"Oh, tiger's heart, wrapt in a woman's hide."
_Henry VI._
Brightly shone the sun through the window of the Garter Inn, at which
Virginia Temple sat on the morning after the ball at Sir William
Berkeley's palace. Freed from the restraints of society, she gave her
caged thoughts their freedom, and they flew with delight to Hansford.
She reproved herself for the appearance of gaiety which she had assumed,
while he was in so much danger; and she inwardly resolved that, not even
to please her mother, would she be guilty again of such hypocrisy. She
felt that she owed it to Hansford, to herself, and to others, to act
thus. To Hansford, because his long and passionate love, and his
unstained name, deserved a sacrifice of the world and its joys to him.
To herself, because sad as were her reflections on the past, and fearful
as were her apprehensions for the future, there was still a melancholy
pleasure in dwelling on the memory of her love--far sweeter to her
wounded heart than all the giddy gaiety of the world around her. And to
others, because, but for her assumed cheerfulness, the feelings of
Alfred Bernard, her generous and gifted friend, would have been spared
the sore trial to which they had been subjected the night before. She
was determined that another noble soul should not make shipwreck of its
happiness, by anchoring its hopes on her own broken heart.
Such were her thoughts, as she leaned her head upon her hand and gazed
out of the window at the throng of people who were hurrying toward the
state-house. For this was to be a great day in legislation. The Indian
Bill was to be up in committee, and the discussion would be an able
one, in which the most prominent members of the Assembly were to take
part. She had seen the Governor's carriage, with its gold and trappings,
the Berkeley coat-of-arms, and its six richly caparisoned white horses,
roll splendidly by, with an escort of guards, by which Sir William was
on public occasions always attended. She had seen the Burgesses, with
their reports, their petitions and their bills, some conversing
carelessly and merrily as they passed, and others with thoughtful
countenance bent upon the ground, cogitating on some favourite scheme
for extricating the colony from its dangers. She had seen Alfred Bernard
pass on his favourite horse, and he had turned his eyes to the window
and gracefully saluted her; but in that brief moment she saw that the
scenes through which he had passed the night before were still in his
memory, and had made a deep impression on his heart. On the plea of a
sick head-ache, she had declined to go with her mother to the "House,"
and the good old lady had gone alone with her husband, deploring, as she
went, the little interest which the young people of the present day took
in the politics and prosperity of their country.
While thus silently absorbed in her own thoughts, the attention of
Virginia Temple was arrested by the door of her room being opened, and
on looking up, she saw before her the tall figure of a strange, wild
looking woman, whom she had never seen before. This woman, despite the
warmth of the weather, was wrapped in a coarse red shawl, which gave a
striking and picturesque effect to her singular appearance. Her features
were prominent and regular, and the face might have been considered
handsome if it were not for the exceeding coarseness of her swarthy
skin. Her jet-black hair, not even confined by a comb, was secured by a
black riband behind, and passing over the right shoulder, fell in a
heavy mass over her bosom. Her figure was tall and straight as an
Indian's, and her bare brawny arms, which escaped from under her shawl,
gave indications of great physical strength; while there was that in the
expression of her fierce black eye, and her finely formed mouth, which
showed that there was no mere woman's heart in that masculine form.
The wild appearance and attire of the woman inspired Virginia with
terror at first, but she suppressed the scream which rose to her lips,
and in an agitated voice, she asked,
"What would you have with me, madam?"
"What are you frightened at, girl," said the woman in a shrill, coarse
voice, "don't you see that I am a woman?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Virginia, trembling, "I am not frightened, ma'am."
"You are frightened--I see you are," returned her strange guest.--"But
if you fear, you are not worthy to be the wife of a brave man--come,
deny nothing--I can read you like a book--and easier, for it is but
little that I know from books, except my Bible."
"Are you a gipsey, ma'am?" said Virginia, softly, for she had heard her
father speak of that singular race of vagrants, and the person and
language of the stranger corresponded with the idea which she had formed
of them.
"A gipsey! no, I am a Virginian--and a brave man's wife, as you would
be--but that prejudice and fear keep you still in Egyptian bondage. The
time has come for woman to act her part in the world--and for you,
Virginia Temple, to act yours."
"But what would you have me to do?" asked Virginia, surprised at the
knowledge which the stranger seemed to possess of her history.
"Do!" shrieked the woman, "your duty--that which every human creature,
man or woman, is bound before high heaven to do. Aid in the great work
which God this day calls upon his Israel to do--to redeem his people
from captivity and from the hand of those who smite us."
"My good woman," said Virginia, who now began to understand the
character of the strange intruder, "it is not for me, may I add, it is
not for our sex to mingle in contests like the present. We can but
humbly pray that He who controls the affairs of this world, may direct
in virtue and in wisdom, the hearts of both rulers and people."
"And why should we only pray," said the woman sternly, "when did Heaven
ever answer prayer, except when our own actions carried the prayer into
effect. Have you not learned, have you not known, hath it not been told
you from the foundation of the world, that faith without works was
dead."
"But there is no part which a woman can consistently take in such a
contest as the present, even should she so far forget her true duties as
to wish to engage in it."
"Girl, have you read your bible, or are you one of those children of the
scarlet woman of Babylon, to whom the word of God is a closed book--to
whom the waters from the fountain of truth can only come through the
polluted lips of priests--as unclean birds feed their offspring. Do you
not know that it was a woman, even Rahab, who saved the spies sent out
from Shittem to view the land of promise? Do you not know that Miriam
joined with the hosts of Israel in the triumph of their deliverance from
the hand of Pharaoh? Do you not know that Deborah, the wife of Lapidoth,
judged Israel, and delivered Jacob from the hands of Jabin, king of
Canaan, and Sisera the captain of his host--and did not Jael, the wife
of Heber the Kenite, rescue Israel from the hands of Sisera? Surely she
fastened the nail in a sure place, and the wife of Sisera, tarried long
ere his chariot should come--and shall we in these latter days of Israel
be less bold than they? Tell me not of prayers, Virginia Temple, cowards
alone pray blindly for assistance. It is the will of God that the brave
should be often under Heaven, the answerers of their own prayers."
"And pray tell me," said Virginia, struck with the wild, biblical
eloquence of the Puritan woman, "why you have thus come to me among so
many of the damsels of Virginia, to urge me to engage in this
enterprise."
"Because I was sent. Because one of the captains of our host has sought
the hand of Virginia Temple. Ah, blush, maiden, for the blush of shame
well becomes one who has deserted her lover, because he has laid aside
every weight, and pressed forward to the prize of his high calling. Yet
a little while, and the brave men of Virginia will be here to show the
malignant Berkeley, that the servant is not greater than his lord--that
they who reared up this temple of his authority, can rase it to the
ground and bury him in its ruins. I come from Thomas Hansford, to ask
that you will under my guidance meet him where I shall appoint
to-night."
"This is most strange conduct on his part," said Virginia, flushing with
indignation, "nor will I believe him guilty of it. Why did he entrust a
message like this to you instead of writing?"
"A warrior writes with his sword and in blood," replied the woman.
"Think you that they who wander in the wilderness, are provided with pen
or ink to write soft words of love to silly maidens? But he foresaw that
you would refuse, and he gave me a token--I fear a couplet from a carnal
song."
"What is it?" cried Virginia, anxiously.
"'I had not loved thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more,'"
said the woman, in a low voice. "Thus the words run in my memory."
"And it is indeed a true token," said Virginia, "but once for all, I
cannot consent to this singular request."
"Decide not in haste, lest you repent at leisure," returned the woman,
"I will come to-night at ten o'clock to receive your final answer. And
regret not, Virginia Temple, that your fate is thus linked with a brave
man. The babe unborn will yet bless the rising in this country--and
children shall rise up and call us blest.[36] And, oh! as you would
prove worthy of him who loves you, abide not thou like Reuben among the
sheep-folds to hear the bleating of the flocks, and you will yet live to
rejoice that you have turned a willing ear to the words and the counsel
of Sarah Drummond."
There was a pause of some moments, during which Virginia was wrapt in
her own reflections concerning the singular message of Hansford,
rendered even more singular by the character and appearance of the
messenger. Suddenly she was startled from her reverie by the blast of a
trumpet, and the distant trampling of horses' hoofs. Sarah Drummond also
started at the sound, but not from the same cause, for she heard in that
sound the blast of defiance--the trumpet of freedom, as its champions
advanced to the charge.
"They come, they come," she said, in her wild, shrill voice; "my Lord,
my Lord, the chariots of Israel and the horsemen thereof--I go, like
Miriam of old, to prophecy in their cause, and to swell their triumph.
Farewell. Remember, at ten o'clock to-night I return for your final
answer."
With these words she burst from the room, and Virginia soon seen her
tall form, with hasty strides, moving toward the place from which the
sound proceeded.
FOOTNOTES:
[36] This was her very language during the rebellion.