"But the poor dog, in life the dearest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own;
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he had on earth."
_Byron._
When the last sad rites of burial had been performed over the grave of
those who had fallen, Hansford, accompanied by Berkenhead and old Giles,
proceeded to the discharge of the trust which had been reposed in him.
It was indeed a mission fraught with the most important consequences to
the cause of the insurgents, to the family at Windsor Hall, and to
himself personally. It required both a cool head and a brave heart to
succeed in its execution. Hansford well knew that the first burst of
rage from the old Governor, on hearing the bold proposition of the
rebels, would be dangerous, if not fatal to himself; and with all the
native boldness of his character, it would be unnatural if he failed to
feel the greatest anxiety for the result. But even if _he_ escaped the
vengeance of Berkeley, he feared the impulsive nature of Bacon, in the
event of the refusal of Sir William to comply with his demands, would
drive him into excesses ruinous to his cause, and dangerous alike to the
innocent and the guilty. If Temple's obstinacy and chivalry persisted in
giving refuge to the Governor, what, he thought, might be the
consequences to her, whose interest and whose safety he held so deeply
at heart! Thus the statesman, the lover, and the individual, each had a
peculiar interest in the result, and Hansford felt like a wise man the
heavy responsibility he had incurred, although he resolved to encounter
and discharge it like a bold one.
It was thus, with a heavy heart that he proceeded on his way, and buried
in these reflections he maintained a moody silence, little regarding the
presence of his two companions. Old Giles, too, had his own food for
reflection, and vouchsafed only monosyllables in reply to the questions
and observations of the loquacious Berkenhead. But the soldier was not
to be repulsed by the indifference of the one, or the laconic answers of
the other of his companions. Finding it impossible to engage in
conversation, he contented himself with soliloquy, and in a low,
muttering voice, as if to himself, but intended as well for the ears of
his commander, he began an elaborate comparison of the army of Cromwell,
in which he had served, and the army of the Virginia insurgents.
"To be sure, they both fought for liberty, but after that there is
monstrous little likeness between 'em. Old Noll was always acting
himself, and laying it all to Providence when he was done; while General
Bacon, cavorting round, first after the Indians and then after the
Governor, seems hardly to know what he is about, and yet, I believe,
trusts in Providence at last more than Noll, with all his religion; and,
faith, it seems to me it took more religion to do him than most any man
I ever see. First psalm singing, and then fighting, and then psalm
singing agen, and then more fighting--for all the world like a brick
house with mortar stuck between. But I trow that it was the fighting
that made the house stand, after all. And yet I believe, for all the
saints used to nickname me a sinner, and call me one of the spawn of the
beast, because I would get tired of the Word sometimes--and, by the same
token, old brother Purge-the-temple Whithead had a whole dictionary of
words, much less the one--yet, for all come and gone, I believe I would
rather hear a long psalm, than to be doomed to solitary confinement to
my own thoughts, as I am here."
"And so you have served in old Noll's army, as you call it," said
Hansford, smiling in spite of himself, and willing to indulge the old
Oliverian with some little notice.
"Oh, yes, Major," replied Berkenhead, delighted to have gained an
auditor at last; "and a rare service it was too. A little too much of
what they called the church militant, and the like, for me; but for all
that the fellows fought like devils, if they did live like saints--and,
what was rare to me, they did not deal the less lightly with their
swords for the fervour of their prayers, nor pray the less fervently for
their enemies after they had raked them with their fire, or hacked them
to pieces with their swords. 'Faith, an if there had been many more
battles like Dunbar and Worcester, they had as well have blotted that
text from their Bible, for precious few enemies did they have to pray
for after that."
"You did not agree with these zealots in religion, then," said Hansford.
"Prythee, friend, of what sect of Christians are you a member?"
"Well, Major, to speak the truth and shame the devil, as they say, my
religion has pretty much gone with my sword. As a soldier must change
his coat whenever he changes his service, so I have thought he should
make his faith--the robe of his righteousness, as they call it--adapt
itself to that of his employer."
"The cloak of his hypocrisy, you mean," said Hansford, indignantly. "I
like not this scoffing profanity, and must hear no more of it. He who is
not true to his God is of a bad material for a patriot. But tell me," he
added, seeing that the man seemed sufficiently rebuked, "how came you to
this colony?"
"Simply because I could not stay in England," replied Berkenhead. "Mine
has been a hard lot, Major; for I never got what I wanted in this life.
If I was predestined for anything, as old Purge-the-temple used to say
we all were, it seems to me it was to be always on the losing side. When
I fought for freedom in England, I gained bondage in Virginia for my
pains; and when I refused to seek my freedom, and betrayed my comrades
in the insurrection of sixty-two, lo, and behold! I was released from
bondage for my reward. What I will gain or lose by this present
movement, I don't know; but I have been an unlucky adventurer thus far."
"I have heard of your behaviour in sixty-two," said Hansford, "but
whether such conduct be laudable or censurable, depends very much upon
the motive that prompted you to it. You came to this country then as an
indented servant?"
"Yes, sold, your honour, for the thirty pieces of silver, like Joseph
was sold into Egypt by his brethren."
"I suspect that the resemblance between yourself and that eminent
patriarch ceased with the sale."
"It is not for me to say, your honour. But in the present unsettled
state of affairs, who knows who may be made second only to Pharaoh over
all Egypt? I wot well who will be our Pharaoh, if we gain our point; and
I have done the state some service, and may yet do her more."
"By treachery to your comrades, I suppose," said Hansford, disgusted
with the conceit and self-complacency of the man.
"Now, look ye here, Major, if I was disposed to be touchy, I might take
exception at that remark. But I have seen too much of life to fly off at
the first word. The axe that flies from the helve at the first stroke,
may be sharp as a grindstone can make it, but it will never cut a tree
down for all that."
"And if you were to fly off, as you call it, at the first or the last
word," said Hansford, haughtily, "you would only get a sound beating for
your pains. How dare you speak thus to your superior, you insolent
knave!"
"No insolence, Major," said Berkenhead, sulkily; "but for the matter of
speaking against your honour, I have seen my betters silenced in their
turn, by their superiors."
"Silence, slave!" cried Hansford, his face flushing with indignation at
this allusion to his interview with Bacon, which he had hoped, till now,
had been unheard by the soldiers. "But come," he added, reflecting on
the imprudence of losing his only friend and ally in this perilous
adventure, "you are a saucy knave, but I suppose I must e'en bear with
you for the present. We cannot be far from Windsor Hall, I should
think."
"About two miles, as I take it, Major," said Berkenhead, in a more
respectful manner. "I used to live in Gloucester, not far from the hall,
and many is the time I have followed my master through these old woods
in a deer chase. Yes, there is Manteo's clearing, just two miles from
the hall."
Scarcely were the words out of the speaker's mouth, when, to the
surprise of the little party, a large dog of the St. Bernard's breed
leaped from a thicket near them, and bounded towards Hansford.
"Brest ef it a'ant old Nestor," said Giles, whose tongue had at length
been loosened by the sight of the family favourite, and he stooped down
as he spoke to pat the dog upon the head. But Nestor's object was
clearly not to be caressed. Frisking about in a most extraordinary
manner, now wagging his tail, now holding it between his legs, now
bounding a few steps in front of Hansford's horse, and anon crouching by
his side and whining most piteously, he at length completed his
eccentric movements by standing erect upon his hind legs and placing his
fore feet against the breast of his old master. Struck with this
singular conduct, Hansford, reining in his horse, cried out, "The poor
dog must be mad. Down, Nestor, down I tell you!"
Well was it for our hero that the faithful animal refused to obey, for
just at that moment an arrow was heard whizzing through the air, and the
noble dog fell transfixed through the neck with the poisoned missile,
which else had pierced Hansford's heart.[39] The alarm caused by so
sudden and unexpected an attack had not passed off, before another arrow
was buried deep in our hero's shoulder. But quick as were the movements
of the attacking party, the trained eye of Berkenhead caught a glimpse
of the tall form of an Indian as it vanished behind a large oak tree,
about twenty yards from where they stood. The soldier levelled his
carbine, and as Manteo (for the reader has probably already conjectured
that it was he) again emerged from his hiding place to renew the attack,
he discharged his piece with deadly aim and effect. With a wild yell of
horror, the young warrior sprang high in the air, and fell lifeless to
the ground.
Berkenhead was about to rush forward towards his victim, when Hansford,
who still retained his seat on the horse, though faint from pain and
loss of blood, cried out, "Caution, caution, for God's sake, there are
more of the bloody villains about." But after a few moments' pause, the
apprehension of a further attack passed away, and the soldier and Giles
repaired to the spot. And there in the cold embrace of death, lay the
brave young Indian, his painted visage reddened yet more by the
life-blood which still flowed from his wound. His right hand still
grasped the bow-string, as in his last effort to discharge the fatal
arrow. A haughty smile curled his lip even in the moment in which the
soul had fled, as if in that last struggle his brave young heart
despised the pang of death itself.
Gazing at him for a moment, yet long enough for old Giles to recognize
the features of Manteo in the bloody corpse, they returned to Hansford,
whose condition indeed required their immediate assistance. Drawing out
the arrow, and staunching the blood as well as they could with his
scarf, Berkenhead bandaged it tightly, and although still in great pain,
the wounded man was enabled slowly to continue his journey. A ride of
about half an hour brought the little party to the door of Windsor
Hall.
FOOTNOTES:
[39] An incident somewhat similar to this is on record as having
actually occurred.