"We take no note of time but by its loss."
_Young._
It is permitted to the story teller, like the angels of ancient
metaphysicians, to pass from point to point, and from event to event,
without traversing the intermediate space or time. A romance thus
becomes a moving panorama, where the prominent objects of interest pass
in review before the eyes of the spectator, and not an atlas or chart,
where the toiling student, with rigid scrutiny must seek the latitude
and longitude of every object which meets his view.
Availing ourselves of this privilege, we will pass rapidly over the
events which occurred subsequently to the burning of Jamestown, and
again resume the narrative where it more directly affects the fortunes
of Hansford and Virginia. We will then suppose that it is about the
first of January, 1677, three months after the circumstances detailed in
the last chapter. Nathaniel Bacon, the arch rebel, as the loyal
historians and legislators of his day delighted to call him, has passed
away from the scenes of earth. The damp trenches of Jamestown, more
fatal than the arms of his adversaries, have stilled the restless
beating of that bold heart, which in other circumstances might have
insured success to the cause of freedom. An industrious compiler of the
laws of Virginia, and an ingenious commentator on her Colonial History,
has suggested from the phraseology of one of the Acts of the Assembly,
that Bacon met his fate by the dagger of the assassin, employed by the
revengeful Berkeley. But the account of his death is too authentic to
admit of such a supposition, and the character of Sir William Berkeley,
already clouded with relentless cruelty, is happily freed from the foul
imputation, that to the prejudices and sternness of the avenging
loyalist he added the atrocity of a malignant fiend. We have the most
authentic testimony, that Nathaniel Bacon died of a dysentery,
contracted by his exposure in the trenches of Jamestown, at the house of
a Dr. Pate, in the county of Gloucester; and that the faithful Lawrence,
to screen his insensate clay from the rude vengeance of the Governor,
gave the young hero a grave in some unknown forest, where after life's
fitful fever he sleeps well.
The cause of freedom, having lost its head, fell a prey to discord and
defection. In the selection of a leader to succeed the gallant Bacon,
dissensions prevailed among the insurgents, and disgusted at last with
the trials to which they were exposed, and wearied with the continuance
of a civil war, the great mass of the people retired quietly to their
homes. Ingram and Walklate, who attempted to revive the smouldering
ashes of the rebellion, were the embodiments of frivolity and stupidity,
and were unable to retain that influence over the stern and high-toned
patriots which was essential to united action. Deprived of their
support, as may be easily conjectured, there was no longer any
difficulty in suppressing the ill-fated rebellion; and Walklate,
foreseeing the consequences of further resistance, resolved to make a
separate peace for himself and a few personal friends, and to leave his
more gallant comrades to their fate. The terms of treaty proposed by
Berkeley were dispatched by Captain Gardiner to the selfish leader, who,
with the broken remnant of the insurgents, was stationed at West Point.
He acceded to the terms with avidity, and thus put a final end to a
rebellion, which, even at that early day, was so near securing the
blessings of rational freedom to Virginia.
Meantime, the long expected aid from England had arrived, and Berkeley,
with an organized and reliable force at his command, prepared, with grim
satisfaction, to execute his terrible vengeance upon the proscribed and
fugitive insurgents. Major Beverley, at the head of a considerable
force, was dispatched in pursuit of such of the unhappy men as might
linger secreted in the woods and marshes near the river--and smaller
parties were detailed for the same object in other parts of the colony.
Many of the fugitives were captured and brought before the relentless
Governor. There, mocked and insulted in their distress, the devoted
patriots were condemned by a court martial, and with cruel haste hurried
to execution. The fate of the gallant Lawrence, to whom incidental
allusion has been frequently made in the foregoing pages, was long
uncertain--but at last those interested in his fate were forced to the
melancholy conclusion, that well nigh reduced to starvation in his
marshy fastness, with Roman firmness, the brave patriot fell by his own
hand, rather than submit to the ruthless cruelty of the vindictive
Governor.
Thomas Hansford was among those who were proscribed fugitives from the
vengeance of the loyalists. He had in vain endeavoured to rally the
dispirited insurgents, and to hazard once more the event of a battle
with the royal party. He indignantly refused to accept the terms, so
readily embraced by Walklate, and determined to share the fate of those
brave comrades, in whose former triumph he had participated. And now, a
lonely wanderer, he eluded the vigilant pursuit of his enemies, awaiting
with anxiety, the respite which royal interposition would grant, to the
unabating vengeance of the governor. He was not without strong hope that
the clemency which reflected honour on Charles the Second, towards the
enemies of his father, would be extended to the promoters of the
ill-fated rebellion in Virginia. In default of this, he trusted to make
his escape into Maryland, after the eagerness of pursuit was over, and
there secretly to embark for England--where, under an assumed name, he
might live out the remnant of his days in peace and security, if not in
happiness. It was with a heavy heart that he looked forward to even this
remote chance of escape and safety--for it involved the necessity of
leaving, for ever, his widowed mother, who leaned upon his strong arm
for support; and his beloved Virginia, in whose smiles of favour, he
could alone be happy. Still, it was the only honourable chance that
offered, and while as a brave man he had nerved himself for any fate, as
a good man, he could not reject the means of safety which were extended
to him.
While these important changes were taking place in the political world,
the family at Windsor Hall were differently affected by the result.
Colonel Temple, in the pride of his gratified loyalty, could not
disguise his satisfaction even from his unhappy daughter, and rubbed his
hands gleefully as the glad tidings came that the rebellion had been
quelled. The old lady shared his happiness with all her heart, but
mingled with her joy some of the harmless vanity of her nature. She
attributed the happy result in a good degree to the counsel and wisdom
of her husband, and recurred with great delight to her own bountiful
hospitality to the fugitive loyalists. Nay, in the excess of her
self-gratulation, she even hinted an opinion, that if Colonel Temple had
remained in England, the cause of loyalty would have been much advanced,
and that General Monk would not have borne away the palm of having
achieved the glorious restoration.
But these loyal sentiments of gratulation met with no response in the
heart of Virginia Temple. The exciting scenes through which she had
lately passed had left their traces on her young heart. No more the
laughing, thoughtless, happy girl whom we have known, shedding light and
gaiety on all around her, she had gained, in the increased strength and
development of her character, much to compensate for the loss. The
furnace which evaporates the lighter particles of the ore, leaves the
precious metal in their stead. Thus is it with the trying furnace of
affliction in the formation of the human character, and such was its
effect upon Virginia. She no longer thought or felt as a girl. She felt
that she was a woman, called upon to act a woman's part; and relying on
her strengthened nature, but more upon the hand whose protection she had
early learned to seek, she was prepared to act that part. The fate of
Hansford was unknown to her. She had neither seen nor heard from him
since that awful night, when she parted from him at the gate of
Jamestown. Convinced of his high sense of honour, and his heroic daring,
she knew that he was the last to desert a falling cause, and she
trembled for his life, should he fall into the hands of the enraged and
relentless Berkeley. But even if her fears in this respect were
groundless, the future was still dark to her. The bright dream which she
had cherished, that he to whom, in the trusting truth of her young
heart, she had plighted her troth, would share with her the joys and
hopes of life, was now, alas! dissipated forever. A proscribed rebel, an
outcast from home, her father's loyal prejudices were such that she
could never hope to unite her destiny with Hansford. And yet, dreary as
the future had become, she bore up nobly in the struggle, and, with
patient submission, resigned her fate to the will of Heaven.
Her chief employment now was to train the mind of the young Mamalis to
truth, and in this sacred duty she derived new consolation in her
affliction. The young Indian girl had made Windsor Hall her home since
the death of her brother. The generous nature of Colonel Temple could
not refuse to the poor orphan, left alone on earth without a protector,
a refuge and a home beneath his roof. Nor were the patient and prayerful
instructions of Virginia without their reward. The light which had long
been struggling to obtain an entrance to her heart, now burst forth in
the full effulgence of the truth, and the trusting Mamalis had felt, in
all its beauty and reality, the assurance of the promise, "Come unto me
all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Her
manners, which, with all of her association with Virginia, had something
of the wildness of the savage, were now softened and subdued. Her
picturesque but wild costume, which reminded her of her former life, was
discarded for the more modest dress which the refinement of civilization
had prescribed. Her fine, expressive countenance, which had often been
darkened by reflecting the wild passions of her unsubdued heart, was now
radiant with peaceful joy; and as you gazed upon the softened
expression, the tranquil and composed bearing of the young girl, you
might well "take knowledge of her that she had been with Jesus."