It was the hour of midnight; the softened rays of a shaded lamp threw a
flickering and uncertain light upon the paraphernalia of the sick
chamber, as our hero sat a solitary watcher at the side of the wounded
Cavalier. The long and apparently profound sleep into which the invalid
had fallen, completely deceived the females of the family, so that they
were more easily persuaded by Nathaniel to leave the charge, during the
first half of the night, to his sole care. He had for a long time sat a
sad and silent beholder of the unconscious sleeper, watching with
breathless eagerness every change of muscle, as some sharp and inward
pain vibrated in horrible contortions upon the countenance of the
wounded Cavalier. In one of these he started suddenly up in the bed, his
eyes glaring wildly upon his unrecognised attendant in utter amazement.
First looking into his face and then to the bandages around his own
person, he fell back on his couch--a grim and frightful smile of
remembrance and recognition playing for a moment upon his features, as
he placed his cold hand within that of Bacon, which had been softly laid
upon his breast to soothe his startled perceptions.
"Nathaniel," said he, his voice already hollow and thrilling, "My hour
is come! It is useless to disguise it. I feel and know it to be so,
whatever the surgeon may pretend. You need not place your finger upon
your lip; I owe to you a duty which I must perform while yet I may. You
have often importuned me, and sometimes impatiently, which I did not
enough, perhaps, consider to be natural to your situation, but you must
forgive me--you have often importuned me upon the subject of your
origin. If I had possessed any full or satisfactory knowledge on the
subject, you may be sure I would not long have detained it from you.
Indeed, I was little less anxious than yourself to place you upon an
equal footing in every respect with your associates." Here a smile of
inward satisfaction beamed upon his auditor's countenance, unobserved,
however, by the speaker, as he continued: "There were some reasons too,
connected with the history of my own family, which prevented me from
divulging what little I did know of your's. If I have erred, for this
too you must forgive me. The wrong shall now be repaired. You have now
been a member of my household for fifteen or sixteen years.
"One cold and rainy day our sympathies were excited, by seeing an
athletic young Irishman in the street, near our door, carrying upon his
back a well dressed boy, apparently six or seven years of age. The child
was crying most piteously with cold and hunger. We called in the
Irishman, and after furnishing him and his little charge with food,
inquired whose child it was, and whither he was taking it. He answered,
in his own expressive language, that he did not know to whom the child
belonged, nor whither he was taking it. That it had been a fellow
passenger with him across the ocean, until they were shipwrecked at the
mouth of the river, outside of the Capes. That a woman who had two boys
near the same age, either of her own, or under her protection, he did
not know which, had most earnestly prayed him to take one of them upon
his back, as he was preparing to swim to the beach. He did so, and
succeeded in landing with his charge in perfect safety. What became of
the woman and the other child he never knew, as shortly after the waves
broke over the vessel, and she went to pieces. Many of the passengers
and crew, however, had been saved and were scattered about through the
neighbouring plantations, driven to seek employment by the urgency of
their immediate wants. Whether the woman and the child were among the
number he could not learn, as those who were saved had necessarily
landed at distant points upon the shore. He brought the child to
Jamestown in hopes that it would be recognised, and if not, that some
humane person would take charge of it. His hopes had thus far proved
fruitless, as to the first expectation, but we undertook cheerfully the
latter task, and likewise gave employment to the kind-hearted Hibernian.
I caused it to be made as generally known through the Colony, as our
limited means of communication would permit, that such a child was in
our possession, particularly describing his person and clothes, but all
in vain. I also caused search to be made for the woman with the other
child, through the southern plantations, but no tidings of them were
ever heard, and we naturally concluded that they had gone down with the
vessel.
"Some months after the little stranger had been thus domiciliated among
us, I one day received an anonymous letter, which stated that the writer
knew who were the parents of the child, but for important reasons of a
political nature, he could not then divulge their names or history. He
stated so many circumstances connected with the shipwreck, and described
so exactly the child, that we were compelled to believe him. This letter
was followed by others at various intervals, from that time to the
present, often enclosing drafts for large sums to be drawn for in
England, for the benefit of the child. I need scarcely tell you that the
child was yourself--and your preserver, Brian O'Reily. The name by which
you are called is the nearest that we could come to that by which, both
yourself and Brian stated, you were known on board the vessel. The money
enclosed for your benefit, has been suffered to accumulate until the
late purchase of the plantation at the falls, of which you are now in
possession. Around your neck, at the time of your arrival, was a small
trinket, enclosing the hair of two individuals, curiously interwoven,
and on its outside were some initials corresponding with your own name,
and the date of a marriage. This, together with the letters I have
mentioned, you will find in the left hand drawer of the secretary which
stands in the corner of my library. After opening the outside door, you
will perceive the key hanging beside the drawer. These letters were
never shown, nor the contents mentioned to my wife, for a reason which I
am now about to explain to you, if my strength will permit, and which
will also unfold to you the cause of my reluctance to communicate with
you on this subject.
"When I first saw Emily in England, she was a young and beautiful widow.
Early in life a mutual attachment was formed between her and the son of
a neighbouring gentleman, in rather more humble circumstances than the
father of my Emily. In consequence of this disparity in the fortunes and
standing of the two families, their attachment was kept a profound
secret between themselves, until the youth having joined the army of the
Commonwealth, they eloped. This was their last and only resort, because
her father was as determined a Loyalist as his was indefatigable in the
cause of the Independents and Roundheads. For two whole years she
followed the perilous fortunes of her husband, now become a
distinguished officer, during which time she gave birth to a son. For a
season she resided with her infant at a retired farm-house, in a distant
part of the country from the scene of strife; but her husband becoming
impatient of her absence, directed her to procure a nurse for her boy
and again partake of his hazardous fortunes. Her child was accordingly
left in the charge of the nurse, and she set out to join her husband. On
the eve of meeting him, as she supposed, she was met by the news of a
desperate engagement, in which the party opposed to her husband had been
victorious, and very shortly afterward, she was herself, with her
attendants, overtaken in the highway, and captured by a party commanded
by one of her own brothers. He immediately sent her under a strong
escort to her father's house, not however before she had time to learn
from some of the prisoners taken in the engagement, the heart-rending
news of the death of her husband. She gained these sad tidings from one
of his comrades, who saw him receive the wound and fall at his side.
"She found her father so exasperated against her that she dared not even
mention to him or her brothers the existence of her child, lest they
should take some desperate means to separate them for ever. For a time,
therefore, she contented herself with such clandestine communications
with her nurse as the perilous nature of the times permitted. At length,
the sum of her afflictions was consummated by the death of her infant,
the account of which was brought to her by the nurse in person.
"When I first saw her, these many and severe misfortunes had been
somewhat softened down in the lapse of years. She was still a melancholy
being, however, but I belonging to her father's party, and being of a
gay and volatile turn of mind, and much pleased with her beauty and
amiable temperament, offered to bring her out to America as my wife,
whither the success of the Protector's arms was then driving so many of
the Nobles and Cavaliers of England, and where I already had a sister
married to the then late, and now present Governor of Virginia. After
candidly stating all the foregoing circumstances, she agreed to accept
my hand. And we were accordingly married and sailed for the Capes of
Virginia. You will perceive, upon a perusal of the anonymous letters,
that the writer displays a most intimate knowledge of all the foregoing
particulars of our family history. The design, as you will doubtless
perceive, was to operate upon our superstitious feelings, by this
mysterious display of knowledge, in matters so carefully guarded from
the world. This was not at all necessary, because we had already
adopted, and treated you as one of our own family. Nevertheless he
partially succeeded with me. I confess to you that it has always
appeared to me one of the strangest circumstances that ever came under
my knowledge, that any living person should be acquainted with the facts
contained in those letters. I have made the most strenuous and unceasing
efforts to discover their author, by means of the European drafts, but
all to no purpose. You will now readily comprehend the reason, why I did
not communicate with Emily on this subject. It would only have been
opening old wounds afresh, and would probably have excited her more
sensitive feelings to a painful state of anxiety and, suspense. The same
reasons which influenced my conduct in this respect, will doubtless
operate upon your own judgment when I am gone. In the same drawer is a
will, by which you will perceive, when it is properly authenticated,
that I have left to you, in conjunction with others, the most sacred of
all human trusts. You will find yourself associated in the management of
my affairs, with persons whom I knew at the time to be uncongenial with
you in your general feelings, but upon this one subject you will all be
influenced by one desire. Governor Berkley and Mr. Harrison will never
thwart you in the active management, which I have left principally in
trust to you.
"I have now rapidly sketched what you will better understand from the
papers themselves, and I have finished none too soon, as I am admonished
by the return of these cutting pains."
After another agonizing paroxysm, he fell again into one of those
death-like slumbers, which often fill up the intervals of suffering
after a mortal wound.
When Bacon perceived that he slept profoundly, he at once gave way to
the restless anxiety to see the papers, by which he was consumed.
Eagerly, but softly, he sought the library, opened the doors of the high
old fashioned black walnut secretary, with its Lion's claws for feet,
and his grisly beard and shining teeth, conspicuous from every brass
ornament with which it was adorned.[4]
[Footnote 4: Some idea of the rude state of the mechanic arts of the
period may be formed by those who have seen the antiquated chair, in
which the speaker of the Virginia house of delegates sits to this day.
There are many specimens too of ancient furniture still preserved in the
older Counties of Virginia.]
He returned to his post and opened the package of papers with a
trembling anxiety, and intense interest, similar to what one might be
supposed to feel who was about to unseal the book of fate.
He had no sooner cast his eye upon the handwriting, than the package
fell from his grasp in the most evident disappointment. Until this
moment he had indulged a vague undefined hope that from a single glance
at the characters, he should at once possess a clue to unravel the whole
mystery. His mind had instantly settled upon one peculiar and remarkable
individual in the Colony, as the only one likely to possess such
knowledge, and from the interest which that person had always manifested
in his fate, he had almost persuaded himself that he would prove to be
the writer. With his handwriting and the peculiarly dignified and
stately character of his language, he had long been familiar. The first
few lines over which his eye glanced rapidly and eagerly, convinced him
of his error; neither the characters nor the language were his.
Nevertheless they possessed sufficient interest, after the momentary
disappointment had passed away, to induce him to grasp them again and
once more commence their perusal. In this occupation he was soon so
completely absorbed as to be unconscious of the time which elapsed, the
situation and circumstances in which he was placed as regarded himself,
as well as the wounded Cavalier, who lay in the same apartment. In
unfolding one of the papers he came upon the gold trinket mentioned by
his benefactor. Here again was a new subject of intense interest.
"This," said he to himself, "was worn by my mother and was placed around
my neck at our last parting." Here was a fragment of her tresses
precisely similar in character and colour to his own, interwoven with
the darker shades of those of his father. Here too was the date of their
marriage and the initials of their names agreeing sufficiently well with
his own supposed age. These were all subjects of earnest contemplation
to the excited imagination of a youth rendered morbidly sensitive on the
subject of his birth and parentage, by many painful occurrences with his
aristocratic young associates, and still more by recent developments
with the idol of his affections. The trinket was laid down and the
manuscript resumed, of whose contents as much as is important to our
narrative has already been communicated to the reader. The characters in
which it was written, were successively compared in his mind to those of
every person in the Colony who handled the pen. In that day it was not
hard to remember who they were from their great number, chirography
having been an art with which the Cavaliers were less familiar than with
the use of the small and broad sword. Not a scribe in the country wrote
in characters similar to the one he held in his hand, so far as he could
recollect. He thought they resembled those of Governor Berkley more than
of any other, yet that sturdy old knight had invariably frowned so much
on his attempts to assume the place and standing in society to which his
education and intelligence entitled him, that he could not believe him
concerned in benefiting him, even as an agent.
The Recluse was the only individual upon whom his mind could rest as the
probable author, notwithstanding the variance of the writing. Yet
against this conclusion there were many powerful arguments. The first
that suggested itself to his mind was the money. Could he command such
large sums? And if he could, was it possible with his known habits and
peculiarities, not to mention his occasional aberration, to arrange
complicated pecuniary affairs in Europe? Then again, if he was the
writer, why were these communications continued after he had himself
arrived at years of discretion? Every reason seemed to favour the idea
that he himself would have been chosen as the depository of these
communications, had the Recluse been the man, especially when he
reflected that he was at that very time possessed of more of his
confidence than any other person in the Colony. The papers were perused
and re-perused, and the locket turned over and over listlessly in his
fingers, while a shade of deep sadness and disappointment settled upon
his countenance.
From this unpleasing revery he was suddenly aroused by the groans of the
wounded sufferer, who now awoke in the greatest agony. When Bacon came
to his bed-side a melancholy change was visible in his countenance. He
was making his last struggle with the grim monster. He was however
enabled to express a desire that his family should be called, but when
they arrived, he could not give utterance to his ideas. He took first
the hand of his wife, and next that of his daughter, and successively
resigned them into those of his young executor. This, under the existing
circumstances of the moment, attracted no particular attention, but was
the subject of many an after-thought and remark. A few convulsive
struggles followed, and then the generous and noble spirit of the
Cavalier deserted its prison house.
We will not attempt to describe the heart-rending scene which ensued.
Suffice it to say, that after a decent and respectful delay, (far more
than is allowed in our day,) the much loved and much lamented Mr.
Fairfax was borne to the grave, amidst the lamentations and regrets of
the whole assembled gentry of the Colony. The long line of mournful
pageantry moved in slow and melancholy steps to the sound of a solemn
dirge through the streets of the ancient city, and after the usual sad,
but appropriate rites of the established church, the corpse was
deposited in the burying ground, which to this day preserves the
crumbling ruins of many monuments of the ancient Cavaliers.