"Let's leave this town; for they are hairbrained slaves,
And hunger will enforce them to be more eager.
Of old I know them; rather with their teeth
The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege."
_King Henry VI._
It was very late, but there were few in Jamestown on that last night of
its existence that cared to sleep. Those who were not kept awake by the
cares of state or military duties, were yet suffering from an intense
apprehension, which denied them repose. There was "hurrying to and fro,"
along Stuart street, and "whispering with white lips," among the
thronging citizens. Ever siding with the stronger party, and inclined to
attribute to the besieged Governor the whole catalogue of evils under
which the colony was groaning, many of the lower classes of the citizens
expressed their sympathy with Nathaniel Bacon, and only awaited a secret
opportunity to desert to his ranks. A conspiracy was ripening among the
soldiery to open the gates to the insurgents, and surrender at once the
town and the Governor into their hands--but over-awed by the resolute
boldness of their leader, and wanting in the strength of will to act for
themselves, they found it difficult to carry their plan into execution.
Sir William Berkeley, with a few of his steady adherents and faithful
friends, was anxiously awaiting, in the large hall of the palace, the
tidings of the recent sally upon the besiegers. Notwithstanding the
superior numbers of his men, he had but little confidence either in
their loyalty or courage, while he was fully conscious of the desperate
bravery of the insurgents. While hope whispered that the little band of
rebels must yield to the overwhelming force of the garrison, fear
interposed, to warn him of the danger of defection and cowardice in his
ranks. As thus he sat anxiously endeavouring to guess the probable
result of his sally, heavy footsteps were heard ascending the stairs.
The heart of the old Governor beat thick with apprehension, and the damp
drops wrung from him by anxiety and care, stood in cold beads upon his
brow.
"What news?" he cried, in a hoarse, agitated voice, as Colonel Ludwell,
Robert Beverley, and Alfred Bernard entered the room. "But I read it in
your countenances! All is lost!"
"Yes, Governor Berkeley," said Philip Ludwell, "all is lost! we have not
even the melancholy consolation of Francis, 'that our honour is
preserved.' The cowardly hinds who followed us, fled from the first
charge of the rebels, like frightened hares. All attempts to rally them
were in vain, and many of them we understand have joined with the
rebels."
As the fatal tidings fell upon his ear, Berkeley pressed his hand to his
forehead, and sobbed aloud. The heart of the brave old loyalist could
bear no more--and all the haughty dignity of his nature gave way in a
flood of bitter tears. But the effect was only transient, and nerving
himself, he controlled his feelings once more by the energy of his iron
will.
"How many still remain with us?" he asked, anxiously, of Ludwell.
"Alas! sir, if the rumour which we heard as we came hither be
true--none, absolutely none. There was an immense crowd gathered around
the tavern, listening to the news of our defeat from one of the
soldiers, and as we passed a loud and insulting cry went up of "Long
live Bacon! and down with tyranny!" The soldiers declared that they
would not stain their hands with the blood of their fellow-subjects; the
citizens as vehemently declared that the town itself should not long
harbour those who had trampled on their rights. Treason stalks abroad
boldly and openly, and I fear that the loyalty of Virginia is confined
to this room."
"Now, Heaven help me," said Berkeley, sadly, "for the world has well
nigh deserted me. And yet, if I fall, I shall fall at my post, and the
trust bestowed upon me by my king shall be yielded only with my life."
"It were madness to think of remaining longer here," said Beverley; "the
rebels, with the most consummate courage, evince the most profound
prudence and judgment. Before the dawn they will bring their cannon to
bear upon our ships and force them to withdraw from the harbour, and
then all means of escape being cut off, we will be forced to surrender
on such terms as the enemy may dictate."
"We will yield to no terms," replied Berkeley. "For myself, death is far
preferable to dishonour. Rather than surrender the trust which I have in
charge, let us remain here, until, like the brave senators of Rome, we
are hacked to pieces at our posts by the swords of these barbarians."
"But what can you expect to gain by such a desperate course," said old
Ballard, who, though not without a sufficient degree of courage, would
prefer rather to admire the heroism of the Roman patriots in history,
than to vie with them in their desperate resolution.
"I expect to retain my honour," cried the brave old Governor. "A brave
man may suffer death--he can never submit to dishonour."
"My honoured Governor," said Major Beverley, whose well-known courage
and high-toned chivalry gave great effect to his counsel; "believe me,
that we all admire your steady loyalty and your noble heroism. But
reflect, that you gain nothing by desperation, and it is the part of
true courage not to hazard a desperate risk without any hope of success.
God knows that I would willingly yield up my own life to preserve
unsullied the honour of my country, and the dignity of my king; but I
doubt how far we serve his real interests by a deliberate sacrifice of
all who are loyal to his cause."
"And what then would you advise?" said the Governor, in an irritated
manner. "To make a base surrender of our persons and our cause, and to
grant to these insolent rebels every concession which their insolence
may choose to demand? No! gentlemen, sooner would William Berkeley
remain alone at his post, until his ashes mingled with the ashes of this
palace, than yield one inch to rebels in arms."
"It is not necessary," returned Beverley. "You may escape without loss
of life or compromise of honour, and reserve until a future day your
vengeance on these disloyal barbarians."
Berkeley was silent.
"Look," continued Beverley, leading the old loyalist to the window which
overlooked the river; "by the light of dawn you can see the white sails
of the Adam and Eve, as she rests at anchor in yonder harbor. There is
still time to escape before the rebels can suspect our design. Once upon
the deck of that little vessel, with her sails unfurled to this rising
breeze, you may defy the threats of the besiegers. Then once more to
your faithful Accomac, and when the forces from England shall arrive,
trained bands of loyal and brave Britons, your vengeance shall then be
commensurate with the indignities you have suffered."
Still Berkeley hesitated, but his friends could see by the quiver of his
lip, that the struggle was still going on, and that he was thinking with
grim satisfaction of that promised vengeance.
"Let me urge you," continued Beverley, encouraged by the effect which he
was evidently producing; "let me urge you to a prompt decision. Will you
remain longer in Jamestown, this nest of traitors, and expose your
faithful adherents to certain death? Is loyalty so common in Virginia,
that you will suffer these brave supporters of your cause to be
sacrificed? Will you leave their wives and daughters, whom they can no
longer defend, to the insults and outrages of a band of lawless
adventurers, who have shown that they disregard the rights of men, and
the more sacred deference due to a woman? We have done all that became
us, as loyal citizens, to do. We have sustained the standard of the king
until it were madness, not courage, further to oppose the designs of the
rebels. Beset by a superior force, and with treason among our own
citizens, and defection among our own soldiers--with but twenty stout
hearts still true and faithful to their trust--our alternative is
between surrender and death on the one hand, and flight and future
vengeance on the other. Can you longer hesitate between the two? But
see, the sky grows brighter toward the east, and the morning comes to
increase the perils of the night. I beseech you, by my loyalty and my
devotion to your interest, decide quickly and wisely."
"I will go," replied Berkeley, after a brief pause, in a voice choking
with emotion. "But God is my witness, that if I only were concerned,
rebellion should learn that there was a loyalist who held his sacred
trust so near his heart, that it could only be yielded with his
life-blood. But why should I thus boast? Do with me as you please--I
will go."
No sooner was Berkeley's final decision known, than the whole palace was
in a state of preparation. Hurriedly putting up such necessaries as
would be needed in their temporary exile, the loyalists were soon ready
for their sudden departure. Lady Frances, stately as ever, remained
perhaps rather longer before her mirror, in the arrangement of her tire,
than was consistent with their hasty flight. Virginia Temple scarcely
devoted a moment for her own preparations, so constantly was her
assistance required by her mother, who bustled about from trunk to
trunk, in a perfect agony of haste--found she had locked up her mantle,
which was in the very bottom of an immense trunk, and finally, when she
had put her spectacles and keys in her pocket, declared that they were
lost, and required Virginia to search in every hole and corner of the
room for them. But with all these delays--ever incident to ladies, and
old ones especially, when starting on a journey--the little party were
at length announced to be ready for their "moonlight flitting." Sadly
and silently they left the palace to darkness and solitude, and
proceeded towards the river. At the bottom of the garden, which ran down
to the banks of the river, were two large boats, belonging to the
Governor, and which were often used in pleasure excursions. In these the
fugitives embarked, and under the muscular efforts of the strong
oarsmen, the richly freighted boats scudded rapidly through the water
towards the good ship "Adam and Eve," which lay at a considerable
distance from the shore, to avoid the guns of the insurgents.
Alfred Bernard had the good fortune to have the fair Virginia under his
immediate charge; but the hearts of both were too full to improve the
opportunity with much conversation. The young intriguer, who cared but
little in his selfish heart for either loyalists or rebels, still felt
that he had placed his venture on a wrong card, and was about to lose.
The hopes of preferment which he had cherished were about to be
dissipated by the ill fortune of his patron, and the rival of his love,
crowned with success, he feared, might yet bear away the prize which he
had so ardently coveted. Virginia Temple had more generous cause for
depression than he. Hers was the hard lot to occupy a position of
neutrality in interest between the contending parties. Whichever faction
in the State succeeded, she must be a mourner; for, in either case, she
was called upon to sacrifice an idol which she long had cherished, and
which she must now yield for ever. They sat together near the stern of
the boat, and watched the moonlight diamonds which sparkled for a moment
on the white spray that dropped from the dripping oar, and then passed
away.
"It is thus," said Bernard, with a heavy sigh. "It is thus with this
present transient life. We dance for a moment upon the white waves of
fortune, rejoicing in light and hope and joy--but the great, unfeeling
world rolls on, regardless of our little life, while we fade even while
we sparkle, and our places are supplied by others, who in their turn,
dance and shine, and smile, and pass away, and are forgotten!"
"It is even so," said Virginia, sadly--then turning her blue eyes
upward, she added, sweetly, "but see, Mr. Bernard, the moon which shines
so still and beautiful in heaven, partakes not of the changes of these
reflected fragments of her brightness. So we, when reunited to the
heaven from which our spirits came, will shine again unchangeable and
happy."
"Yes, my sweet one," replied her lover passionately, "and were it my
destiny to be ever thus with you, and to hear the sweet eloquence of
your pure lips, I would not need a place in heaven to be happy."
"Mr. Bernard," said Virginia, "is this a time or place to speak thus?
The circumstances by which we are surrounded should check every selfish
thought for the time, in our care for the more important interests at
stake."
"My fair, young loyalist," said Bernard, "and is it because of the
interest excited in your bosom by the fading cause of loyalty, that you
check so quickly the slightest word of admiration from one whom you have
called your friend? Nay, fair maiden, be truthful even though you
should be cruel."
"To be candid, then, Mr. Bernard," returned Virginia, "I thought we had
long ago consented not to mention that subject again. I hope you will be
faithful to your promise."
"My dearest Virginia, that compact was made when your heart had been
given to another whom you thought worthy to reign there. Surely, you
cannot, after the events of to-night oppose such an obstacle to my suit.
Your gentle heart, my girl, is too pure and holy a shrine to afford
refuge to a rebel, and a profaner of woman's sacred rights."
"Mr. Bernard," said Virginia, "another word on this subject, and I seek
refuge myself from your insults. You, who are the avowed champion of
woman's rights, should know that she owns no right so sacred as to
control the affections of her own heart. I have before told you in terms
too plain to be misunderstood, that I can never love you. Force me not
to repeat what you profess may give you pain, and above all force me not
by your unwelcome and ungenerous assaults upon an absent rival to
substitute for the real interest which I feel in your happiness, a
feeling more strong and decided, but less friendly."
"You mean that you would hate me," said Bernard, cut to the heart at her
language, at once so firm and decided, yet so guarded and courteous.
"Very well," he added, with an hauteur but illy assumed. "I trust I have
more independence and self-respect than to intrude my attentions or
conversation where they are unwelcome. But see, our journey is at an
end, and though Miss Temple might have made it more pleasant, I am glad
that we are freed from the embarrassment that we both must feel in a
more extended interview."
And now the loud voice of Captain Gardiner is heard demanding their
names and wishes, which are soon told. The hoarse cable grates harshly
along the ribs of the vessel, and the boats are drawn up close to her
broadside, and the loyal fugitives ascending the rude and tremulous
rope-ladder, stand safe and sound upon the deck of the Adam and Eve.
Scarcely had Berkeley and his adherents departed on their flight from
Jamestown, when some of the disaffected citizens of the town, seeing the
lights in the palace so suddenly extinguished, shrewdly suspected their
design. Without staying to ascertain the truth of their suspicions, they
hastened with the intelligence to General Bacon, and threw open the
gates to the insurgents. Highly elated with the easy victory they had
gained over the loyalists, the triumphant patriots forgetting their
fatigue and hunger, marched into the city, amid the loud acclamations of
the fickle populace. But to the surprise of all there was still a gloom
resting upon Bacon and his officers. That cautious and far-seeing man
saw at a glance, that although he had gained an immense advantage over
the royalists, in the capture of the metropolis, it was impossible to
retain it in possession long. As soon as his army was dispersed, or
engaged in another quarter of the colony, it would be easy for Berkeley,
with the navy under his command, to return to the place, and erect once
more the fallen standard of loyalty.
While then, the soldiery were exulting rapturously over their triumph,
Bacon, surrounded by his officers, was gravely considering the best
policy to pursue.
"My little army is too small," he said, "to leave a garrison here, and
so long as they remain thus organized peace will be banished from the
colony; and yet I cannot leave the town to become again the harbour of
these treacherous loyalists."
"I can suggest no policy that is fit to pursue, in such an emergency,"
said Hansford, "except to retain possession of the town, at least until
the Governor is fairly in Accomac again."
"That, at best," said Bacon, "will only be a dilatory proceeding, for
sooner or later, whenever the army is disbanded, the stubborn old
governor will return and force us to continue the war. And besides I
doubt whether we could maintain the place with Brent besieging us in
front, and the whole naval force of Virginia, under the command of such
expert seamen as Gardiner and Larimore, attacking us from the river. No,
no, the only way to untie the Gordian knot is to cut it, and the only
way to extricate ourselves from this difficulty is to burn the town."
This policy, extreme as it was, in the necessities of their condition
was received with a murmur of assent. Lawrence and Drummond, devoted
patriots, and two of the wealthiest and most enterprising citizens of
the town, evinced their willingness to sacrifice their private means to
secure the public good, by firing their own houses. Emulating an example
so noble and disinterested, other citizens followed in their wake. The
soldiers, ever ready for excitement, joined in the fatal work. A stiff
breeze springing up, favored their design, and soon the devoted town was
enveloped in the greedy flames.
From the deck of the Adam and Eve, the loyalists witnessed the stern,
uncompromising resolution of the rebels. The sun was just rising, and
his broad, red disc was met in his morning glory with flames as bright
and as intense as his own. The Palace, the State House, the large Garter
Tavern, the long line of stores, and the Warehouse, all in succession
were consumed. The old Church, the proud old Church, where their fathers
had worshipped, was the last to meet its fate. The fire seemed unwilling
to attack its sacred walls, but it was to fall with the rest; and as the
broad sails of the gay vessel were spread to the morning breeze, which
swelled them, that devoted old Church was seen in its raiment of fire,
like some old martyr, hugging the flames which consumed it, and pointing
with its tapering steeple to an avenging Heaven.