wives rushing in among soldiers and horses, to have one more shake of the
hand, or one more parting word. Lassies taking a parting good by of their
lovers, and fathers of their sons. Few old men joined the enterprise—the
Governor himself was, perhaps, the oldest man of the little army. After a
grand flourish of drums, something like order was once more resumed, and
the troops began to deploy into line, preparatory to their final departure.

The old veteran rode along the line, with real pride and a martial glow
mantling his cheeks, which had long lain dormant, for want of proper occasions
for its display. Like most successful military leaders, he felt as confident
of success on that day as he did on the day of his return, for he knew
that he possessed the energy and the knowledge to ensure it. To us, at this
distant day, with all the results before us, this does not seem strange or improbable;
but it was by no means so then. His grand hobby, as it was called
by the elderly gentry, met with far more ridicule than support and countenance.
As we have before said, many over prudent fathers opposed their
sons accompanying him at all; and wiseacres were not wanting in abundance,
who predicted its total failure, and that the final catastrophe would be an
Indian massacre in some mountain defile. This last surmise had gained not
a little ground, since the daring inroad of a band of the Indians during the
night, into the very heart of the capital—garrisoned as it was by their whole
army. And they reasoned not very unjustly, that if such things could be
done with impunity there, what might not be done among their own mountain
fastnesses, whose intricate defiles were known only to themselves?

A white guide had been provided hastily in Chunoluskee's stead. He was
a hunter, and had penetrated farther towards the mountains than any one
known in the colonies. He was of tried metal, too, for he had fought the
Indians in his day. His name was Jarvis—son of the old fisherman, whom
we introduced to the reader, in the early part of our narrative. Joe Jarvis—
commonly called Red Jarvis—was of a class which is fast gliding from notice
in the older settlements of the States. They were called in that day, and
indeed long afterwards, scouts.

The troops were now in motion, and the front lines were already passing
the College square, the long line of sumpter mules and wagons bringing up
the rear. The Governor and his suite had not yet left the city. They waited
for the scout, who had gone on a farewell visit the night before to his father
at Temple Farm. While the Governor and his aids, with many of the young
gentry, sat upon their horses, near the round tower, in the market square, and
while they were beginning to express doubts and misgivings of their second
guide, the very man himself glided into their midst; and such a man—so
remarkable, and he performs such an important part in the grand expedition,
that we must describe him. He was a tall specimen, in every sense of
the word—six feet and more in his stockings, (if he ever wore any.) On the
present occasion, his feet and legs were clad in buckskin leggings and moccasins
fitting close to the members. His breeches were of homespun, and
his hunting shirt of the same material, held together by a broad leather strap,
into which were stuck various utensils of the woodman's craft, with others of
a more warlike character, among which was a knife cased in a leather sheath,
which, in a single-handed encounter, would be a most deadly weapon. His
face expressed any thing but daring and decided character. Its principal
characteristic was fun and frolic, but of a quiet and subdued sort. There
was a constant inclination of the head to one side, with one eye partially
closed at the same time, and a quiet smile about the mouth. His excessive
self-confidence would have given him the appearance of boldness and presumption,
had it not been for the sly peculiarities we are attempting to

describe. He had large red whiskers, extending under his throat, the only
protection it had, and these were burnt and faded to a sandy or yellow shade,
at their extremities, by long exposure to sun and rain. Hence his soubriquet
of Red Jarvis. Upon his shoulder he carried a long gun, much longer
than the pony upon which he was mounted. Thus accoutred, he rode into
the midst of the gentry, who awaited so impatiently his arrival, followed by
a large dog, which was just about as much used to such company as his
master. There was this great difference between them, however, the dog
slunk about the horses legs, quite confounded and abashed; while Joe rode into
their midst, one eye cocked, with as quiet a leer as if he had rode to the
front of his father's cabin. As he glanced around, his eye naturally fell
upon the short carbines slung across the backs of the young gentlemen who
sat on horseback around him and then wandered along the huge thing which
he carried himself. The result of the mental comparison was a sly inward
chuckle, which, however, he subdued into his habitual cock of one eye, as it
rested upon the Governor, who was surveying him, from the coonskin cap on
his head to his feet, which almost touched the ground. The result of the
Governor's examination was pretty much like Joe's survey of the young
men's armaments, a laugh—he could not resist Joe's outre appearance.
“Well, Jarvis,” said he, “how far do you expect to carry that pony?”

“Jist as far as he'll carry me, your honor.”

“Well said, but I fear that will not be far.”

“Hoses is like men, Governor—it is not always the smoothest coats has
the bravest hearts inside on 'em;” and his half closed eye ranged again over
the gandy attire and gold lace around him, which gradually grew into an
unsuppressed chuckle, the cause of which the Governor was induced to
inquire.

“Why, I was thinkin', Sir, how all this gold and flummery would look the
day we marched in again.”

“True, true, Joe, these lads will be glad to have your hunting shirt and
moccasins before they return, and so I have been telling them.”

“There won't be a whole shirt, Sir, in the army, when we come back; and
for that reason, I left mine behind;” and here he gave another quiet laugh, as
he surveyed the magnificent lace ruffles and collars flowing about him.

Some of the young cavaliers had a curiosity to know what substitute he
had in place of a shirt.

“Why here,” said Joe, handling the red hair under his throat, as if he was
bearding a lion, “is my ruffles;” and pulling open his hunting shirt, he
displayed a buckskin, tanned with the hair on, and corresponding so near in
color to the ruffles of which he had just boasted, that it looked like part and
parcel of the same animal. He enjoyed highly the stare of astonishment
with which his garments were examined by the ball room soldiers, as he
called them.

“But, Jarvis,” said the Governor, “how comes it that you are so dilatory
this first morning of the march—we thought you were the very soul of
punctuality and promptitude.”

Joe looked a little confused for a moment, and tugging at his coon skin cap,
so as to place the tail exactly behind, and coughed and hemmed several
times ere he answered:—“You see, your worship, as I was comin' to town
this mornin' fore day, I heard the news of the rupture of the savages last
night, and I jist tuck a turn or two through the woods on my own hook, to
see if I could find the trail.”

Here one of the young gentlemen bending over, whispered to the Governor
that Joe had formerly been an admirer of Winginia.

“Aye, aye,” said the old veteran, “I see! well, did you fall upon their
trail?”

“Yes, Sir, I rather think I did. It would take a cunning Indian, and more

'specially a dozen of 'em, to march through these pines and leave no trail
that I could'nt find. I blazed a couple of miles or so, and then turned back
for fear you mought be awaitin' on me.”

Blazing was performed in those days by the scouts, or pioneer, taking the
lead in a new or untried route, by striking a chip off one side of a tree. They
may be seen at night, if not very dark. New roads were laid off in the same
primitive manner. Joe carried his tomahawk in his belt, ready for such service,
not a little of which he was about to perform; for the army once beyond
the ruins of Germana, every foot of the route had to be marked out by him
after the manner described.

The Governor, after some consultation with his aids and the scout, came
to the conclusion that it was useless to follow the trail marked out by Joe, at
present, as he assured them that they would fall upon it again before night,
at such a distance from the settlement as would render pursuit more likely to
result in success.

The last sumpter mules were now passing the suburbs of the city, and the
little party round the military tower separated to bid a last farewell with those
near and dear to them. The Governor's two daughters were already mounted,
as likewise were little Bob, Dr. Blair, and several servants, intended as their
return escort. The Governor, therefore, only dismounted for a moment, entered
the Palace, folded his lady in one long embrace, and then mounted and
galloped off, followed by his veteran life-guard, the bugles enlivening the
scene by their martial airs. By the side of Kate, rode Bernard Moore; while
Dorothea was escorted by young Dandridge, now quite proud at his elevation
into the Governor's military family.

Whether Moore's rival knew that the Governor and suite were to be thus
accompanied, or whether his military duties required him elsewhere, we know
not; but certain it is, none of the company regretted his absence. Indeed,
Kate was quite offended with him for the part he had taken against Frank
Lee, and perhaps, knowing this to be the case, he had voluntarily absented
himself.

The lovers rode quite by themselves, and to have seen the earnestness and
eagerness with which they conversed, one would have supposed that the whole
success of the expedition depended upon their sapient conclusions. That
they were looking far into futurity, no one will doubt who knows any thing of
the proverbial impatience and imprudence of lovers. Moore had, despite of
his jocular pledge to his rival, more than once pretty broadly hinted the state
of his heart, and his hopes, and his aspirations, preceding the sad catastrophe
which had so long (as he thought it) shut them up within the walls of the Palace.
He had longed, above all things, for just such an opportunity as now presented
itself, to complete the matter. Yet, when he glanced at the proud and brilliant
beauty cantering at his side, looking still more beautiful and bright from the
contrast of her sable riding habit, his heart almost misgave him. He dreaded
more the bright beams of those eyes, that occasionally encountered his own,
than the glare of an hundred hostile Indians. The precious moments were
fast gliding by—never did time so gallop by a true-hearted lover. The fact
is, that Kate coquetted just a little with him. She had hitherto succeeded in
listening to his protestations without committing herself by any reply. It had
so happened, that she was favored by circumstances in this respect. With
feminine sagacity in these matters, she at once now penetrated the objects of
her lover, and saw plainly his embarrassment and its cause, and instead of
helping him out of his difficulty, or even remaining silent to afford him an
opportunity, she rattled away in the most brilliant style, compelling him to
answer. But such answers! They were mere monosyllables—and more
than half the time he said no, for yes; and yes, for no. Kate was compelled
to laugh, at length, and ask him “what was the matter?”

“To tell you the truth, Kate, I feel sad—sad at leaving you;” and his voice
became husky.

Kate broke into the midst of this exordium—“What! so sentimental Bernard?
Don't you know that papa ordered us to put on our brightest smiles,
and that he hates a gloomy good-by!”

“I was going to say, Kate, that your wit is all lost upon me this morning,
because my heart is not in the subject of your merriment. Let me intreat
you to be serious for five minutes—my time is short, and you know that I
have been banished from your presence by the sad accident which we all
deplore so much.”

Kate was as solemn as a judge in the twinkling of an eye, and replied, “Oh
cruel, cruel Bernard, how could you dash all my bright morning's efforts by
such an allusion!”

“Forgive me, dearest Kate, but it was accidental, and fell from my lips
without reflection, and now let me banish the dreadful past by holding up a
bright future. Oh, Kate, how bright, my imagination scarcely dares contemplate,
if you will only consent to blend your hopes and destinies with mine.”

He paused for a reply, but not a word escaped her now sealed lips.

He continued. “You have held me in probation a long, long time. You
are sufficiently acquainted with all my habits, even of thought, to know by this
time whether you can consent to place your future happiness in my keeping,
and surely you will not suffer me to depart upon such a long journey without
letting me know my fate—a journey, too, Kate, undertaken more through your
influence than your father's. You have driven me into exile, and it is for you
to say whether I shall return.”

“Oh, Bernard, how can you say so; I never urged you to go by word or
sign of any sort—indeed I was opposed—” There she left the sentence
unfinished.

“Go on, Kate, go on,” said Moore eagerly. “Were you indeed loth to see
me go.”

Kate blushed, but finished not the sentence.

“Would you have me turn back now?” eagerly inquired he.

“Oh, not for the world!” she exclaimed suddenly, “it would be disgrace in
the eyes of my father.”

“Oh, Kate, Kate,” said Moore, after gazing at her thoughtfully for a moment,
“you may as well confess that you take an interest in my movements,
whether I go or stay. Say, then, should I return victorious with your father—
for I hear we shall have some fighting—will you crown my young triumphs
with that hand which I have so long and so devotedly sought?”

Kate placed her hand in that of the eager youth, exclaiming suddenly,
“there.” And there we shall leave them cantering away on the road, having
fallen far behind the cortege of the Governor. How the more youthful pair
settled their quarrels, for every one said that Dandridge's and Dorothea's
love-making was more like quarrelling than any thing else, we shall not venture
to say, but certain it is, that Nat had his face slapped with her fan more
than once during the ride. The Governor was in the habit of calling them
his Catherine and Petruchio. But we must leave them to make the best of
their way, while we turn back and see what has become of Frank Lee and
the scout, both of whom were left in the city and still remained there.

Where they were, or where the principal was, will not be hard to imagine.
Frank was at the Doctor's house, and his new attendant sat astride of his
rugged little pony at the wicket gate, holding Frank's horse, and cracking his
rough jokes upon his acquaintances that passed. It will be readily perceived
from this, that Joe was not entirely disconsolate at the abduction of his lady-love—that
he was by no means one of the sentimental sort. Whether he was
aware of the ugly stories circulated through the town, to the great discredit of

her good name, we shall not undertake to say, nor to speculate upon his probable
course, should it appear that he was fully aware of the whole scandal;
sufficient for our purpose to state, that he was fully determined to follow the
“bloody varmints” to the end of the world. Where that end of the world was,
Joe had very little thought or care. He was ripe for the tramontane expedition,
and perhaps of all the number who that day set out in its accomplishment,
he was the best informed of its hazards, and the best prepared to endure
its hardships. He had heard of Frank's late perils and adventures, and at
once taken a fancy to him; it was fully reciprocated by his more accomplished
friend, which will account for the present position of the parties. Frank told
him when he jumped off his horse and threw him the reins, that he would be
gone just five minutes. He had already been absent an hour, and Joe having
exhausted his jokes, was becoming rather impatient. He turned round to the
servant, who sat upon his horse at a respectful distance, and exclaimed, “I
say, you darkey, are your master's five minutes always like this?”

“Can't say,” replied Cuffy, “I is just arrived from the plantation.”

So we will give our readers a glance-for themselves into that little
parlour, flanked by the aviary and green house, and which so captivated
Henry Lee's heart.

Frank and Ellen were seated side by side, talking as earnestly as if
poor Joe and his pony were over the mountains, while the old Doctor
promenaded the veranda rather impatiently.

“Oh, Frank!” said Ellen, “I cannot bear the thoughts of your leaving
me again, now that the parting moment has come, and yet I would not
have you stay.”

“No indeed, my Ellen, I know you would not tempt me to desert my
excellent friend, the Governor, just upon the eve of accomplishing one of
the great designs of his life.”

“And yet, Frank, when I think of our former parting and and all that
followed—how long I mourned you as dead—my woman's heart shrinks
from the trial.”

“I would not part with the blessed certainty which I derived from
those trials and afflictions, of your devotedness, for all the suffering which
they brought. Besides, my Ellen, my name has been somewhat tarnished
as a rebel. I go forth now to redeem my good name.”

“I care not a fig for worldly honors, Frank, and did hope that you too,
were weaned from such empty vanities.”

“And so I am from all empty vanities. We are impelled by higher
motives, I assure you.”

“Ah, Frank, Frank, you are still the same ardent, impetuous, sanguine fellow,
that I knew you to be when a boy in my father's house.”

“And to whom you pledged your young affections, children as we were.
Oh most nobly have you kept that pledge, my Ellen, and I but ask you
to pardon the unworthy truant for another short, short absence, and then—
and then. Oh such visions are death to the tramontane expedition. Farewell,
Ellen—farewell.”

“You will write to me, Frank, by every returning courier. I understand
that the Governor will despatch messengers at stated intervals informing
us of his progress. Send me a journal of every day, Frank.”

“I will—I will.”

Amidst such parting exclamations and sundry other little remembrances
too tedious to mention, he tore himself away, wrung the old Doctor's
hand—sprung upon his horse, and was soon on his way towards the
mountains. Joe was trotting at a murderous rate to keep by his side,
but all in vain, for the first mile or two; at length, however, he succeeded
in arresting the attention of his companion; when he addressed

him after the following manner; “I say, Squire, is that black leather thing
behind your nigger filled with ruffled shirts, like the rest on 'em”

“Why, Joe, to tell you the truth, there is some useless finery there, now that
I think of it.”

Joe laughed, and continued. “And not a pair of shoes or moccasins, not a
flint, nor a powder-horn, nor ere a spoon, nor a fork, nor a screwer, nor a frying-pan?
Ha! ha! ha! Now, do tell me, what is in them, besides the ruffles
and the spangles?”

“Well, Joe, there are a dozen shirts, sundry inexpressibles, an extra coat,
some writing paper, an ink-stand and drawing materials, and lastly, a pair of
small pistols.”

“Well, all I've got to say, is, that your black mail bag will come back filled
with another sort of plunder, that's all.”