"It is the cry of women, good, my lord."
_Macbeth._
Agreeably with the promise of Bacon, the captured ladies were treated
with a respect and deference which allayed in a great degree their many
apprehensions. Still they could not refrain from expressions of the
strongest indignation at an act so unusual, so violent, and so entirely
at war with the established notions of chivalry at the time. As the
reader will readily conjecture, our good friend, Mrs. Temple, was by no
means the most patient under the wrongs she had endured, and resisting
the kind attentions of those around her, she was vehement in her
denunciations of her captors, and in her apprehensions of a thousand
imaginary dangers.
"Oh my God!" she cried, "I know that they intend to murder us. To think
of leaving a quiet home, and being exposed to such treatment as this.
Oh, my precious husband, if he only knew what a situation his poor
Betsey was in at this moment; but never mind, as sure as I am a living
woman, he shall know it, and then we will see."
"My dear Mrs. Temple," said Mrs. Ballard, another of the captives, "do
not give way to your feelings thus. It is useless, and will only serve
to irritate these men."
"Men! they are not men!" returned the excited old lady, refusing to be
comforted. "Men never would have treated ladies so. They are base,
cruel, inhuman wretches, and, as I said before, if I live, to get to
Jamestown, Colonel Temple shall know of it too--so he shall."
"But reflect, my dear friend, that our present condition is not
affected by this very natural resolution which you have made, to inform
your husband of your wrongs. But whatever may be the object of these
persons, I feel assured that they intend no personal injury to us."
"No personal injury, forsooth; and have we not sustained it already.
Look at my head-tire, all done up nicely just before I left the hall,
and now scarcely fit to be seen. And is it nothing to be hauled all over
the country with a party of ruffians, that I would be ashamed to be
caught in company with; and who knows what they intend?"
"I admit with you, my dear madam," said Mrs. Ballard, "that such conduct
is unmanly and inexcusable, and I care not who hears me say so. But
still," she added in a low voice, "we have the authority of scripture to
make friends even of the mammon of unrighteousness."
"Friends! I would die first. I who have been moving in the first
circles, the wife of Colonel Temple, who, if he had chosen, might have
been the greatest in the land, to make friends with a party of mean,
sneaking, cowardly ruffians. Never--and I'll speak my mind freely
too--they shall see that I have a woman's tongue in my head and know how
to resent these injuries. Oh, for shame! and to wear swords too, which
used to be the badge of gentlemen and cavaliers, who would rather have
died than wrong a poor, weak, defenceless woman--much less to rob and
murder her."
"Well, let us hope for the best, my friend," said Mrs. Ballard; "God
knows I feel as you do, that we have been grossly wronged; but let us
remember that we are in the hands of a just and merciful Providence, who
will do with us according to his holy will."
"I only know that we are in the hands of a parcel of impious and
merciless wretches," cried the old lady, who, as we have seen on a
former occasion, derived but little comfort from the consolations of
religion in the hour of trial. "I hope I have as much religion as my
fellows, who pretend to so much more--but I should like to know what
effect that would have on a band of lawless cut-throats?"
"He has given us his holy promise," said Virginia, in a solemn, yet
hopeful voice of resignation, "that though we walk through the valley
and the shadow of death, he will be with us--his rod and his staff will
comfort us--yea, he prepareth a table for us in the presence of our
enemies, our cup runneth over."
"Well, I reckon I know that as well as you, miss; but it seems there is
but little chance of having a table prepared for us here," retorted her
mother, whose fears and indignation had whetted rather than allayed her
appetite. "But I think it is very unseemly in a young girl to be so calm
under such circumstances. I know that when I was your age, the bare idea
of submitting to such an exposure as this would have shocked me out of
my senses."
Virginia could not help thinking, that considering the lapse of time
since her mother was a young girl, there had been marvellously little
change wrought in her keen sensibility to exposure; for she was already
evidently "shocked out of her senses." But she refrained from expressing
such a dangerous opinion, and replied, in a sad tone--
"And can you think, my dearest mother, that I do not feel in all its
force our present awful condition! But, alas! what can we do. As Mrs.
Ballard truly says, our best course is to endeavour to move the coarse
sympathies of these rebels, and even if they should not relent, they
will at least render our condition less fearful by their forbearance and
respect. Oh, my mother! my only friend in this dark hour of peril and
misfortune, think not so harshly of your daughter as to suppose that she
feels less acutely the horrors of her situation, because she fails to
express her fears." And so saying, the poor girl drew yet closer to her
mother, and wept upon her bosom.
"I meant not to speak unkindly, dear Jeanie," said the good-hearted old
lady, "but you know, my child, that when my fears get the better of me,
I am not myself. It does seem to me, that I was born under some unlucky
star. Ever since I was born the world has been turning upside down; and
God knows, I don't know what I have done that it should be so. But
first, that awful revolution in England, and then, when we came here to
pass our old days in peace and quiet, this infamous rebellion. And yet I
must say, I never knew any thing like this. There was at least some show
of religion among the old Roundheads, and though they were firm and
demure enough, and hated all kinds of amusement, and cruel enough too
with all their psalm singing, to cut off their poor king's head, yet
they always treated women with respect and decency. But, indeed, even
the rebels of the present day are not what they used to be."
Virginia could scarcely forbear smiling, amid her tears, at this new
application of her mother's favourite theory. The conversation was here
interrupted by the approach of a young officer, who, bowing respectfully
to the bevy of captive ladies, said politely, that he was sorry to
intrude upon their presence, but that, as it was time to pursue their
journey, he had come to ask if the ladies would partake of some
refreshment before their ride.
"If they could share the rough fare of a soldier, it would bestow a
great favour and honour upon him to attend to their wishes; and indeed,
as it would be several hours before they could reach Jamestown, they
would stand in need of some refreshment, ere they arrived at more
comfortable quarters."
"As your unhappy prisoners, sir," said Mrs. Ballard, with great dignity,
"we can scarcely object to a soldier's fare. Prisoners have no choice
but to take the food which the humanity of their jailers sets before
them. Your apology is therefore needless, if not insulting to our
misfortunes."
"Well, madam," returned Wilford, in the same respectful tone, "I did not
mean to offend you, and regret that I have done so through mistaken
kindness. May I add that, in common with the rest of the army, I deplore
the necessity which has compelled us to resort to such harsh means
towards yourselves, in order to ensure success and safety."
"I deeply sympathize with you in your profound regret," said Mrs.
Ballard, ironically. "But pray tell me, sir, if you learned this very
novel and chivalric mode of warfare from the savages with whom you have
been contending, or is it the result of General Bacon's remarkable
military genius?"
"It is the result of the stern necessity under which we rest, of coping
with a force far superior to our own. And I trust that while your
ladyships can suffer but little inconvenience from our course, you will
not regret your own cares, if thereby you might prevent an effusion of
blood."
"Oh, that is it," replied Mrs. Ballard, in the same tone of withering
irony. "I confess that I was dull enough to believe that the
self-constituted, self-styled champions of freedom had courage enough to
battle for the right, and not to screen themselves from danger, as a
child will seek protection behind its mother's apron, from the attack of
an enraged cow."
"Madam, I will not engage in an encounter of wits with you. I will do
you but justice when I say that few would come off victors in such a
contest. But I have a message from one of our officers to this young
lady, I believe, which I was instructed to reserve for her private ear."
"There is no need for a confidential communication," said Virginia
Temple, "as I have no secret which I desire to conceal from my mother
and these companions in misfortune. If, therefore, you have aught to
say to me, you may say it here, or else leave it unexpressed."
"As you please, my fair young lady," returned Wilford. "My message
concerns you alone, but if you do not care to conceal it from your
companions, I will deliver it in their presence. Major Thomas Hansford
desires me to say, that if you would allow him the honour of an
interview of a few moments, he would gladly take the opportunity of
explaining to you the painful circumstances by which you are surrounded,
in a manner which he trusts may meet with your approbation."
"Say to Major Thomas Hansford," replied Virginia, proudly, "that, as I
am his captive, I cannot prevent his intrusion into my presence. I
cannot refuse to hear what he may have to speak. But tell him, moreover,
that no explanation can justify this last base act, and that no
reparation can erase it from my memory. Tell him that she who once
honoured him, and loved him, as all that was noble, and generous, and
chivalric, now looks back upon the past as on a troubled dream; and
that, in future, if she should hear his name, she will remember him but
as one who, cast in a noble mould, might have been worthy of the highest
admiration, but, defaced by an indelible stain, is cast aside as worthy
alike of her indignation and contempt."
As the young girl uttered the last fatal words, she sank back into her
grassy seat by her mother's side, as though exhausted by the effort she
had made. She had torn with violent resolution from her breast the image
which had so long been enshrined there--not only as a picture to be
loved, but as an idol to be worshipped--and though duty had nerved and
sustained her in the effort, nothing could assuage the anguish it
inflicted. She did not love him then, but she had loved him; and her
heart, like the gloomy chamber where death has been, seemed more
desolate for the absence of that which, though hideous to gaze upon,
was now gone forever.
Young Wilford was deeply impressed with the scene, and could not
altogether conceal the emotion which it excited. In a hurried and
agitated voice he promised to deliver her message to Hansford, and
bowing again politely to the ladies, he slowly withdrew.
In a few moments one of the soldiers came with the expected refreshment,
which certainly justified the description which Wilford had given. It
was both coarse and plain. Jerked venison, which had evidently been the
property of a stag with a dozen branches to his horns, and some dry and
moulding biscuit, completed the homely repast. Virginia, and most of her
companions, declined partaking of the unsavoury viands, but Mrs. Temple,
though bitterly lamenting her hard fate, in dooming her to such hard
fare, worked vigorously away at the tough venison with her two remaining
molars--asserting the while, very positively, that no such venison as
that existed in her young days, though, to confess the truth, if we may
judge from the evident age of the deceased animal, it certainly did.