University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

At the close of a pleasant day, in the spring of the year
17—, a solitary horseman might have been seen slowly
winding his way along a narrow road, in that part of
Virginia which is now called the Valley. It was nearly
forty years ago, and the district lying between the Blue
Ridge and the Allegheny mountains was but thinly populated,
while the country lying to the west, embracing an
immense Alpine region, was a savage wilderness, which
extended to the new and distant settlements of Kentucky.
Our traveller's route led along the foot of the mountains,
sometimes crossing the spurs, or lateral ridges, which
push out their huge promontories from the great chain;
and at others winding through deep ravines, or skirting
along broad valleys. The Ancient Dominion was never
celebrated for the goodness of its highways, and the one
whose mazes he was now endeavoring to unravel, was
among the worst, being a mere path, worn by the feet
of horses, and marked by faint traces of wheels, which
showed that the experiment of driving a carriage over
its uneven surface had been successfully tried, but not
generally practised. The country was fertile, though
wild and broken. The season was that in which the

foliage is most luxuriant and splendid to the eye, the
leaves being fully expanded, while the rich blossoms
decked the scene with a variety of brilliant hues; and
our traveller, as he passed ridge after ridge, paused in
delight on their elevated summits, to gaze at the beautiful
glens that lay between them, and the gorgeous vegetation
that climbed even to the tops of the steepest acclivities.
The day, however, which had been unusually sultry for
the season, was drawing to a close, and both horse and
rider began to feel the effects of hunger and fatigue; the
former, though strong and spirited, drooped his head,
and the latter became wearied with these lonesome
though picturesque scenes. During the whole day he
had not seen the dwelling of a human being; the clattering
of his horse's hoofs upon the rock, the singing of
the birds, so numerous in this region, the roaring of the
mountain stream, or the crash of timber occasioned by
the fall of some great tree, were the only sounds that
had met his ear. He was glad, therefore, to find his
path descending, at last, into a broad valley, interspersed
with farms. He seemed to have surmounted the last
hill, and before him was a rich continuous forest, resembling,
as he overlooked it from the high ground, a solid
plane of verdure. The transition from rocky steeps and
precipices, to the smooth soil and sloping surface of the
valley, was refreshing; and not less so were the coolness
and fragrance of the air, and the deep and varied hues
of the forest, occasioned by the rank luxuriance of its
vegetation.

It might be proper, as it certainly is customary,
before proceeding to narrate the adventures of our hero,

to introduce him to the particular acquaintance of the
reader, by a full description of his person, character, and
lineage; but this manner of narration, supported as it is
by respectable precedent, we must be permitted to decline.
As we have no record before us showing that the gentleman
in question ever passed under a regimental standard,
we are not aware that his exact height could now be
ascertained; and as he was neither a deserter from the
service of his country, nor a fugitive from the protection
of his guardian, we cannot think it necessary to set forth
the color of his hair and eyes, or to describe what clothes
“he had on when he went away.” To enlist the sympathies
of our fair readers, whose approbation we would
fain propitiate, it is enough to say that he was a young
and handsome bachelor, leaving each of them to fancy
him the exact image of her favorite admirer; but as
we do not admire the practice of peeping into gentlemen's
hearts, or pocket-books, without any other warrant
than the bare license of authorship, we cannot tell what
precious billet-doux may have filled the one, or what
treasured image might have occupied the other. These
are questions which may be incidentally touched hereafter;
and the curious reader will find ample materials
in the following pages, for the gratification of a laudable
thirst for knowledge on these interesting points.

The sun was about to set, and our traveller, having
completely left all the mountain passes behind him, could
have enjoyed the serenity of the calm hour, and the
bland landscape, had not other thoughts harassed him.
He needed rest and refreshment, and knew not where to
find the one or the other. While considering this matter,

he reached a spot where two roads crossed, at the same
instant when two other persons, advancing from a different
direction, arrived at the same point. They were an
elderly gentleman and a young lady, both of prepossessing
appearance. The former was a portly man, hale
and ruddy, with a gay eye and a profusion of gray
locks, as if the frost of age had prematurely touched his
head, without penetrating so deep as to chill the fountains
of life. His dress was that of a country gentleman; it
was not expensive, nor yet well assorted, but rather
evinced the carelessness of one who, living secluded
from the fashionable world, felt independent of its forms,
or who adopted with reluctance the changes which seemed
every year to depart further and further from certain
standards of gracefulness to which he had been accustomed
in his youth, as well as from the peculiar notions
of comfort that fasten upon the mind with the approaches
of old age. He was mounted upon a fine high-bred
horse, rather oddly caparisoned; for the bridle, though
silver mounted, was broken in several places, and the
fractures had been remedied, at one part by a hard knot,
at another by a coarse seam, and at a third by a thong
of buckskin; while a Spanish saddle, which might once
have done honor to the best cavalier at a bull-fight,
having lost the stirrup-leather on the near side, was supplied
with an accommodation-ladder of rope, and the
girth was patched with leather and linsey, until the
original material was hardly discoverable. The worthy
gentleman wore one spur, either because he was too
indolent to put on the other, or from a conviction, founded
on a well-established philosophical principle, that the
effect produced on one side of his animal must be followed
by a corresponding result on the other, and that
consequently one armed heel is as effective as a pair.
Indeed, that gentlemanly weapon seemed to be worn
more from habit than necessity, for the free-spirited steed
needed no prompter; and the rider, who sat with the
ease and grace of an experienced horseman, would have
esteemed it a breach of the dignity becoming his age and
station to have proceeded at any pace faster than a walk.
He was evidently a wealthy planter, accustomed to good
living and good society, who had arrived at a standing
in life which placed him above any merely outward
forms that interfered with his comfort, and who felt
privileged to think as he pleased, and do as he liked;
while the frankness and benevolence of his countenance
at once assured the stranger that his heart was alive to
the best feelings of kindness and hospitality. His companion
was a lovely girl of eighteen, richly and tastefully
habited. Careless as were the apparel and furniture of
the elder rider, that of the lady was studiously neat and
appropriate. Her palfrey had the fine limbs, the delicate
form, and the bright eye of the deer, with a gentleness
that seemed to savor more of reason than of instinct.
His hair was smooth and glossy as silk, his harness
elegant and neatly fitted; and as the fair rider sat gracefully
erect in her saddle, the proud animal arched his
neck as if conscious of the beauty of his burthen.

As the parties met at the junction of the roads, each
of the gentlemen reined up his horse to allow the other
to pass; the elder bowed and touched his hat, and the
other returned the salutation with equal courtesy. There

was a momentary embarrassment, as neither rider
seemed disposed to take precedence of the other; which
was relieved by the young lady, who, slackening her
rein as she touched the neck of her steed with a hazle
switch, rode forward, leaving the gentlemen to settle the
point of etiquette between them, which they did by
silently falling in abreast, the road being just wide
enough to admit the passage of two riders in that
manner.

In our country, there is none of that churlish policy,
or that repulsive pride, which in other regions forbids
strangers who thus meet from accosting each other; on
the contrary, our hearty old Virginian, on meeting a
young, well-mounted, handsome stranger, with the appearance
and manners of a gentleman, felt bound to do
the honors of the country. He accordingly opened a
conversation, and was so well pleased with the stranger's
frankness and intelligence, that he determined to take
him home, and entertain him, at least for the night, and
perhaps for a week or two; and the worthy old man
felt no small inward gratification in the idea, that while
he was discharging his duty as a true son of the ancient
dominion, he should secure a companion, and enlarge
for a time his own little circle of enjoyments. But the
stranger anticipated his invitation by observing.

“I have business with Major Heyward, who resides
somewhere in this neighborhood, and am glad that I
have fallen in with you, sir, as you can probably direct
me to a tavern near his house, where I may lodge for
the night.”

“That I cannot; but I will with great pleasure show

you to the house itself,” replied the other, who was the
identical Major Heyward; “I am going directly there,
and will conduct you to the very door.”

The stranger civilly declined this offer, under the plea
that he was totally unacquainted with the gentleman
alluded to, and that his visit was solely on business. He
wished, therefore, to lodge for the night at a public
house, and to dispatch his business in the morning as
early as might be.

“I suspect,” replied his companion, “that you will
not do the one nor the other. Public house there is
none; you are now in Virginia, sir, where hospitality is
not an article of trade; therefore you must of necessity
lodge with a private gentleman. And you are under a
mistake, if you think to dispatch your business to-morrow,
or the next day, or under a week at least.”

“Why so?”

“Simply because, in this country, we do not turn
people out of our houses, nor treat a guest as if he was
a sheriff's officer. There is to be a barbecue to-morrow,
to which you will be invited; then you must hunt one
day, and fish another, and after that—but see, there
is the house.”

The stranger halted: “I really cannot intrude—”

“Intrude, my dear sir! Why, young gentleman, you
were certainly not raised in Virginia, or you would have
learned that one gentleman can never be considered as
an intruder in the house of another, especially one who
brings so good a letter of introduction as yourself.”

“Pardon me, sir, I have no such credentials.”

“Oh yes, you have—yes, you have,” returned the

planter, laughing at his own wit, and bowing to his
companion; “as a late writer hath it, a good appearance
is the best letter of introduction; and your modesty,
young sir, is an indorsement which gives it double value.
Come along, I'll be answerable for your welcome.”

“But I am a total stranger.”

“True, and so you will remain until you are introduced;
then you will be so no longer.

“But it is so awkward to go to a gentleman's house
just at nightfall, as if begging for a night's lodging.”

“The very best hour in the world, for then you are
sure to catch the gentleman at home, and at leisure to
entertain you. Virginia, my dear,” continued he, calling
to the young lady, who rode a few paces before
them, “will you not join me in a guarantee that this
young gentleman shall be welcome at Walnut-Hill?”

“With great pleasure, if it were necessary,” replied
the lady, “but your introduction, my dear uncle, will be
all-sufficient.”

The stranger, who began to suspect the truth, and
saw that he could not, without rudeness, decline the
proffered kindness of his hospitable guide, now submitted,
and the party entered a long lane which led to
the mansion. On either side were large fields of corn
and tobacco, lately planted, and exhibiting the distinctive
characteristics of Virginia agriculture. The scale was
extensive, but the manner of cultivation rude. The
spacious domain, spreading for more than a mile on
either hand, was covered with flourishing crops, which
attested the fertility of the soil; and the immense worm-fences
surrounding the inclosures, and dividing them

into accurate parallelograms, were as substantial as they
were unsightly. The corners and skirts of the fields,
and every vacant spot, were grown up with weeds and
briars. Stumps of trees blackened with fire, and immense
tall trunks, from which the bark and smaller
limbs had fallen, showed that not many years had
elapsed since the ground had been cleared; but those
sylvan remains became fewer and more decayed towards
the mansion of the owner, which was in the centre of
the opening, as if the occupant, after fixing his dwelling,
had been gradually clearing away the forest from around
it in every direction. An apple-orchard had been planted
so recently as to be now ready for bearing its first crop,
and peach-trees were seen scattered in every direction;
wherever a kernel had fallen by accident, and the young
shoot had escaped the plow, or outlived the nipping of
the cattle, was a flourishing tree, promising a luxuriant
harvest of this delightful fruit.

The mansion stood on a rising ground, overlooking
the whole plantation, and was composed of a cluster of
buildings rather inartificially connected. A stone house
with two rooms had been first erected; then a framed
building was added; and year after year, as the family
increased in wealth or numbers, subsequent additions
had been made, consisting of single apartments, all on
the ground floor, except the original building, which
contained an upper story—the whole connected by
piazzas, and being, in fact, a number of separate, though
contiguous, houses, inconveniently adapted for the residence
of a single family. The offices were scattered
about in the rear of the main edifice—the kitchen, the

ice-house, the smoke-house, being each a separate building.
Still further back were the negro-cabins, and
beyond them the stables; so that, altogether, the place
had more the appearance of a village than of the residence
of a single family. The aspect of the whole was
pleasing and respectable. Had it been surrounded by a
wall and a ditch, it would have borne no small resemblance
to some of the earliest of those old castles in
which the barons resided with their followers in patriarchal
simplicity. The out-buildings were so disposed as
not to intercept the view from the front of the mansion;
and the latter, being painted white, looked well in spite
of its structure. A beautiful lawn surrounded it, set
with fine forest trees, the venerable and gigantic aboriginals
of the soil; and on one side was a garden, laid
out with taste, and highly embellished with flowers and
ornamental plants.

As soon as the party entered the lane, droves of young
negroes ran out to gaze at them, hiding behind the
trees and fences, or peeping through the bushes; and
the worthy host began to exercise his lungs, in speaking
alternately to the negro children, to the blacks who
were returning in troops from labor, and to his guest.

“Get away, you young rogues! what are you peeping
at? There's fine corn, sir. Here, you Cato, tell
Cæsar to come to me.—That corn has just been planted
six weeks.—Pompey, come and take these horses.—
There's the best tobacco in this country.—Luke, where's
Peter and John? Primus, tell Adam to get some fresh
water, and go you, Finis, and help him. Virgil, you dog,
come out of that peach-tree. I'll take you and Milton,

and knock your heads together.—These plagues destroy
all my fruit, sir, before it is ripe.—Open that gate,
Moses—help him, Aaron. Come here, Cupid, and hold
your young mistress's horse. Run, some of you, and
tell Venus to get supper.—Come, sir, alight; you are
welcome to my house.”

The stranger, who throughout this singular colloquy
had found no opportunity to address his host, had placed
himself beside the young lady, to whom he addressed
his conversation during the few minutes that preceded
their arrival at the house, where he assisted her to dismount;
and the whole party were soon seated in one of
Major Heyward's spacious piazzas.

Walnut-Hill was the seat of plenty and hospitality;
and in a few minutes servants were dispatched in different
directions in pursuit of refreshments. The worthy
proprietor himself, in respect of his age, and certain
habits of reverence to which his whole household had
been long accustomed, received the first attention. His
niece placed his great arm-chair, a little negro fetched
his pipe, another brought tobacco, a third fire, a fourth
a glass of water, a fifth slippers; and in a few minutes
he was comfortably seated, enjoying his accustomed
luxuries; while his guest retired to arrange his dress.

On the return of the latter, he found his host in the
same position in which he had left him; and approaching
him, said,

“I have perhaps been to blame in delaying so long
to announce my name and business.”

“Your name, my young friend, I shall be glad to
hear, whenever you please; as for your business, we

will talk of that when we get tired of every other
subject.”

“I am well aware of your hospitality, and that towards
either a friend or a stranger it would be cheerfully
exercised; but neither of these characters can be
claimed by Lyttleton Fennimore.”

The old man started as he heard this name; a cloud
passed over his features, and his frame seemed agitated
with painful recollections. These feelings he endeavored
to suppress, as he replied,

“I had rather you had borne another name; but that
is not your fault.”

He then rose, extended his hand to his guest, and
emphatically added, “Mr. Fennimore, pardon an old
man, for not being able to forget, in a moment, that
which has been a subject of bitter reflection for years.
The antipathies of parents should not be entailed on
their children. You are cordially welcome to my house
—make it your home, and consider me as your friend.”

Tea was soon announced; and Major Heyward, as
he introduced his guest to his niece, Miss Pendleton, resumed
his usual courtesy of manner, but his gaiety had
entirely forsaken him, and immediately after this meal
he retired to his apartment, leaving the young people to
entertain each other. We need hardly add, that, predisposed
as the latter were to be pleased with each other,
the evening passed agreeably; and that when Mr. Fennimore
retired, he could not but acknowledge, that
whatever might be the character of the uncle, the niece
was one of the most agreeable women that he had ever
seen.