University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE GREAT GRANDSON OF POCAHONTAS.

Henry St. John was the only son of Colonel John St.
John, of “Flower of Hundreds,” in the county of Prince
George. This John was himself the only son of Henry
St. John, Esquire, called “King Harry,” who having run
through a fine estate in Hertfordshire, England, came to
Virginia about the time of Bacon's rebellion, in which he
took part against the government, but, by good luck, escaped
with the payment of a heavy fine. He married, the
second time—his first wife, who was a Miss Pendleton, having
died without issue—Miss Virginia Rolfe, daughter of
Thomas Rolfe, Esquire, the only son of Pocahontas, daughter
of Powhatan, King of Virginia, whose empire stretched from
Florida to the great lakes, and from the Atlantic to the
Mississippi.

The Mr. Henry St. John of our narrative was, therefore,
the lineal descendant of Pocahontas.

We have little genius or fondness for the details of pedigree,

but surely 't is a source of noble pride to be descended
from our dear Virginia maiden. Royalty and nobility are
but vulgar things, and the boast of Norman blood is but
the child's fondness for the rattle of a toy. The grace of
the fashion of it perisheth—its glorious beauty is a fading
flower—only the shadow of a shadow stays. It is different
in the case of the descendants of our little queen of the
West. Her patent of nobility was won beneath the war
club raised above the head of a poor captive; her royalty
was the royalty of a noble heart, of a great and pure devotion
to the cause of love and mercy.

So writes the good author of these manuscripts. Let us
pass, however, to the young gentleman who had in his veins
the blood of this new Indian royalty.

As he sleeps, in the flood of light from the tall silver candlesticks,
it is not difficult to fancy, from the wild grace of
his attitude, and the character of his face, that something of
his origin reveals itself.

The face is a handsome one, with a clear brown tint, almost
that of a brunette, and the hair is dark and waving.
The rounded and prominent chin indicates resolution, and
the curve of the lips, which possess great mobility, as plainly
show that the young man is subject to strong passions. In
the scene with the Governor we have observed the quick
shades of anger and resentment only; but now this has quite
disappeared, and, sleeping like a placid infant, all the features
of the face have subsided into softness and repose. In
his dreams the young man smiles, and the smile is one of
great sweetness.

Leaving to the course of the narrative any further indications
of Mr. Henry St. John's peculiarities, we proceed
to relate that, at the end of an hour, he was waked by a
knock at the door, which was followed by the entrance of a
young man clad in the height of the fashion. Indeed, it
might almost be said that this young gentleman's costume
was one mass of lace and embroidery. The drop curls of
his flaxen peruke were glossy with perfumed powder, a

little dress sword just lifted up the skirt of his richly decorated
pourpoint of Mecklenburg silk, and his aristocratic
hands were covered with the finest point de Venise. Mr.
Tom Alston—for that was the name of the worthy—presented
a mixture of the fop and the philosopher in his dress
and manner, and seemed to have stepped carelessly from the
frame of one of Vandyke's pictures.

He extended two fingers to his friend and sat down.

“Not sleeping, Harry, my boy?” he said. “Why not at
the Governor's?”

“I preferred staying away. Did you go?”

“Yes—a crowd of nice girls, and refreshments of a pleasing
description.”

“Very well—but I do n't regret my absence,” said Mr.
St. John; “the fact is, Tom, I'm tired of his lordship, and
think I'll resign my commission. I'm no man's servant, and
I won't be his Excellency's.”

“Eh? His servant?”

“Yes. I am absolutely nothing more. There, let us leave
the subject, or I'm sure to burst forth into useless expletives.'2

“Expletives?” said Mr. Alston, tranquilly. “Come, tell
me all about it. I see that something has occurred, and
I'm really dying to hear a bit of scandal—absolutely none
for a whole week. Do proceed, Harry, my boy, and narrate
from the beginning, with all the orations, like that tiresome
old Thucydides.”

Mr. St. John was silent for a moment, and then said:

“I do n't care if I do, Tom. I feel as if the historic muse
would come at my call, and I'll try her. Well, here goes,
but you are not to yawn at my apologue.”

“By no means,” said Mr. Alston, with an air of reproach.
“Proceed, my friend.”

“Well, you must know that there formerly resided in a
country called Virginia a young man called Harry St. John.
You understand so far?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this young man, who had the misfortune to lose

his parents in his childhood, was sole heir to an estate called
the `Flower of Hundreds,' upon which estate there was a
big old house, full of deer antlers, fine furniture, tall mirrors,
portraits of old fellows in periwigs, and dames in odd-looking
dresses; and in the stables were as fine a collection of
thorough-breds, 't was said, as any in the colony. Every
thing else was ample and comfortable, and it was reasonable
for the youngster to expect a life of ease and satisfaction—
was it not? He might marry his cousin, grow fat, preside
at the county court, and be a respectable vestryman of the
parish. There were plenty of foxes on his lands, and a quarrelsome
neighbor near at hand, with whom he might, at any
moment, plunge into a good comfortable lawsuit. In a single
word, all the elements of human happiness were at the young
fellow's disposal, and he had only to `enter and enjoy,' as
the lawyers say.”

“He was a lucky fellow, my boy. I should like to know
him,” said Mr. Alston.

“As to the luck, there's the question,” continued Mr. St.
John, “for nature had put a nail in the young man's shoe—
restlessness. He longed for something more exciting than
plantation life. Having left college, he came into his property,
carefully administered by his excellent uncle, Colonel
Vane; but very soon he began to grow dissatisfied. You
see, the couches were too soft, the beds were too large, the
wines were too good, and the fields which stretched far away
to the horizon from the portico of the old hall, were deficient
in rugged beauty and picturesqueness, such as the
mountains yield. In a word, the youthful heir was tired of
the insipidity of farm life, and longed for something like
adventure, having a private impression of his own that the
clash of swords and the whistling of bullets would make
merrier music than the winds in the trees, or the waves lap
ping on the banks of the river.”

“Odd,” observed Mr. Alston, “but I think I understand.”

“Well,” proceeded Mr. St. John, “this young fellow

struggled with his passion for two or three years, but at the
end of that time his predilection got the better of him. A
nobleman came to be Governor of the country he lived in
—— a vulgar fellow named Dunmore.”

“Oh! a vulgar fellow do you say? But proceed, my
friend.”

“You'll see before I end, if I am wrong in my characterization,
Tom,” continued Mr. St. John. “Well, as I said,
this man, Dunmore, came to the country in question, called
Virginia, and a great talk was made about his excellence
and greatness. He professed to be most solicitous about
Virginia, and turned his attention especially to repelling the
attacks of savages upon the western frontier. He said he
wished the inhabitants to hold themselves in readiness to
march under his command, and as a proof of his intention
to act vigorously, he brought with him some foreign soldiers,
who would serve as a nucleus for the proposed forces.
Exception was, however, taken by some persons to the
presence of this body of men, and in order to allay the disquiet,
his Excellency sought for a Virginian who should be
placed, as it were, in their front rank, to disarm this sentiment.
Here commenced the connection of Mr. St. John
with his Excellency. Introduced to him as one of the large
landed proprietors of the colony, his Excellency treated him
with much politeness, and finally requested private interviews.
Would Mr. St. John accept the commission of
lieutenant, commanding, for the present, this nucleus?—
they would ere long march to the frontier, and much glory
would ensue. Do you understand?”

His friend nodded.

“The aforesaid Mr. St. John was then twenty-three or
so, and had greater thirst for adventure than ever. Would
he accept? Yes, most willingly. No sooner said than done.
He leaves his estate, comes to the capital, establishes himself
therein as becomes a soldier, and gloriously parades on horseback,
in fine uniform, at the head of his troops. He enters
into military affairs with ardor and enthusiasmhe
trains

his men in quick evolutions, in bush fighting, in rapid discharge
of pistols, and in approved cut and thrust with the
saber. He sees that their arms are as brilliant as silver;
their uniform and entire equipments perfect. He calls on
his Excellency every day to inquire for news from the frontier,
and receiving comforting answers, goes away twirling
his mustaches, his sword clanking against his boots, his head
full of martial glory, and conscious of the admiration of
every urchin who beholds him.”

“Of none of the girls—eh, my boy?” inquired Mr. Alston.

“Doubtless, for you know the gentler sex admire the soldier,
at least some of them. But to proceed. The young
man, you see, is ready, impatient; but somehow the order
to march is delayed, his Excellency's excuses are repeated,
the young fellow's assiduity finally seems distasteful. Moreover,
the troops he commands seem permanently stationed
in guard houses, flanking his lordship's gate—they attend
solely on his lordship's person—they ride behind his coach,
and are called by him, “My Guards.” His lordship is a
king, the young lieutenant a satrap of the provinces, and,
contrary to the habit of Virginians, he has become an upper
servant. Can you wonder that the result is distaste upon
his part; that he begins to think his Excellency insincere?
He finally concludes that he is tricked, and it is just at this
moment that he receives orders to marshal “My Guards,”
and go and receive the royal family on their entrance, which
event occurred this morning. Well, he obeyed. They were
ladies, and he was far from objecting to take part in the
pageantry. But he found in this cortége other characters
—lords, honorables, captains, drivers, footmen, outriders—
it was his place to escort them all. He did do it. He
mounted guard at the palace gate even, to keep the ill-bred
Virginians at their proper distance. He succeeded. Well,
now for the conclusion. The young soldier rode a spirited
horse; the music of a band annoyed him, the animal became
restive, and the result was the overthrow of a child, who

rolled beneath his feet, and, when the young man raised
her, fainted away. He went to the nearest point for some
cold water, procured it in the palace, and for presuming to
so intrude was insulted by his Excellency. You se his
lordship was an English nobleman, and the young man was
only a Virginia gentleman. Not only the young man himself
was outraged, but the child who accompanied him was
grossly insulted and wounded! and Mr. Lieutenant St. John
was requested to retire and make way for his betters! Curse
me! if the man's one particle of a gentleman, and I'll throw
his commission back in his face!” cried St. John, flushing,
and thus breaking forth with long-gathering indignation.

Mr. Alston was silent for some moments, apparently musing
tranquilly upon the history to which he had just listened.
At last he said:

“Throw it back, Harry! what's the use? Do n't take the
trouble—rather come with me to my house of `Moorefield,'
where I will try and entertain you, though this peruke from
Mr. George Lafong's, who calls himself a wigmaker, is
making me silent and melancholy. Come, Harry, my boy,
come with me.”

“No, Tom,” said his friend, “I'll tell his lordship my
candid opinion of him, if he arrests me the next moment.
Hang him! he sha'n't tread on me, if he is a tyrant!”

And Mr. St. John scowled in imagination at Lord Dunmore,
with a sincerity that was very striking.

“You won't go to Moorefield?” said Mr. Alston, smiling;
“but that's just the way you always treat me. May I make
a second suggestion, however, Harry? Go to—Vanely.”

Mr. St. John turned his head quickly, and looked at his
friend. As he encountered Mr. Alston's eyes and smile,
something almost like a blush diffused itself over his cheek.

“Ah! ah!” said Mr. Alston, laughing, “there's a fine
historian! You make a splendid historic narrative, and you
leave out the most striking event in the life of your hero!
You carefully forget to mention that this Virginia Achilles
had a Briseis—this Hector of Prince George county, a prospective

Andromache—and that the nodding plume of war
was put on to flash in the eyes of somebody!”

Mr. St. John blushed unmistakably this time, and then
burst out laughing.

“Well if I did, Tom,” he said, “what's the odds? She's
the loveliest girl in the colony.”

“Perhaps! But why not go and try your luck, then?”

Mr. St. John sighed.

“I'm afraid it's no use,” he said; “she loves me, but unfortunately
she's not in love with me.”

“A profoundly philosophical distinction; but did you
never hear the Spanish proverb, `Patience, and shuffle the
cards?' Now the cards are at `Vanely;' leave this abode of
royalty with me, forget his Excellency, and go see Dulcinea.”

Mr. St. John pondered, and from the varying color of his
tell-tale cheek, it was plain what he was thinking of.

“Well,” he said at last, “I'll do so, Tom. I'll follow the
advice scratched on the wall yonder, with the odd name, Sir
Asinus to it—`The duty of a subject is submission.' Yes,
I'll leave this wretched mimic court, and go to Vanely, provided
you stay all night and go with me.”

“Done,” said Mr. Alston, “and now let us have a game
of tric-trac.”

“Willingly,” Mr. St. John replied, “and my first stake
shall be these tawdry epaulets of gold thread against sixpence—the
value I attach to them!”

Cards and wine were quickly brought by a servant in
waiting, and the young men commenced playing.

Two hours afterwards they were sound asleep, and an
attentive listener might have heard the lieutenant of his Excellency's
guards murmur the name of a woman of whom
he seemed to be dreaming.