It was in the old church, from the wooden tower of which the cannon had been fired so often on that dreadful night of death and horror, that we were married. As was the custom of the colony--though one, I think, that might well be changed--the minister took the first kiss from me, while my husband kissed my bridesmaid, Mary, and afterwards I had to submit to being kissed by every gentleman present, while all the while I wanted no other embrace than that of my dear lord. Yet it had to be borne, and one of the first to avail himself of this privilege was Gregory, who kissed me sadly, saying as he did so:
"Ah, Joice, 'twas otherwise I had hoped some day to kiss thy sweet brow. Yet 'twas not to be and so I must bear it as best I may," and he passed sadly down the aisle and away home, tarrying not for the drinkings nor merry-makings that afterwards set in. But, poor lad, he struggled with his love for me so well that at last he conquered it, and certainly his disappointment made no difference in his friendship for me or my husband. During our absence in England he managed my property as carefully as though it had been his own, and regularly sent us an exact account of all he had done, so that 'twas easy to see, and to admire in seeing, that his unaccepted love had not made an enemy of him.
Mr. Kinchella and Mary Mills we saw married a week after our own nuptials, so we left them also happy and content--which was a great joy to us to do. O'Rourke, too, we parted from as friends part from one another, he setting out for Savannah where he purposed to instal himself as agent of Mr. Oglethorpe and bidding us an affectionate farewell ere doing so. He also made an affidavit before an attorney at Jamestown of all he knew of the villainies of Robert St. Amande and the wretch Considine, and swore as well that, from the intimate knowledge he had of my lord's family, and also from having had him once in his charge, the Viscount St. Amande was most undoubtedly the lawfully born child of the late lord. Moreover, he also swore (and produced letters from Considine proving his oath, which letters he gave to Gerald) that, during the separation of Lady St. Amande from her husband, he, Considine, was living an outlaw at Hamburg with a price upon his head, so that he could never have even seen her during that time.
The overseers of the bond-servants being, like all the others, free men now, were provided with means whereby either to establish themselves in the colony or to go elsewhere, though they, in common with the others, elected to remain as hired hands on my estate during my absence. Buck, however, who seemed never to have lost his rollicking disposition, being also provided with some money wherewith to adventure on his own account, bought the lease of the tavern in the village, and changed its name from that of the King's Head to the St. Amande Arms. Lamb, who had once been a sailor, became again one, while his sister, Christian, took passage with us to England as my maid.
[CHAPTER XXX]
IN THE LAND WHERE THEIR FATHERS DWELT
How shall I, brought up a plain colonial maiden, who had never seen anything more grand than the opening of our Virginian Assembly by the Governor, nor anything more of great life than an assembly ball or the meeting together of our first families at the races, dare to describe the wonders and splendours of London. For wonderful and splendid everything was, and marvellous to behold. From where we were at first installed until the Marquis could arrive in London from his country seat, namely, a busy inn called the Hercules Pillars, at Hyde Park Corner, a spot which my dear father had often told me was the centre of fashion, I saw so much going on that my head was ever in a whirl. Here from morn till night, under the balcony of our sitting-room windows, went on such a clatter and a dashing by of vehicles, including the fast coaches coming in and going out of London, and of huge carriages and carts and horses, that there was no peace, though, in dear truth, I loved to lean over that balcony and watch the turmoil. In the early November mornings--for 'twas that month ere we reached London--first would come lumbering by great carts piled high with vegetables, all of which, my lord said, London would have eaten up by nightfall--a thing not wonderful to understand, seeing that it was asserted that there were nearly half a million people in the town, or one-twelfth part of the whole country. Then great droves of beasts would pass, and sometimes--oh! sad sight--a wretched highwayman with his hands tied behind his back and escorted by the thief-catchers, while the passers-by hooted at him or beat at him with sticks and whips, or flung refuse at him.
"Such was Buck once," Gerald would say when he saw one of these; "and, perhaps O'Rourke, though I think he was more the spy. Ah! well, it is better to be honest men in Virginia or Georgia than like this."
Then, as the day went on, and a poor, thin sun struggled out of the mist, making some brightness around, there would ride forth gentlemen who were going a-hunting at Richmond, or Hampton, or Hounslow, very splendid in their coats. Others, too, would come down to ride in the park most beautifully dressed, and some would stroll along on foot, talking and laughing, and bowing to ladies in their chaises, or taking off their hats to a portly bishop who passed our inn every morning in a coach and six. And sometimes, too, a great lady or so would also go by in her coach and six, with, seated on the steps outside, a page, or sometimes a little black boy with a silver chain around his neck, and I never understood then why Gerald would pull me back into the room as though he wished me not to see these dames. Yet, when I learnt afterwards that one was the Countess of Suffolk and another the horrid woman, Melusina Schulemberg, I did comprehend his reason. And, even in the three days we lay at this inn, I learnt to hate the latter, for, going past one morning, she observed my handsome Gerald on the balcony and kissed her hand to him--as they say she did to any well-favoured gentleman she saw--and afterwards always peered out of the carriage as though seeking for him.
Soon, however, my pleasures of witnessing the bustle of this place came to an end. One dull November morning there drove up to the door of the Hercules Pillars a great coach and six, all emblazoned with coats-of-arms and decorated with rich hangings and much gilding, with, before it, three panting footmen, who, poor creatures, had always to run in front of it, and with, seated within it, a grave and soberly-clad gentleman.