"Men, high minded men,
With powers as far above dull brutes endued,
In forest, brake or den,
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude;
Men, who their duties know,
But know their rights, and knowing dare maintain,
These constitute a state."
_Sir William Jones._
And nearer, and nearer, came the sound, and the cloud of dust which
already rose in the street, announced their near approach. And then,
Virginia saw emerging from that cloud a proud figure, mounted on a
splendid grey charger, which pranced and champed his bit, as though
proud of the noble burden which he bore. And well he might be proud, for
that young gallant rider was Nathaniel Bacon, a man who has left his
name upon his country's history, despite the efforts to defame him, as
the very embodiment of the spirit of freedom. And he looked every inch a
hero, as with kingly mien and gallant bearing he rode through that
crowded street, the great centre of attraction to all.
Beside him and around him were those, his friends and his companions,
who had sworn to share his success, or to perish in the attempt.
There was the burley Richard Lawrence, not yet bent under the weight of
his growing years. There was Carver, the bold, intrepid and faithful
Carver, whose fidelity yet lives historically in his rough, home-brewed
answer to the Governor, that "if he served the devil he would be true to
his trust." There too was the young and graceful form of one whose name
has been honoured by history, and cherished by his descendants--whose
rising glory has indeed been eclipsed by others of his name more
successful, but not more worthy of success--nor can that long, pure
cavalier lineage boast a nobler ancestor than the high-souled,
chivalrous, and devoted Giles Bland. There too were Ingram, and
Walklate, and Wilford, and Farloe, and Cheesman, and a host of others,
whom time would fail us to mention, and yet, each one of whom, a pioneer
in freedom's cause, deserves to be freshly remembered. And there too,
and the heart of Virginia Temple beat loud and quick as she beheld him,
was the gallant Hansford, whom she loved so well; and as she gazed upon
his noble figure, now foremost in rebellion, the old love came back
gushing into her heart, and she half forgave his grievous sin, and loved
him as before.
These all passed on, and the well-regulated band of four hundred
foot-soldiers, all armed and disciplined for action, followed on, ready
and anxious to obey their noble leader, even unto death. Among these
were many, who, through their lives had been known as loyalists, who
upheld the councils of the colony in their long resistance to the
usurpation of the Protector, and who hailed the restoration of their
king as a personal triumph to each and all. There too were those who had
admired Cromwell, and sustained his government, and some few grey-headed
veterans who even remembered to have fought under the banner of John
Hampden--Cavaliers and Roundheads, Episcopalians and Dissenters; old
men, who had heretofore passed through life regardless of the forms of
government under which they lived; and young men, whose ardent hearts
burned high with the spirit of liberty--all these discordant elements
had been united in the alembic of freedom, and hand-in-hand, and
heart-in-heart, were preparing for the struggle. And Virginia Temple
thought, as she gazed from the window upon their manly forms, that after
all, rebellion was not confined to the ignoble and the base.
On, on, still on, and now they have reached the gate which is the grand
entrance to the state-house square. The crowd of eager citizens throng
after them, and with the fickle sympathy of the mob unite in loud shouts
of "Long live Bacon, the Champion of Freedom." And now they are drawn up
in bristling column before the hall of the assembly, while the windows
are crowded thick with the pale, anxious faces of the astounded
burgesses. But see! the leaders dismount, and their horses are given in
charge to certain of the soldiers. Conspicuous among them all is
Nathaniel Bacon, from his proud and imperial bearing as he walks with
impatient steps up and down the line, and reads their resolution in the
faces of the men.
"What will he do!" is whispered from the white and agitated lips of the
trembling burgesses.
"This comes of the faithless conduct of Berkeley," says one.
"Yes; I always said that Bacon should have his commission," says
another.
"It is downright murder to deny him the right to save the colony from
the savages," says a third.
"And we must suffer for the offences of a despotic old dotard," said the
first speaker.
"Say you so, masters," cried out old Presley, wedging his huge form
between two of his brethren at the window--and all his loyalty of the
preceding night having oozed out at his fingers' ends, like Bob Acres'
courage, at the first approach of danger--"say you so; then, by God, it
is my advice to let him put out the fire of his own raising."
But see there! Bacon and his staff are conferring together. It will soon
be known what is his determination. It is already read in his fierce and
angry countenance as he draws his sword half way from its scabbard, and
frowns upon the milder councils of Hansford and Bland. Presently a
servant of one of the members comes in with pale, affrighted looks, and
whispers to his master. He has overheard the words of Bacon, which
attended that ominous gesture.
"I will bear a little while. But when you see my sword drawn from my
scabbard, thus, let that be the signal for attack. Then strike for
freedom, for truth, and for justice."
The burgesses look in wild alarm at each other. What is to be done? It
were vain to resist. They are unarmed. The rebels more than quadruple
Governor, Council, and Assembly. Let those suffer who have incurred the
wrath of freemen. Let the lightning fall upon him who has called it
down. For ourselves, let us make peace.
In a moment a white handkerchief suspended on the usher's rod streams
from the window, an emblem of peace, an advocate for mercy, and with one
accordant shout, which rings through the halls of the state-house, the
burgesses declare that he shall have his commission.
Bacon sees the emblem. He hears the shout. His dark eye flashes with
delight as he hails this bloodless victory over the most formidable
department of the government. The executive dare not hold out against
the will of the Assembly. But the victory is not yet consummated.
Suddenly from the lips of the excited soldiery comes a wild cry, and
following the direction of their eyes, he sees Sir William Berkeley
standing at the open window of the Council Chamber. Yes, there stands
the proud old man, with form erect and noble--his face somewhat paler,
and his eagle eye somewhat brighter than usual. But these are the only
signs he gives of emotion, as he looks down upon that hostile crowd,
with a smile of bitter scorn encircling his lip. He quails not, he
blenches not, before that angry foe. His pulse beats calmly and
regularly, for it is under the control of the brave great heart, which
knows no fear. And there he stands, all calm and silent, like a firm-set
rock that defies in its iron strength the fury of the storm that beats
against it.
Yet Berkeley is in danger. He is the object, the sole object, of the
bitter hate of that incensed and indignant soldiery. He has pledged and
he has broken his word to them, and when did broken faith ever fail to
arouse the indignation of Virginians? He has denied them the right to
protect, by organized force, their homes and their firesides from the
midnight attacks of ruthless savages. He has advised the passage of laws
restricting their commerce, and reducing the value of their staples. He
has urged the erection of forts throughout the colony, armed with a
regular soldiery, supported in their idleness by the industry of
Virginians, and whose sole object is to check the kindling flame of
liberty among the people. He has sanctioned and encouraged the exercise
of power by Parliament to tax an unrepresented colony. He has advised
and upheld His Majesty in depriving the original patentees of immense
tracts of land, and lavishing them as princely donations upon fawning
favourites. He has refused to represent to the king the many grievances
of the colony, and to urge their redress, and, although thus showing
himself to be a tyrant over a free people, he has dared to urge, through
his servile commissioners, his appointment as Governor for life.
Such were some of the many causes of discontent among the colonists
which had so inflamed them against Sir William Berkeley. And now, there
he stood before them, calm in spite of their menaces, unrelenting in
spite of their remonstrances. Without a word of command, and with one
accord a hundred fusils were pointed at the breast of the brave old
Governor. It was a moment of intense excitement--of terrible suspense.
But even then his courage and his self-reliance forsook him not. Tearing
open his vest, and presenting himself at the window more fully to their
attack, he cried out in a firm voice:
"Aye, shoot! 'Fore God, a fair mark. Infatuated men, bury your wrongs
here in my heart. I dare you to do your worst!"
"Down with your guns!" shouted Bacon, angrily. But it needed not the
order of their leader to cause them to drop their weapons in an instant.
The calm smile which still played around the countenance of the old
Governor, the unblenching glance of that eagle eye, and the unawed
manner in which he dared them to revenge, all had their effect in
allaying the resentment of the soldiers. And with this came the memory
of the olden time, when he was so beloved by his people, because so just
and gentle. Something of this old feeling now returned, and as they
lowered their weapons a tear glistened in many a hardy soldier's eye.
With the quick perception of true genius, Nathaniel Bacon saw the effect
produced. Well aware of the volatile materials with which he had to
work, he dreaded a revolution in the feelings of the men. Anxious to
smother the smouldering ashes of loyalty before they were fanned into a
flame, he cried with a loud voice,
"Not a hair of your head shall be touched. No, nor of any man's. I come
for justice, not for vengeance. I come to plead for the mercy which
ill-judged and cruel delay has long denied this people. I come to plead
for the living--my argument may be heard from the dead. The voices of
murdered Englishmen call to you from the ground. We demand a right,
guarantied by the sacred and inviolable law of self-preservation! A
right! guarantied by the plighted but violated word of an English knight
and a Virginia Governor. A right! which I now hold by the powerful,
albeit unwritten, sanction of these, the sovereigns of Virginia."
The last artful allusion of Bacon entirely restored the confidence of
his soldiers, and with loud cries they shouted in chorus, "And we will
have it!--we will have it!"
Berkeley listened patiently to this brief address, and then turned from
the window where he was standing, and took his seat at the
council-table. Here, too, he was surrounded by many who, either alarmed
at the menaces of the rebels, and convinced of the futility of resisting
their demands, or, what is more probable, who had a secret sympathy in
the causes of the rebellion, exerted all their influence in mollifying
the wrath and obstinacy of the old Governor. But it was all in vain. To
every argument or persuasion which was urged, his only reply was,
"To have forced from me by rebels the trust confided in me by my king!
To yield to force what I denied to petition! No, Gentlemen; 'fore God,
if the authority of my master's government must be overcome in Virginia,
let me perish with it. I wish no higher destiny than to be a martyr,
like my royal master, Charles the First, to the cause of truth and
justice. Let them rob me of my life when they rob me of my trust."
While thus the councillors were vainly endeavoring to persuade the old
man to yield to the current which had so set against him, he was
surprised by a slight touch on his shoulder, and on looking up he saw
Alfred Bernard standing before him. The young man bent over, and in a
low whisper uttered these significant words:
"The commission, extorted by force, is null and void when the duress is
removed."
Struck by a view so apposite to his condition, and so entirely tallying
with his own wishes, the impetuous old Governor fairly leaped from his
chair and grasped the hand of his young adviser.
"Right, by God!" he said; "right, my son. Gentlemen, this young man's
counsel is worth all of your's. Out of the mouth of babes and
sucklings--however, Alfred, you would not relish a compliment paid at
the expense of your manhood."
"What does the young man propose?" drawled the phlegmatic old Cole, who
was one of the council board.
"That I should yield to the current when I must, and resist it when I
can," cried Berkeley, exultingly. "Loyalty must only bow to the storm,
as the tree bows before the tempest. The most efficient resistance is
apparent concession."
The councillors were astounded. Sprung from that chivalric Anglo-Saxon
race, who respected honour more than life, and felt a stain like a
wound, they could scarcely believe their senses when they thus heard the
Governor of Virginia recommending deceit and simulation to secure his
safety. To them, rebellion was chiefly detestable because it was an
infraction of the oath of loyalty. It could scarcely be more base than
the premeditated perjury which Sir William contemplated. Many an angry
eye and dark scowl was bent on Alfred Bernard, who met them with an easy
and defiant air. The silence that ensued expressed more clearly than
words the disapprobation of the council. At length old Ballard, one of
the most loyal and esteemed members of the council, hazarded an
expression of his views.
"Sir William Berkeley, let me advise you as your counsellor, and warn
you as your friend, to avoid the course prescribed by that young man.
What effect can your bad faith with these misguided persons have, but to
exasperate them?--and when once aroused, and once deceived, be assured
that all attempts at reconciliation will be vain. I speak plainly, but I
do so because not only your own safety, but the peace and prosperity of
the colony are involved in your decision. Were not the broken pledges of
that unhappy Stuart, to whom you have referred, the causes of that
fearful revolution which alienated the affections of his subjects and at
length cost him his life? Charles Stuart has not died in vain, if, by
his death and his sufferings, he has taught his successors in power that
candour, moderation and truth are due from a prince to his people. But,
alas! what oceans of blood must be shed ere man will learn those useful
lessons, which alone can ensure his happiness and secure his authority."
"Zounds, Ballard," said the incensed old ruler, "you have mistaken your
calling. I have not heard so fine a sermon this many a day, and, 'fore
God, if you will only renounce politics, and don gown and cassock, I
will have you installed forthwith in my dismal Hutchinson's living.
But," he added, more seriously, as the smile of bitter derision faded
from his lips, "I well e'en tell you that you have expressed yourself a
matter too freely, and have forgotten what you owe to position and
authority."
"I have forgotten neither, sir," said Ballard, firmly but calmly. "I owe
respect to position, even though I may not have it for the man who holds
that position; and when authority is abused, I owe it alike to myself
and to the people to check it so far as I may."
The flush of passion mounted to the brow of Berkeley, as he listened to
these words; but with a violent effort he checked the angry retort which
rose to his lips, and turning to the rest of the council, he said:
"Well, gentlemen, I will submit the proposition to you. Shall the
commission of General of the forces of Virginia be granted to Nathaniel
Bacon?"
"Nay, Governor," interposed another of the council, "we would know
whether you intend--"
"It is of my actions that you must advise. Leave my motives to me. What
do you advise? Shall the commission be granted?"
"Aye," was responded in turn by each of the councillors at the board,
and at the same moment the heavy tramp of approaching footsteps was
heard, and Bacon, attended by Lawrence, Bland and Hansford, entered the
chamber.
The council remained seated and covered, and preserved the most
imperturbable silence. It was a scene not unlike that of that ancient
senate, who, unable to resist the attack of barbarians, evinced their
pride and bravery by their contemptuous silence. The sun was shining
brightly through the western windows of the chamber, and his glaring
rays, softened and coloured by the rich red curtains of damask, threw a
deeper flush upon the cheeks of the haughty old councillors. With their
eyes fixed upon the intruders, they patiently awaited the result of the
interview. On the other hand, the attitude and behaviour of the rebels
was not less calm and dignified. They had evidently counselled well
before they had determined to intrude thus upon the deliberations of the
council. It was with no angry or impatient outburst of passion, with no
air of triumph, that they came. They knew their rights, and had come to
claim and maintain them.
There were two men there, and they the youngest of that mixed assembly,
who viewed each other with looks of darker hatred than the rest. The
wound inflicted in Hansford's heart at Windsor Hall had not yet been
healed--and with that tendency to injustice so habitual to lovers, with
the proclivity of all men to seek out some one whom they may charge as
the author of their own misfortune, he viewed Bernard with feelings of
distrust and enmity. He felt, too, or rather he feared, that the heart
left vacant by his own exclusion from it, might be filled with this
young rival. Bernard, on the other hand, had even stronger reason of
dislike, and if such motives could operate even upon the noble mind of
Hansford, with how much greater force would they impress the selfish
character of the young jesuit. The recollection of that last scene with
Virginia in the park, of her unwavering devotion to her rebel lover,
and her disregard of his own feelings came upon him now with renewed
force, as he saw that rebel rival stand before him. Even if filial
regard for her father's wishes and a sense of duty to herself would
forever prevent her alliance with Hansford, Alfred Bernard felt that so
long as his rival lived there was an insuperable obstacle to his
acquisition of her estate, an object which he prized even more than her
love. Thus these two young men darted angry glances at each other, and
forgot in their own personal aggrievements, the higher principles for
which they were engaged of loyalty on the one hand, and liberty on the
other.
Bacon was the first to break silence.
"Methinks," he said, "that your honours are not inclined to fall into
the error of deciding in haste and repenting at leisure."
"Mr. Bacon," said Berkeley, "you must be aware that the appearance of
this armed force tends to prejudice your claims. It would be indecorous
in me to be over-awed by menaces, or to yield to compulsion. But the
necessities of the time demand that there should be an organized force,
to resist the encroachments of the Indians. It is, therefore, not from
fear of your threats, but from conviction of this necessity that I have
determined to grant you the commission which you ask, with full power to
raise, equip, and provision an army, and with instructions, that you
forthwith proceed to march against the savages."
Bacon could scarcely suppress a smile at this boastful appearance of
authority and disavowal of compulsion, on the part of the proud old
Governor. It was with a thrill of rapture that he thus at last possessed
the great object of his wishes. Already idolized by the people, he only
needed a legal recognition of his authority to accomplish the great ends
that he had in view. As the commission was made out in due form,
engrossed and sealed, and handed to him, he clutched it eagerly, as
though it were a sceptre of royal power. Little suspecting the design of
the wily Governor, he felt all his confidence in him restored at once,
and from his generous heart he forgave him all the past.
"This commission, though military," he said, proudly, "is the seal of
restored tranquillity to the colony. Think not it will be perverted to
improper uses. Royalty is to Virginians what the sun is to the pious
Persian. Virginia was the last to desert the setting sun of royalty, and
still lingered piously and tearfully to look upon its declining rays.
She was the first to hail the glorious restoration of its light, and as
she worshipped its rising beams, she will never seek to quench or
overcloud its meridian lustre. I go, gentlemen, to restore peace to the
fireside and confidence to the hearts of this people. The sword of my
country shall never be turned against herself."
The heightened colour of his cheek, and the bright flashing of his eye,
bespoke the pride and delight of his heart. With a profound bow he
turned from the room, and with his aids, he descended to rejoin his
anxious and expectant followers. In a few moments the loud shout of the
soldiery was heard testifying their satisfaction at the result. The
names of Berkeley and of Bacon were upon their lips--and as the proud
old Governor gazed from the window at that happy crowd, and saw with the
admiring eye of a brave man, the tall and martial form of Nathaniel
Bacon at their head, he scarcely regretted in that moment that his loyal
name had been linked with the name of a traitor.