"'We try this quarrel hilt to hilt.'
Then each at once his falchion drew,
Each on the ground his scabbard threw,
Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain,
As what they ne'er might see again;
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed,
In dubious strife they darkly closed."
_Lady of the Lake._
It is a happy thing for human nature that the cares, and vexations, and
fears, of this weary life, are at least excluded from the magic world of
sleep. Exhausted nature will seek a respite from her trials in
forgetfulness, and steeped in the sacred stream of Lethe, like the young
Achilles, she becomes invulnerable. It is but seldom that care dares
intrude upon this quiet realm, and though it may be truly said that
sleep "swift on her downy pinions flies from woe," yet, when at last it
does alight on the lid sullied by a tear, it rests as quietly as
elsewhere. We have scarcely ever read of an instance where the last
night of a convict was not passed in tranquil slumber, as though Sleep,
the sweet sister of the dread Terror, soothed more tenderly, in this
last hour, the victim of her gloomy brother's dart.
Thomas Hansford, for with him our story remains, slept as calmly on this
night as though a long life of happiness and fame stretched out before
his eyes. 'Tis true, that ere he went to bed, as he unbelted his trusty
sword, he looked at its well-tempered steel with a confident eye, and
thought of the morrow. But so fully imbued were the youth of that iron
age with the true spirit of chivalry, that life was but little regarded
where honour was concerned, and the precarious tenure by which life was
held, made it less prized by those who felt that they might be called on
any day to surrender it. Hansford, therefore, slept soundly, and the
first red streaks of the morning twilight were smiling through his
window when he awoke. He rose, and dressing himself hastily, he repaired
to the study, where he wrote a few hasty lines to his mother and to
Virginia--the first to assure her of his filial love, and to pray her
forgiveness for thus sacrificing life for honour; and the second
breathing the warm ardour of his heart for her who, during his brief
career, had lightened the cares and shared the joys which fortune had
strewn in his path. As he folded these two letters and placed them in
his pocket, he could not help drawing a deep sigh, to think of these two
beings whose fate was so intimately entwined with his own, and whose
thread of life would be weakened when his had been severed. Repelling
such a thought as unworthy a brave man engaged in an honourable cause,
he buckled on his sword and repaired with a firm step to the place of
meeting. Alfred Bernard, true to his word, was there.
And now the sun was just rising above the green forest, to the eastward.
The hands, as by a striking metonymy those happy laborers were termed,
who never knew the cares which environ the head, were just going out to
their day's work. Men, women and children, some to plough the corn, and
one a merry teamster, who, with his well attended team, was driving to
the woods for fuel. And in the barn-yard were the sleek milch cows,
smelling fresh with the dewy clover from the meadow, and their hides
smoking with the early dew of morning; and the fowls, that strutted and
clucked, and cackled, in the yard, all breakfasting on the scanty grains
that had fallen from the horse-troughs--all save one inquisitive old
rooster, who, flapping his wings and mounting the fence to crow, eyed
askant the two young men, as though, a knight himself, he guessed their
bloody intent. And the birds, too, those joyous, happy beings, who pass
their life in singing, shook the fresh dew from their pretty wings,
cleared their throats in the bracing air, and like the pious Persian,
pouring forth their hymn of praise to the morning sun, fluttered away to
search for their daily food. All was instinct with happiness and beauty.
All were seeking to preserve the life which God had given but two, and
they stood there, in the bright, dewy morning, to stain the fair robe of
nature with blood. It is a sad thought, that of all the beings who
rejoice in life, he alone, who bears the image of his Maker, should have
wandered from His law.
The men saluted one another coldly as Hansford approached, and Bernard
said, with a firm voice, "You see, sir, I have kept my appointment. I
believe nothing remains but to proceed."
"You must excuse me for again suggesting," said Hansford, "that we wait
a few moments, until these labourers are out of sight. We might be
interrupted."
Bernard silently acquiesced, and the combatants stood at a short
distance apart, each rapt in his own reflections. What those reflections
were may be easily imagined. Both were young men of talent and promise.
The one, the favourite of Sir William Berkeley, saw fame and distinction
awaiting him in the colony. The other, the beloved of the people, second
only to Bacon in their affections, and by that great leader esteemed as
a friend and entrusted as a confidant, had scarce less hope in the
future. The one a stranger, almost unknown in the colony, with little to
care for in the world but self; the other the support of an aged mother,
and the pride of a fair and trusting girl--the strong rock, on whose
protection the grey lichen of age had rested, and around which the green
tendrils of love entwined. Both men of erring hearts, who in a few
moments might be summoned to appear at that dread bar, where all the
secrets of their hearts are known, and all the actions of their lives
are judged. The two combatants were nearly equally matched in the use
of the sword. Bernard's superior skill in fence being fully compensated
by the superior coolness of his adversary.
Just as the last labourer had disappeared, both swords flashed in the
morning sun. The combat was long, and the issue doubtful. Each seemed so
conscious of the skill of the other, that both acted chiefly on the
defensive. But the protracted length of the fight turned to the
advantage of Hansford, who, from his early training and hardy exercise,
was more accustomed to endure fatigue. Bernard became weary of a contest
of such little interest, and at last, forgetting the science in which he
was a complete adept, he made a desperate lunge at the breast of the
young colonist. This thrust Hansford parried with such success, that he
sent the sword of his adversary flying through the air. In attempting to
regain possession of his sword, Bernard's foot slipped, and he fell
prostrate to the ground.
"Now yield you," cried the victor, as he stood above the prostrate form
of his antagonist, "and take back the foul stain which you have placed
upon my name, or, by my troth, you had else better commend yourself to
Heaven."
"I cannot choose but yield," said Bernard, rising slowly from the
ground, while his face was purple with rage and mortification. "But look
ye, sir rebel, if but I had that good sword once more in my hand, I
would prove that I can yet maintain my honour and my life against a
traitor's arm. I take my life at your hands, but God do so to me, and
more also, if the day do not come when you will wish that you had taken
it while it was in your power. The life you give me shall be devoted to
the one purpose of revenge."
"As you please," said Hansford, eyeing him with an expression of bitter
contempt. "Meantime, as you value your life, dedicated to so unworthy an
object, let me hear no more of your insolence."
"Nay, by my soul," cried Bernard, "I will not bear your taunts. Draw and
defend yourself!" At the same time, with an active spring, he regained
possession of his lost sword. But just as they were about to renew the
attack, there appeared upon the scene of action a personage so strange
in appearance, and so wild in dress, that Bernard dropped his weapon in
surprise, and with a vacant stare gazed upon the singular apparition.
The figure was that of a young girl, scarce twenty years of age, whose
dark copper complexion, piercing black eyes, and high cheek bones, all
proclaimed her to belong to that unhappy race which had so long held
undisputed possession of this continent. Her dress was fantastic in the
highest degree. Around her head was a plait of peake, made from those
shells which were used by the Indians at once as their roanoke, or
money, and as their most highly prized ornament of dress. A necklace and
bracelets of the same adorned her neck and arms. A short smock, made of
dressed deer-skin, which reached only to her knees, and was tightly
fitted around the waist with a belt of wampum, but scantily concealed
the swelling of her lovely bosom. Her legs, from the knee to the ancle,
were bare, and her feet were covered with buckskin sandals, ornamented
with beads, such as are yet seen in our western country, as the
handiwork of the remnant of this unhappy race. Such a picturesque
costume well became the graceful form that wore it. Her long, dark hair,
which, amid all these decorations, was her loveliest ornament, fell
unbound over her shoulders in rich profusion. As she approached, with
light and elastic step, towards the combatants, Bernard, as we have
said, dropped his sword in mute astonishment. It is true, that even in
his short residence in Virginia, he had seen Indians at Jamestown, but
they had come with friendly purpose to ask favors of the English. His
impressions were therefore somewhat similar to those of a man who,
having admired the glossy coat, and graceful, athletic form of a tiger
in a menagerie, first sees that fierce animal bounding towards him from
his Indian jungle. The effect upon him, however, was of course but
momentary, and he again raised his sword to renew the attack. But his
opponent, without any desire of engaging again in the contest, turned to
the young girl and said, in a familiar voice, "Well, Mamalis, what
brings you to the hall so early this morning?"
"There is danger there," replied the young girl, solemnly, and in purer
English than Bernard was prepared to hear. "If you would help me, put up
your long knife and follow me."
"What do you mean?" asked Hansford, alarmed by her manner and words.
"Manteo and his braves come to take blood for blood," returned the girl.
"There is no time to lose."
"In God's name, Mr. Bernard," said Hansford, quickly, "come along with
us. This is no time for private quarrel. Our swords are destined for
another use."
"Most willingly," replied Bernard; "our enmity will scarcely cool by
delay. And mark me, young man, Alfred Bernard will never rest until he
avenges the triumph of your sword this morning, or the foul blot which
you have placed upon his name. But let that pass now. Can this
creature's statement be relied on?"
"She is as true as Heaven," whispered Hansford. "Come on, for we have
indeed but little time to lose; at another time I will afford you ample
opportunity to redeem your honour or to avenge yourself. You will not
find my blood cooler by delay." And so the three walked on rapidly
towards the house, the two young men side by side, after having sworn
eternal hostility to one another, but yet willing to forget their
private feud in the more important duties before them.
The reader of the history of this interesting period, will remember
that there were, at this time, many causes of discontent prevailing
among the Indians of Virginia. As has been before remarked, the murder
of a herdsman, Robert Hen by name, and other incidents of a similar
character, were so terribly avenged by the incensed colonists, not only
upon the guilty, but upon friendly tribes, that the discontent of the
Indians was wide spread and nearly universal. Nor did it cease until the
final suppression of the Indian power by Nathaniel Bacon, at the battle
of Bloody Run. This, however, was but the immediate cause of
hostilities, for which there had already been, in the opinion of the
Indians, sufficient provocation. Many obnoxious laws had been passed by
the Assembly, in regard to the savages, that were so galling to their
independence, that the seeds of discord and enmity were already widely
sown. Among these were the laws prohibiting the trade in guns and
ammunition with the Indians; requiring the warriors of the peaceful
tribes to wear badges in order that they might be recognized;
restricting them in their trade to particular marts; and, above all,
providing that the _Werowance_, or chief of a tribe, should hold his
position by the appointment of the Governor, and not by the choice of
his braves. This last provision, which struck at the very independence
of the tribes, was so offensive, that peaceable relations with the
Indians could not long be maintained. Add to this the fact, which for
its inhumanity is scarcely credible, that the English at Monados, now
the island of New York, had, with a view of controlling the monopoly of
the trade in furs and skins, inspired the Indians with a bitter
hostility toward the Virginians, and it will easily be seen that the
magazine of discontent needed but a spark to explode in open hostility.
So much is necessary to be premised in order that the reader may
understand the relations which existed, at this period, between the
colonists and the Indians around them.