FOOTNOTES:
[40] This was indeed true, and renders the conduct of Berkeley entirely inexplicable.
[41] The name given to the tree on which Judas hanged himself.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
“His flight was madness.”
Macbeth.
Yes, Virginia! She who had so much reason for consolation herself, forgot her own sorrows for the time, in administering the oil of consolation to the poor, wounded, broken-hearted savage girl. She had been sitting at the window of the little parlour, where she could witness the whole scene, and hear the whole interview between the Governor and Hansford; and oh! how her heart had sunk within her as she heard the harsh sentence of the stern old knight, which condemned her noble, friendless lover to imprisonment, perhaps to death; and yet, a maiden modesty restrained her from yielding to the impulse of the moment, to throw herself at the feet of Berkeley, confess her love, and implore his pardon. Alas! ill-fated maiden, it would have been in vain—as she too truly, too fatally discovered afterwards.
The extraordinary appearance and conduct of Mamalis broke up for the present any further conference with Berkenhead, who—his mendacity having established his innocence in the minds of the loyalists—walked off with a swaggering gait, rather elated than otherwise with the result of his interview. Alfred Bernard followed him until they turned an angle of the house, and stood beneath the shade of one of the broad oaks, which spread its protecting branches over the yard.
Meantime the Governor, with such of his council as had attended him to Windsor Hall, retired to the study of the old Colonel, which had been fitted up both for the chamber of his most distinguished guest and for the deliberations of the council. The subject which now engaged their attention was one of more importance than any that had ever come before them since the commencement of the dissensions in Virginia. The mission of Hansford, while it had failed of producing the effect which he so ardently desired, had, notwithstanding, made a strong impression upon the mind of the Governor. He saw too plainly that it would be vain to resist the attack of Bacon, at the head of five hundred men, among whom were to be ranked the very chivalry of Virginia; while his own force consisted merely of his faithful adherents in the council, and about fifty mercenary troops, whose sympathies with the insurgents were strongly suspected.
“I see,” said the old man, gloomily, as he took his seat at the council-board, “that I must seek some other refuge. I am hunted like a wild beast from place to place, through a country that was once my own, and by those who were once the loving subjects of my king.”
“Remain here!” said the impulsive old Temple. “The people of Gloucester will yet rally around your standard, when they see open treason is contemplated; and should they still refuse, zounds, we may yet offer resistance with my servants and slaves.”
“My dear friend,” said Berkeley, sorrowfully, “if all Virginians were like yourself, there would have been no rebellion—there would have been no difficulty in suppressing one, if attempted. But alas! the loyalty of the people of Gloucester has already been weighed in the balance and found wanting. No, I have acted hastily, foolishly, blindly. I have warmed this serpent into life by my forbearance and indulgence, and must at last be the victim of its venom and my folly. Oh! that I had refused the commission, which armed this traitor with legal power. I have put a sword into the hands of an enemy, and may be the first to fall by it.”
“It is useless to repine over the past,” said Philip Ludwell, kindly; “but the power of these rebels cannot last long. The people who are loyal at heart will fall from their support, and military aid will be received from England ere long. Then the warmed reptile may be crushed.”
“To my mind,” said Ballard, “it were better to repair the evil that has been done by retracing our steps, rather than to proceed further. When a man is over his depth, he had better return to the shore than to attempt to cross the unfathomable stream.”
“Refrain from enigmas, if you please,” said Berkeley, coldly, “and tell me to what you refer.”
“Simply,” replied Ballard, firmly, “that all this evil has resulted from your following the jesuitical counsel of a boy, rather than the prudent caution of your advisers. My honoured sir, forgive me if I say it is now your duty to acquiesce in the request of Major Hansford, and withdraw your proclamation.”
“And succumb to traitors!” cried Berkeley. “Never while God gives me breath to reiterate it. He who would treat with a traitor, is himself but little better than a traitor.”
The flush which mounted to the brow of Ballard attested his indignation at this grave charge; but before he had time to utter the retort which rose to his lips, Berkeley added,
“Forgive me, Ballard, for my haste. But the bare idea of making terms with these audacious rebels roused my very blood. No, no! I can die in defence of my trust, but I cannot, will not yield it.”
“But it is not yielding,” said Ballard.
“Nay—no more of that,” interrupted Berkeley; “let us devise some other means. I have it,” he added, after a pause. “Accomac is still true to my interest, and divided from the mainland by the bay, is difficult of access. There will I pitch my tent, and sound my defiance—and when aid shall come from England, these proud and insolent traitors shall feel the power of my vengeance the more for this insult to my weakness.”
This scheme met with the approbation of all present, with the exception of old Ballard, who shook his head, and muttered, that he hoped it might all be for the best. And so it was determined that early the next morning the loyal refugees should embark on board a vessel then lying off Tindal's Point, and sail for Accomac.
“And we will celebrate our departure by hanging up that young rogue, Hansford, in half an hour,” said Berkeley.
“By what law, may it please your excellency?” asked Ballard, surprised at this threat.
“By martial law.”
“And for what offence?”
“Why zounds, Ballard, you have turned advocate-general for all the rebels in the country,” said Berkeley, petulantly.
“No, Sir William, I am advocating the cause of justice and of my king.”
“Well, sir, what would you advise? To set the rogue at liberty, I suppose, and by our leniency to encourage treason.”
“By no means,” said Ballard. “But either to commit him to custody until he may be fairly tried by a jury of his peers, or to take him with you to Accomac, where, by further developments of this insurrection, you may better judge of the nature of his offence.”
“And a hospitable reception would await me in Accomac, forsooth, if I appeared there with a prisoner of war, whom I did not have the firmness to punish as his crime deserves. No, by heaven! I will not be encumbered with prisoners. His life is forfeit to the law, and as he would prove an apostle of liberty, let him be a martyr to his cause.”
“Let me add my earnest intercession to that of Colonel Ballard,” said Temple, “in behalf of this unhappy man. I surely have some claim upon your benevolence, and I ask his life as a personal boon to me.”
“Oh, assuredly, since you rely upon your hospitable protection to us, you should have your fee,” said Berkeley, with a sneer. “But not in so precious a coin as a rebel's life. If you have suffered by the protection afforded to the deputy of your king, you shall not lack remuneration. But the coin shall be the head of Carolus II.;[42] this rebel's head I claim as my own.”
“Now, by heaven!” returned Temple, thoroughly aroused, “it requires all my loyalty to stomach so foul an insult. My royal master's exchequer could illy remunerate me for the gross language heaped upon me by his deputy. But let this pass. You are my guest, sir; and that I cannot separate the Governor from the man, I am prevented from resenting an insult, which else I could but little brook.”
“As you please, mine host,” replied Berkeley. “But, in truth, I have wronged you, Temple. But think, my friend, of the pang the shepherd must feel, when he finds that he has let a wolf into his fold, which he is unable to resist. Oh, think of this, and bear with me!”
Temple knew the old Governor too well to doubt the sincerity of this retraxit, and with a cordial grasp of the hand, he assured Berkeley of his forgiveness. “And yet,” he added, warmly, “I cannot forget the cause I advocate, for this first rebuff. Believe me, Sir William, you will gain nothing, but lose much, by proceeding harshly against this unhappy young man. In the absence of any evidence of his guilt, you will arouse the indignation of the colonists to such a height, that it will be difficult to pacify them.”
“Pardon me, Sir William Berkeley,” said Bernard, who had joined the party, “but would it not be well to examine this knave, Berkenhead, touching the movements and intentions of the insurgents, and particularly concerning any expressions which may have fallen from this young gentleman? If it shall appear that he is guiltless of the crime imputed to him, then you may safely yield to the solicitations of these gentlemen, and liberate him. But if it shall appear that he is guilty, they, in their turn, cannot object to his meeting the penalty which his treason richly deserves.”
“Now, by heaven, the young man speaks truthfully and wisely,” said Temple, assured, by the former interview with Berkenhead, that he knew of nothing which could convict the prisoner. “Nor do I see, Sir William, what better course you can adopt than to follow his counsel.”
“Truly,” said Berkeley, “the young man has proven himself the very Elihu of counsellors. 'Great men are not always wise, neither do the aged understand judgment. But there is a spirit in man, and the inspiration of the Almighty giveth them understanding.' Yet I fear, Colonel Temple, you will scarcely, after my impetuosity just now, deem me a Job for patience, though Alfred may be an Elihu for understanding. Your counsel is good, young man. Let the knave be brought hither to testify, and look ye that the prisoner be introduced to confront him. My friends, Ballard and Temple, are such sticklers for law, that we must not deviate from Magna Charta or the Petition of Right. But stay, we will postpone this matter till the morrow. I had almost forgotten it was the Sabbath. Loyal churchmen should venerate the day, even when treason is abroad in the land. Meantime, let the villain Berkenhead be kept in close custody, lest he should escape.”