FORT LAFAYETTE
OR
LOVE AND SECESSION
A Novel
BY BENJAMIN WOOD
MDCCCLXII
1862
----"Whom they please they lay in basest bonds."
_Venice Preserved._
* * * * *
"O, beauteous Peace!
Sweet union of a state! what else but thou
Gives safety, strength, and glory to a people?"
_Thomson._
"Oh, Peace! thou source and soul of social life;
Beneath whose calm inspiring influence,
Science his views enlarges, art refines,
And swelling commerce opens all her ports;
Blest be the man divine, who gives us thee!"
_Thomson._
"A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
For then both parties nobly are subdued,
And neither party loser."
_Shakspeare._
CHAPTER I.
There is a pleasant villa on the southern bank of the James River, a few
miles below the city of Richmond. The family mansion, an old fashioned
building of white stone, surrounded by a spacious veranda, and embowered
among stately elms and grave old oaks, is sure to attract the attention
of the traveller by its picturesque appearance, and the dreamy elegance
and air of comfort that pervade the spot. The volumes of smoke that roll
from the tall chimneys, the wide portals of the hall, flung open as if
for a sign of welcome, the merry chat and cheerful faces of the sable
household, lazily alternating their domestic labors with a sly romp or a
lounge in some quiet nook, these and other traits of the old Virginia
home, complete the picture of hospitable affluence which the stranger
instinctively draws as his gaze lingers on the grateful scene. The house
stands on a wooded knoll, within a bowshot of the river bank, and from
the steps of the back veranda, where creeping flowers form a perfumed
network of a thousand hues, the velvety lawn shelves gracefully down to
the water's edge.
Toward sunset of one of the early days of April, 1861, a young girl
stood leaning upon the wicket of a fence which separated the garden from
the highway. She stood there dreamily gazing along the road, as if
awaiting the approach of some one who would be welcome when he came. The
slanting rays of the declining sun glanced through the honeysuckles and
tendrils that intertwined among the white palings, and threw a subdued
light upon her face. It was a face that was beautiful in repose, but
that promised to be more beautiful when awakened into animation. The
large, grey eyes were half veiled with their black lashes at that
moment, and their expression was thoughtful and subdued; but ever as the
lids were raised, when some distant sound arrested her attention, the
expression changed with a sudden flash, and a gleam like an electric
fire darted from the glowing orbs. Her features were small and
delicately cut, the nostrils thin and firm, and the lips most
exquisitely molded, but in the severe chiselling of their arched lines
betraying a somewhat passionate and haughty nature. But the rose tint
was so warm upon her cheek, the raven hair clustered with such luxuriant
grace about her brows, and the _petite_ and lithe figure was so
symmetrical at every point, that the impression of haughtiness was lost
in the contemplation of so many charms.
Oriana Weems, the subject of our sketch, was an orphan. Her father, a
wealthy Virginian, died while his daughter was yet an infant, and her
mother, who had been almost constantly an invalid, did not long survive.
Oriana and her brother, Beverly, her senior by two years, had thus been
left at an early age in the charge of their mother's sister, a maiden
lady of excellent heart and quiet disposition, who certainly had most
conscientiously fulfilled the sacred trust. Oriana had returned but a
twelvemonth before from a northern seminary, where she had gathered up
more accomplishments than she would ever be likely to make use of in the
old homestead; while Beverly, having graduated at Yale the preceding
month, had written to his sister that she might expect him that very
day, in company with his classmate and friend, Arthur Wayne.
She stood, therefore, at the wicket, gazing down the road, in
expectation of catching the first glimpse of her brother and his friend,
for whom horses had been sent to Richmond, to await their arrival at the
depot. So much was she absorbed in revery, that she failed to observe a
solitary horseman who approached from the opposite direction. He plodded
leisurely along until within a few feet of the wicket, when he quietly
drew rein and gazed for a moment in silence upon the unconscious girl.
He was a tall, gaunt man, with stooping shoulders, angular features,
lank, black hair and a sinister expression, in which cunning and malice
combined. He finally urged his horse a step nearer, and as softly as
his rough voice would admit, he bade: "Good evening, Miss Oriana."
She started, and turned with a suddenness that caused the animal he rode
to swerve. Recovering her composure as suddenly, she slightly inclined
her head and turning from him, proceeded toward the house.
"Stay, Miss Oriana, if you please."
She paused and glanced somewhat haughtily over her shoulder.
"May I speak a word with you?"
"My aunt, sir, is within; if you have business, I will inform her of
your presence."
"My business is with you, Miss Weems," and, dismounting, he passed
through the gate and stepped quickly to her side.
"Why do you avoid me?"
Her dark eye flashed in the twilight, and she drew her slight form up
till it seemed to gain a foot in height.
"We do not seek to enlarge our social circle, Mr. Rawbon. You will
excuse me if I leave you abruptly, but the night dew begins to fall."
She moved on, but he followed and placed his hand gently on her arm.
She shook it off with more of fierceness than dignity, and the man's
eyes fairly sought the ground beneath the glance she gave him.
"You know that I love you," he said, in a hoarse murmur, "and that's the
reason you treat me like a dog."
She turned her back upon him, and walked, as if she heard him not, along
the garden path. His brow darkened, and quickening his pace, he stepped
rudely before her and blocked the way.
"Look you, Miss Weems, you have insulted me with your proud ways time
and time again, and I have borne it tamely, because I loved you, and
because I've sworn that I shall have you. It's that puppy, Harold Hare,
that has stepped in between you and me. Now mark you," and he raised his
finger threateningly, "I won't be so meek with him as I've been with
you."
The girl shuddered slightly, but recovering, walked forward with a step
so stately and commanding, that Rawbon, bold and angry as he was,
involuntarily made way for her, and she sprang up the steps of the
veranda and passed into the hall. He stood gazing after her for a
moment, nervously switching the rosebush at his side with his heavy
horsewhip; then, with a muttered curse, he strode hastily away, and
leaping upon his horse, galloped furiously down the road.
Seth Rawbon was a native of Massachusetts, but for some ten years
previously to the date at which our tale commences, he had been mostly a
resident of Richmond, where his acuteness and active business habits had
enabled him to accumulate an independent fortune. His wealth and
vigorous progressive spirit had given him a certain degree of influence
among the middle classes of the community, but his uncouth manner, and a
suspicion that he was not altogether free from the degradation of
slave-dealing, had, to his great mortification and in spite of his
persistent efforts, excluded him from social intercourse with the
aristocracy of the Old Dominion. He was not a man, however, to give way
to obstacles, and with characteristic vanity and self-reliance, he had,
shortly after her return from school, greatly astonished the proud
Oriana with a bold declaration of love and an offer of his hand and
fortune. Not intimidated by a sharp and decidedly ungracious refusal, he
had at every opportunity advocated his hopeless suit, and with so much
persistence and effrontery, that the object of his unwelcome passion had
been goaded from indifference to repugnance and absolute loathing.
Harold Hare, whose name he had mentioned with so much bitterness in the
course of the interview we have represented, was a young Rhode Islander,
who had, upon her brother's invitation, sojourned a few weeks at the
mansion some six months previously, while on his way to engage in a
surveying expedition in Western Virginia. He had promised to return in
good time, to join Beverly and his guest, Arthur Wayne, at the close of
their academic labors.
A few moments after Rawbon's angry departure, the family carriage drove
rapidly up to the hall door, and the next instant Beverly was in his
sister's arms, and had been affectionately welcomed by his
old-fashioned, kindly looking aunt. As he turned to introduce his
friend, Arthur, the latter was gazing with an air of absent admiration
upon the kindled features of Oriana. The two young men were of the same
age, apparently about one-and-twenty; but in character and appearance
they were widely different. Beverly was, in countenance and manner,
curiously like his sister, except that the features were bolder and more
strongly marked. Arthur, on the contrary, was delicate in feature almost
to effeminacy. His brow was pale and lofty, and above the auburn locks
were massed like a golden coronet. His eyes were very large and blue,
with a peculiar softness and sadness that suited well the expression of
thoughtfulness and repose about his lips. He was taller than his friend,
and although well-formed and graceful, was slim and evidently not in
robust health. His voice, as he spoke in acknowledgment of the
introduction, was low and musical, but touched with a mournfulness that
was apparent even in the few words of conventional courtesy that he
pronounced.
Having thus domiciliated them comfortably in the old hall, we will leave
them to recover from the fatigues of the journey, and to taste of the
plentiful hospitalities of Riverside manor.