Violent was the struggle of contending emotions within the bosom of
Virginia Fairfax, when she had gained her own apartment, and strove to
form her determination in the matter proposed by Nathaniel Bacon. On
such occasions feeling usurps the place of reason, and the longer we
deliberate, the more perplexing seem to grow our doubts and
difficulties. If, however, there were powerful feelings contending
against the enterprise, there were equally if not more powerful ones
operating in its favour. Not the least among these was the estimation in
which she held both him who proposed the nocturnal expedition and him
whose advice and aid were expected to be gained. Bacon himself, it was
generally believed, had acquired most of his knowledge of books from the
mysterious personage alluded to, and he in his turn had been the
instructer of his fair young associate and playmate. It is true that
these relations of the several parties had somewhat changed of late
years, as the two younger ones approached the age at which their
continuance might be deemed improper, to say nothing of any little
misgivings of which, they might themselves be conscious, as to the
nature of many strange and novel impressions, the growth of years and
intimacy, perhaps, but not suspected until with advancing years came
change of relative situation and prospect for the future.
All the various relations of our heroine to the other parties presented
themselves in successive aspects to her view, as she endeavoured
honestly to decide the matter according to the dictates of duty. While
she was thus deliberating, the usual evening meal was announced. As she
entered the apartment, and beheld her father and mother waiting for her
to assume the head of the table, which on account of the latter's
delicate health had been her custom of late, all the contending emotions
which had so lately occupied her mind were renewed with increasing force
by the sight of the beloved objects in whose behalf she was solicited to
undertake the strange adventure.
Gideon Fairfax, the father of Virginia, was one of the Cavaliers, before
alluded to, who fled to Jamestown during the interregnum. He was
brother-in-law to the Governor of the colony, and was, at the time of
which we write, a member of the council. He was one of that remarkable
race of men which has so powerfully influenced the destinies of the
Ancient Dominion from that day to the present. He was rather above the
medium height, with light hair and eyes, and although he had
considerably passed the prime of life, there was a sparkling of boyish
vivacity in his eyes, and a cheerful expression always hovering about
his mouth, which instantly dispelled any thing like formality in his
intercourse with others. Yet withal there was a bold, reckless daring
in his look, together with an open-hearted sincerity which served to
give a manly dignity to the lighter expressions already mentioned. To
his only daughter he was most devotedly attached.
Mrs. Emily Fairfax seemed about the same age as her husband, and though
she still preserved some evidence of former beauty, her countenance was
now mostly indebted for any charm that it possessed to a mild, lady-like
and placid serenity, which was occasionally shadowed by an air of
melancholy so profound, that more than once her friends were alarmed for
her reason. As Virginia assumed her place at the board, the conflict in
her mind was in nowise subdued by observing that one of these melancholy
visitations was just settling upon her mother's countenance; indeed
there seemed to be a mutual discovery on the part of mother and
daughter, that each had some secret cause of uneasiness; but the effect
was by far the most painful to the mother's heart, as it was the first
time that she had ever seen her daughter's gay and happy temperament
seriously disturbed. The parting hour for the night arrived, without
making either of them wiser as to the cause of the other's
pre-occupation and evident anxiety; the mother having sought an
explanation in vain, and the daughter being too much accustomed to her
present state of mind to intrude farther upon her sorrows, whatever
might be their cause or nature. Bacon's arguments prevailed, and long
before the hour appointed, Virginia was sitting at the window, her light
extinguished, mantle drawn close around her to exclude the damp air from
the river, and her hat tied on in readiness for the expedition.
At length the town clock began to send its slow and solemn sounds across
the water. The house was still and dark, and the inmates apparently
wrapped in profound slumber. Her own clandestine movements, so new to
her, seemed like the trampling of armed heels rather than the footfalls
of her own slight figure. More than once she was on the point of
retracing her steps, so tumultuous and painful were her emotions in
prosecuting an adventure which still appeared to her of such
questionable propriety. The servants' hall, garden, and postern gate
were all passed without the slightest interruption, save an occasional
start at her own shadow, or the impetuous beating of her agitated heart.
The moon was at her zenith, and the clouds coursing high in the heavens,
so as every now and then to obscure her reflected beams, and present
alternate and fantastic contrasts of light and shade upon the
surrounding objects. The river for one moment looked like a dark abyss,
and the next a mirror of light as the silver rays fell sparkling upon
the rippling waters beneath the bridge. The interminable forest beyond
was at one moment dark as Erebus, and the next as light as fairy land.
There is no appearance of the heavens, perhaps, which produces a
greater tendency in the mind to undefined and superstitious terror than
that which we have attempted to describe. Our own shadow, visible as it
is only for an instant, will startle us; and the ill-omened birds of
night acquire huge and unnatural proportions as they flit swiftly by on
noiseless wings in this rapid alternation of light and gloom. The wolves
and other beasts of prey might be heard at long intervals, as their wild
and savage howls broke upon the ear, reverberating from cliff to cliff
as they fell upon and were borne across the water. Under these
circumstances it may be readily imagined that our heroine was not a
little relieved at the sight of Bacon leaning against the nearest
abutment of the bridge, anxiously watching for her approach. In a few
moments he had seated his companion in the boat, upon a cushion formed
of his cloak, and was rapidly approaching the opposite shore. When they
arrived at the appointed rendezvous, a very unexpected source of
uneasiness was speedily discovered. As has been already intimated, Bacon
had early in the evening despatched his usual attendant, Brian O'Reily,
across the bridge to wait their arrival. The horses were indeed
there--and O'Reily was there, but so intoxicated as to be apparently in
no condition to guide the motions of a horse, even should he be able to
keep the saddle. Bacon lost all patience at this discovery, and would
perhaps have taken summary and not very agreeable means to sober his
attendant, had he not been reminded by his gentle companion of the
peculiar and privileged position which Brian had from time immemorial
enjoyed in his service, as well as that of their own family. "How comes
it, sir," said the young man, "that I find you in this predicament when
I gave you such strict injunctions to keep yourself sober? Now of all
other times!--when I had taken so much trouble to instruct you whom you
were to guard, and upon what expedition?"
"By the five crasses, but you've hit the very nail upon the head. By the
contints of the book but that's the very rason I took a dhrop of the
crathur!"
"What is the reason, you drunken old fool?"
"The business were an to be sure! you wouldn't be after axing a sinner
like Brian O'Reily to ixpose himself to sich a temptation widout taking
a dhrop, and may be your haner would do that same for all your spaking
aginst it so intirely."
"And what may the nature of the temptation be of which you speak?"
"And is it Brian you're after axin? O begorra, but that's runnin away
wid the story intirely, so it is; sure it's me should be axin your haner
after that same!"
"None of your subterfuges, sir! I am determined to know your ideas of
this dreadful temptation."
"By my purty an is it Brian's idaas you're axin after, divil a miny o'
them he's got any way, barrin a small bit of a smotherin about the
heart whenever I think of the business we're on, and the gintleman
we're goin to see, savin your prisence and the beauty o' the world by
your side."
"What gentleman--speak out and I will forgive your drunkenness, provided
you give me up that bottle I see peeping from the pouch of your jerkin."
"An is'nt it the man widout the shadow you're after making a tay party
wid?"
"And who is the man without a shadow, Brian?" inquired Virginia, willing
to forget her own misgivings in the more ludicrous superstition of the
son of the Emerald Isle, whose countrymen, it may be remarked, formed no
inconsiderable part of the inferior population of the city at that day.
"Oh bad cess to me, but I'm as glad to see you as two tin pinnies, you
beauty o' the world; but it bates all the love I had for you and ever
had these ten years past to see where you'r going."
"Well, where is it, Brian?"
"Hav'nt I tould your ladyship it was to a tay party wid the inimy
himself."
"Come, see if you can assist Virginia to the pillion," said Bacon, as he
sprang into the saddle.
"By my purty and I'll do that same;" kneeling upon one knee and taking
one foot in his hand, and then seating her as easily and gracefully as
if he had been a stranger to the bottle for a month.
"I had no idea that you were such a coward, Brian," continued his
master.
"Sorra a dhrop o' coward's blood runs in Brian O'Reily's heart, iny way.
It's one thing to trate the grate inimy with dacent respect, and its
another to fight the yellow nagres that go dodgin from tree to tree like
so many frogs; the devil fly away wid the one and the t'other o' them
for me, I say."
"And who is the great enemy?"
"Sure hav'nt I tould your haner and the beauty o' the world by your
side, it was the man widout a shadow what lives in the stone house
widout windows, as well he may, seein the light o' his own counthenance
may be seen across the river the darkest night any day."
"Sit your horse straight, you drunken piece of stupidity, or you will
break your neck."
"Oh! an if Brian never breaks his neck till he falls from a horse, sure
he'll live to take many a dhrop of the crathur yet before he dies. Sure
I was only crassin myself, divil a word o' lie's in that, iny way."
"There, I have broken one of your necks at least," said Bacon, as with
the butt of his riding whip he struck the neck from a bottle which every
now and then peeped from Brian's pocket as the motions of the horse
raised him in the saddle.
"Oh! murther all out, but you'll come to want yet before you die. Oh
sure, but the crathur's safe after all. Wo, ye divil of a baste, don't
you hear the crathur all runnin down the wrang side o' me. Wo, I say! Oh
but the bottle sticks as tight to the pouch as if it growed there. Oh
murther all out, I'm ruined, I'm ruined intirely."
"Draw your arm from your jerken, Brian, and then you can drink out of
your pocket," said Virginia, suppressing a laugh.
"Oh you beauty o' the world, see what it is to have the larnin," replied
the Irishman, immediately adopting the expedient; but here a new
difficulty presented itself. "Oh murther, but the gable end's all
knocked off and fax the chimney went along with it. Oh, but the crokery
sticks up all round like pike staffs. Wo you murthur'n baste; Now I've
got it, now I've got it, you beauty; sorra one of the lane cows at
Jamestown gives sich milk as that, fax if they did, I'd be head dairyman
to the Governor any way."
Thus our adventurers beguiled the way through a dreary and trackless
forest of some miles, until they approached a spot where Bacon signified
to the party that they had accomplished so much of their journey as was
to be performed on horseback. What farther befell them will be described
in the ensuing chapter.