41. CHAPTER XLI.
THE STEPS AND THE BASE OF LORD BOTETOURT'S STATUE.
One member of the Burgesses remained on the portico
of the capitol.
It was the awkward-looking man in the tie-wig, the peach-blossom
coat, and old red cloak.[1]
Leaning against a pillar, with his shoulders bent, a pair
of old saddle-bags, containing papers, on his arm, his iron
mouth wreathed with a cold, grim smile, the man in the red
cloak gazed after the retreating chariot and its escort.
He then rose erect, and laying his hand on the arm of the
stranger, said, in a voice at once harsh and musical, careless
and earnest,
“Well, brother patriot! that's a handsome spectacle, is
it not now?”
The stranger was silent for some minutes, during which
time he seemed to be engaged in suppressing the last mutterings
of the storm of wrath which had clouded his mind.
One after one his features sank into rest, the old iron
calmness again diffused itself over his countenance, and he
replied,
“I know not, friend, if it is a handsome sight, but I think
it a very fair exhibition of aped and mimiced royalty.”
“Well, you see, his Excellency's king here—we can't
complain.”
“Yes, king! by right of arms.”
“I do n't think you treated royalty with sufficient respect,”
said the man in the red cloak, smiling grimly;
“he'll take his revenge and arrest you.”
“My dead body, perhaps.”
“Good! good!” said the grim speaker; “that's the way
I like to hear people talk! That's the true lingo! I know
you are in earnest, and are ready.”
“I am,” said the stranger.
“Beware of your movements—watch! guard yourself.
For you have a cunning and treacherous enemy to deal
with, a man who absolutely disgusts and revolts me!”
And the countenance of the man in the red cloak lost its
grim carelessness, and his eyes flashed.
“Brother!” he said, proudly raising his head, “I think
we're beginning to reap! Do you remember our talks at
the Raleigh ten years ago? I then affected to teach you;
I was really learning. I was wrong, you were right! It
was necessary to advance step by step; `from doubt to certainty,
from certainty to indignation, from indignation to
revolution!' Those were your very words, and they have
been the iron bit, the chain bridle which curbed my natural
impetuosity and recklessness. I would have shot on, like a
war-horse, and you held me in. I would have rushed headlong,
your mind held me back! Yes, you were the true
thinker, marching, step by step, with the times, neither in
advance or behind. Do not deny it,” continued the man in
the red cloak, gazing with a proud look upon the stranger,
which seemed to illumine his countenance, and rendered it
most attractive; “do not say no, for I speak the truth of
your genius! You saw further and deeper than I did, and
history is your vindication. Well, now, we have truly gone
from doubt and certainty to indignation, and the end will
be the fires of revolution, as you predicted.”
“Yes, friend!” said the speaker, raising his head still more
nobly, and with glowing eyes, “you were right, a thousand
times right, and yet ten years ago we really inaugurated this
revolution. Can your memory ever lose that scene which I
refer to? I see that you remember; that you can not forget
the burning stamps, the great crowd, the roaring of that
thunder, and the dazzling bolt which crashed down in a
blaze like the light of the eyes of the Almighty! But you
did not hear my words then, there on that platform, above
the roaring fire, for you were lifeless, your mouth full of
bloody foam! Brother! I received you as you fell back in
my arms on my breast! I clasped your weak form to my
heart as a mother clasps her child. Do you know what I
said after what you uttered then? I said, `The revolution
is begun!' and it was! To-day it only goes on, you see!
and it's no new acquaintance to us at least!”
The man in the red cloak had completely lost his carelessness,
as he spoke in animated and nervous tones, and
his earnest eyes dwelt with proud admiration on the
stranger.
“There's the hand I gave you ten years ago,” he said,
“the hand of a loyal man! I then said to you that the new
world dawned; I now add that the sun mounts, through
clouds and mists, to its zenith. Remember! to-morrow, in
the Raleigh, you know! The association is already drawn
up.”
And, retiring as it were into himself, again the man in
the red cloak led the way down the steps, with a careless
and shambling gait, which was the perfection of awkwardness.
St. John gazed after him with thoughtful eyes, and asked
himself if this man really could be the thunderbolt of oratory,
the genius of the rising storm.
The voice of the stranger recalled him to himself.
“I see what you are thinking of, friend,” he said, in his
habitual tone of calmness; “you doubt whether this man is
equal to the work assigned to him; you question the sublimity
of that strength I have claimed for him. Well let us
not further discuss the matter. Let us wait, and perhaps we
shall hear his voice. Let us follow the current of events,
and see their course. Virginia is every moment now making
history!”
The stranger then descended the steps, followed by St.
John, and they both disappeared in the crowd.
There were two personages present at these stormy
scenes whom neither the young man nor the stranger had
noticed.
The first was a child who, mounted upon the pedestal of
Lord Botetourt's statue, with one white arm clasped round
that worthy nobleman's knee, had followed, with flushed
cheeks and fearful eyes, the details of the tumult.
She was clad in a little pink dress, with scarlet silk stockings,
which ended in rosetted shoes, and one of these shoes
was firmly planted on the pedestal of the statue. The child
kneeled with the other knee on the shoulder of a youthful
cavalier, on whose curly head she rested her left hand for
further security, and the boy seemed to be proud of his
burden.
As the stranger and St. John disappeared, the girl slid
down from the statue, was caught gallantly in the arms of
her escort, and they wandered away—the boy's arm round
the neck of the child, and her own resting innocently on his
shoulder.
As they were lost in the crowd the girl said,
“Oh me, Paul! did n't it scare you?”
“No!” replied Paul; “no, Blossom! You see, you are
a girl; I am a man, and I want to fight!”
He did so, in the Revolution.
