After the battle and destruction of Jamestown, Sir William Berkley,
accompanied by his now liberated Lady and his remaining followers,
comprising the still loyal marine force, retired again to the shades of
Accomac, where we will leave him and the remaining events of his life in
the hands of the historian.
The political power of the colony was now in the possession of the
victorious chief, so lately condemned to death. He was not long in
surrendering it to a convention of the people, summoned to meet at
Middle Plantations, (Williamsburg,) for that purpose, and in their hands
we will leave the political affairs of the future mother of states. Our
only remaining duty is to follow the fortunes of the principal
characters of our narrative. The successful general, after attending to
his military and political duties, accompanied his now betrothed bride
from the ruins of Jamestown to the new seat of government. It was a
delightful summer evening--the sun was just sinking beneath a horizon,
where the darker blue of the distant landscape softened the shades of
the azure sky, both merging in the indistinct prospect so as to form a
magnificent back ground to a panorama, bathed in a flood of golden
light. The youthful and happy pair instinctively reined up their horses,
and gazed upon the enchanting scene, until their hearts were full of
love and adoration.
Then by one impulse they turned their horses' heads, and gazed upon one
far different, which they were leaving. The ruins of the first civilized
settlement in North America were still sending up volumes of smoke,
through which at intervals gleamed a lurid flash, as some more
combustible materials fell into the mass of living embers below. But
there were associations with this scene, to the hearts of our pilgrims,
which no tongue or pen can describe; the melancholy treasures of memory
collected through long forgotten years, came gushing back over their
hearts in a resistless torrent. The scenes of their childhood--of all
their romantic dreams, and those fairy and too unreal creations of young
life--the graves of their relations and friends, were about to be
surrendered up to the dominion of the thistle and the ivy, there to
moulder through all future generations.[14] But this was not all that
was saddening in the view before them. The Indian captives, some two
hundred in number, were ascending the heights to the very spot which
they occupied, on their way to the far west. Poor and friendless beings
they were! their worldly store they wore upon their backs, consisting
for the most part of worn out leather garments, and a few worthless
baubles carried in their wallets. They skirted along the brow of the
hill in Indian file--their steps slow and melancholy. They too were
about to leave the scenes of their long sojourn, the broad and fertile
lands which they had inherited from the beginning of time--the honoured
relics of their dead, and all the loved associations which cling to the
heart of the rudest of mankind, when about to leave for ever the shades
of home. They were just entering upon the wearisome pilgrimage of the
exile, under a combination of the most cruel and unfortunate
circumstances, and in a condition the worst calculated to subdue new
countries, and battle with hostile tribes. As they passed in review
before the youthful pair of another race, no sign of recognition
manifested itself. They moved along with the gravity and solemnity of a
funeral procession, until the last of the line stood before them. It was
Wyanokee! She paused--attempted to pass on like her predecessors, but
her feet refused to bear her from the spot, and turning to them she
cried as if the words had burst irresistibly from her heart, "Oh cruel
and treacherous is the white man! See you those braves, going down the
path of yonder hill? So they have been going ever since Powhatan made
the first peace with your race. May the Great Spirit who dwells beyond
the clouds, shower mercies upon you both, equal to the wrongs which
your people have visited upon ours." And having thus spoken she broke
away, and ran swiftly down the hill in pursuit of her countrymen. She
saw that Virginia was struggling with her emotions to speak, and she
rushed away lest she should again be compelled to listen to a subject
which was disagreeable to her. Virginia, before her own departure, had
exhausted her persuasive powers in the vain effort to induce her to
remain. A hope had till now lingered in her heart, that Wyanokee would
follow her to Middle Plantations, and once more take up her abode in her
house, but when she saw the last traces of her receding figure through
the shadowy gloom of the forest, she knew that she looked upon the
Indian maiden for the last time on earth.
[Footnote 14: The ivy capped ruins of the old church are all that remain
to this day of the ancient city. We trust that no irreverent hands will
ever be laid upon that venerable pile; but that it may be suffered to
stand in its own melancholy grandeur, as long as its materials may cling
together.]
With swimming eyes the lovers pursued their way across the narrow
peninsula. Virginia sobbed aloud, until she had given vent to her
overcharged heart. But an easy and gentle palfrey, and a devoted and
obsequious lover, do not often fail to revive a lady's spirits,
especially through such scenes as she now beheld, bathed as they were in
the mellow glories of a summer twilight. "Hope told a flattering tale,"
and our hero and heroine would have been more or less than mortal, and
wise beyond their years, had they not listened to it. Their laughter was
not loud and joyous, it is true, they were far too happy for that; their
frames trembled with the exquisite pleasure which words warm from and
to the heart produced. Sometimes they were silent indeed, but not for
want of thoughts to interchange. Words had exhausted their power.
They had not proceeded many miles on their way, and the sun still hung
as it were suspended beyond the purple glories of the horizon, when
Bacon pointed with his riding whip to an object before them which
quickly changed the current of his companion's thoughts. Like human
life, their short journey seemed destined to exhibit many dark and
gloomy shadows. It was the Recluse; he was leaning against a tree,
apparently waiting their approach, for as they rode up, he stepped out
into the highway and saluted them. Virginia trembled upon her saddle
with very different sensations from those to which we have just alluded,
but her lover hastily unfolded to her his name and former delusion.
"This, my young friends," said the Recluse, "is our last meeting on
earth--and I have sought it that I might bless you both, before my
departure from the land in which I have so long been a sojourner and an
exile from the haunts of men."
"Whither are you going?" asked Bacon in astonishment. "You certainly
will not leave us, now that the very time has arrived when you may dwell
here in safety. I had even calculated upon having you as an inmate at my
house."
"It cannot be," replied the Recluse. "My destiny calls me to a place far
north of this, where some of my old comrades and now fellow sufferers,
dwell in comparative peace and security. But it is only detaining you
after night fall, to multiply words. May God of his infinite mercy bless
and preserve you both," and thus speaking he also departed, and was seen
no more.[15]
[Footnote 15: Our authority for assuming that one of the Regicides
secluded himself for a time near Jamestown, may be found in Stiles'
Judges, Chapter VI.]
* * * * *
On a certain evening, not very long after the one just spoken of,
General Bacon was married to Miss Virginia Fairfax, and at the same time
and place Charles Dudley, Esq. led to the altar Miss Harriet Harrison.
After this happy announcement, it becomes our painful duty to cast a
melancholy blemish upon the character of one who has figured in our
narrative. On the two several occasions, namely, of his release from
captivity by the storming and capture of Jamestown, and his master's
marriage, Brian O'Reily was found hopelessly, helplessly drunk; or
according to his own explanation, in that state in which a man feels
upward for the earth.
THE END.
ADDENDA.
Should the author's humble labours continue to amuse his countrymen, he
will very soon lay before them "The Tramontane Order; or the Knights of
the Golden Horseshoe;"--an order of Knighthood in the Old Dominion,
which first planted the British standard beyond the Blue Mountains.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Cavaliers of Virginia, by William A. Caruthers