Hansford: A Tale of Bacon's Rebellion

by St. George Tucker

CHAPTER XIV.

“There was a sound of revelry by night—
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spoke again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.”
Childe Harold.

The ball at Sir William Berkeley's palace was of that character, which, in the fashionable world, is described as brilliant; and was long remembered by those who attended it, as the last scene of revelry that was ever known in Jamestown. The park or lawn which we have described was brilliantly illuminated with lamps and transparencies hung from the trees. The palace itself was a perfect blaze of light. The coaches of the cavaliers rolled in rapid succession around the circular path that led to the palace, and deposited their fair burdens, and then rolled rapidly away to await the breaking up of the ball. Young beaux, fairly glittering with gold embroidery, with their handsome doublets looped with the gayest ribbons, and their hair perfumed and oiled, and plaited at the sides in the most captivating love-knots; their cheeks beplastered with rouge, and their moustache carefully trimmed and brushed, passed gracefully to and fro, through the vast hall, and looked love to soft eyes that spake again. And those young eyes, how brightly did they beam, and how freshly did the young cheeks of their lovely owners blush, even above the rouge with which they were painted, as they met the admiring glance of some favored swain bent lovingly upon them! How graceful, too, the attitude which these fair maidens assumed, with their long trails sweeping and fairly carpetting the floor, or when held up by their tapering fingers, how proudly did they step, as they crossed the room to salute the stately and dignified, but now smiling Lady Frances Berkeley—and she the queenly centre of that vast throng, leaning upon the arm of her noble and venerable husband, with what grace and dignity she bowed her turbaned head in response to their salutations; and with what a majestic air of gratified vanity did she receive the courteous gratulations of the chivalrous cavaliers as they wished her many returns of the happy day, and hoped that the hours of her life would be marked by the lapse of diamond sands, while roses grew under her feet!

Sir William Berkeley, of whose extraordinary character we know far more than of any of the earlier governors of Virginia, was now in the evening of his long and prosperous life. “For more than thirty years he had governed the most flourishing country the sun ever shone upon,”[25] and had won for himself golden opinions from all sorts of people. Happy for him, and happy for his fame, if he had passed away ere he had become “encompassed,” as he himself expresses it, “with rebellion, like waters.” To all he had endeared himself by his firmness of character and his suavity of manner. In 1659, he was called, by the spontaneous acclaim of the people of Virginia, to assume the high functions of the government, of which he had been deprived during the Protectorate, and, under his lead, Virginia was the first to throw off her allegiance to the Protector, and to declare herself the loyal realm of the banished Charles. Had William Berkeley died before the troublous scenes which now awaited him, and which have cast so dark a shadow upon his character, scarce any man in colonial history had left so pure a name, or been mourned by sincerer tears. Death is at last the seal of fame, and over the grave alone can we form a just estimate of human worth and human virtue.

In person he was all that we delight to imagine in one who is truly great. Age itself had not bent his tall, majestic figure, which rose, like the form of the son of Kish, above all the people. His full black eye was clear and piercing, and yet was often softened by a benevolent expression. And this was the true nature of his heart, formed at once for softness and for rigour. His mouth, though frequently a pleasant smile played around it, expressed the inflexible firmness and decision of his character. No man to friends was more kind and gentle; no man to a foe was more relentless and vindictive. The only indication of approaching age was in the silver colour of his hair, which he did not conceal with the recently introduced periwig, and which, combed back to show to its full advantage his fine broad brow, fell in long silvery clusters over his shoulders.

Around him were gathered the prominent statesmen of the colony, members of the Council and of the House of Burgesses, conversing on various subjects of political interest. Among those who chose this rational mode of entertainment was our old friend, Colonel Henry Temple, who met many an old colleague among the guests, and everywhere received the respect and attention which his sound sense, his sterling worth, and his former services so richly deserved.

The Lady Frances, too, withdrawing her arm from that of her husband, engaged in elegant conversation with the elderly dames who sought her society; now conversing with easy dignity with the accomplished wives of the councillors; now, with high-bred refinement, overlooking the awkward blunders of some of the plainer matrons, whose husbands were in the Assembly; and now smiling good-humouredly at the old-fashioned vanity and assumed dignity of Mrs. Temple. The comparison of the present order of things with that to which she had been accustomed in her earlier days, formed, as usual, the chief theme of this good lady's discourse. But, to the attentive observer, the glance of pride with which from time to time she looked at her daughter, who, with graceful step and glowing cheek, was joining in the busy dance, plainly showed that, in some respects at least, Mrs. Temple had to acknowledge that the bright present had even eclipsed her favourite past.

Yes, to the gay sound of music, amid the bright butterflies of fashion, who flew heartlessly through the mazes of the graceful dance, Virginia Temple moved—with them, but not of them. She had not forgotten Hansford, but she had forgotten self, and, determined to please her mother, she had sought to banish from her heart, for the time, the sorrow which was still there. She had come to the ball with Bernard, and he, seeing well the effort she had made, bent all the powers of his gifted mind to interest her thoughts, and beguile them from the absorbing subject of her grief. She attributed his efforts to a generous nature, and thanked him in her heart for thus devoting himself to her pleasure. She had attempted to return his kindness by an assumed cheerfulness, which gradually became real and natural, for shadows rest not long upon a young heart. They fly from the blooming garden of youth, and settle themselves amid the gloom and ruins of hoary age. And never had Alfred Bernard thought the fair girl more lovely, as, with just enough of pensive melancholy to soften and not to sadden her heart, she moved among the gay and thoughtless throng around her.

The room next to the ball-room was appropriated to such of the guests as chose to engage in cards and dice; for in this, as in many other respects, the colony attempted to imitate the vices of the mother country. It is true the habit of gaming was not so recklessly extravagant as that which disgraced the corrupt court of Charles the Second, and yet the old planters were sufficiently bold in their risks, and many hundreds of pounds of tobacco often hung upon the turn of the dice-box or the pip[26] of a card. Seated around the old fashioned card-table of walnut, were sundry groups of those honest burgesses, who were ready enough in the discharge of their political functions in the state-house, but after the adjournment were fully prepared for all kinds of fun. Some were playing at gleek, and, to the uninitiated, incomprehensible was the jargon in which the players indulged. “Who'll buy the stock?” cries the dealer. “I bid five”—“and I ten”—“and I fifty.” Vie, revie, surrevie, capote, double capote, were the terms that rang through the room, as the excited gamesters, with anxious faces, sorted and examined their cards. At another table was primero, or thirty-one, a game very much resembling the more modern game of vingt-et-un; and here, too, loud oaths of “damn the luck,” escaped the lips of the betters, as, with twenty-two in their hands, they drew a ten, and burst with a pip too many. Others were moderate in their risks, rattled the dice at tra-trap, and playing for only an angel a game, smoked their pipes sociably together, and talked of the various measures before the Assembly.

Thus the first hours of the evening passed rapidly away, when suddenly the sound of the rebecks[27] ceased in the ball-room, the gaming was arrested in an instant, and at the loud cry of hall-a-hall,[28] the whole company repaired to the long, broad porch, crowding and pushing each other, the unwary cavaliers treading on the long trains of the fair ladies, and receiving a well-merited frown for their carelessness. The object of this general rush was to see the masque, which was to be represented in the porch, illuminated and prepared for the purpose. At one end of the porch a stage was erected, with all the simple machinery which the ingenuity of the youth of Jamestown could devise, to aid in the representation—the whole concealed for the present from the view of the spectators by a green baize curtain.