The testimony regarding Nicholson's violent temper is so overwhelming as to indicate that the man was unbalanced. On one occasion while talking with Captain James Moodie in an "upper apartment" of the college, he flew into a violent passion against the Commissioners of the Navy, "calling them all the basest names the tongue of man could express." These imprecations were thundered out "with such a noise that the people down in the lower rooms came running up stairs ... believing that the college had been on fire." Several sea captains, who were lodging in a room some distance away, "came running out of their beds in their shirts," one of them "without his wooden leg, holding himself by the wall."[22]
If Nicholson had contented himself with hurling imprecations at those who offended him, his victims might have been able to endure it. "I must confess I have no reason to be satisfied with the insolent, tyrannical behavior of our Governor, but as long as he is vested with the Queen's authority, I will quietly endure his barbarous usage," wrote Philip Ludwell.[23] But when Nicholson carried his malice so far as to prosecute those to whom he took a disliking, deprive them of their jobs, and imprison them, their safety lay in fleeing the colony.
Clergymen seem to have been especially unfortunate in incurring Nicholson's resentment. At a convocation of the clergy in Elizabeth City church, on October 28, 1702, Commissary Blair asked the Reverend James Wallace, the minister, to deliver a sermon. The Governor, who claimed to be the head of the Virginia Church and had summoned the meeting in order to secure a flattering address, was present. It may have been this which influenced Mr. Wallace to choose as his text: "Herein do I exercise myself to have always a conscience void of offence toward God and toward men," and to use it to illustrate the duty of both government officials and clergymen.
Shortly after the services were over Nicholson sent for Mr. Wallace. "How durst you preach such a sermon?" he demanded. "How dare you take such a text? How dare you presume to tell me my duty? I will not be told my duty." From that day the Governor pursued him with the greatest malice. He summoned him before the Council, and threatened him with ruin, calling him villain, hypocrite, Jesuit. He went all the way to Elizabeth City to lay charges against him before his vestry. When Mr. Wallace could endure this persecution no longer and prepared to sail for England, he tried to stop him.[24]
If anything else were needed to make Nicholson a ridiculous figure, it was his love affair with Lucy Burwell. Lucy's father, Major Lewis Burwell, was perhaps the wealthiest man in Virginia. Owning many thousands of acres of land, served by scores of slaves and indentured workers, connected by marriage and birth with some of the most influential families in the colony, he was the typical Virginia aristocrat. Carter's Creek, his residence in Gloucester County, remained standing for over two centuries as witness to his lavish style of living. The great halls, the marble mantels, the elaborate staircase, the wainscoting carved to resemble drapery were reminiscent rather of England than of seventeenth-century Virginia. However, Lucy seems to have spent most of her childhood, not at Carter's Creek, but at King's Creek, an historic old estate left to her parents by her mother's uncle, Nathaniel Bacon, Senior. And here it was that Nicholson pressed his suit, riding over to see her whenever there was a lull in the business of the General Court and the Assembly was not in session.
Lucy and her family received him with the courtesy due the representative of the Crown. But they knew of the Governor's fits of anger, of his profanity, and the abuse he had heaped on their relatives. Lucy was not attracted to him and, telling him she did not love him, refused to marry him.
When he was at last convinced that all hope of winning Lucy was gone, Nicholson acted like a madman. He swore that if she married another he would with his own hands cut the throats of the bridegroom, the minister, and the justice of the peace who issued the license.[25] All pretence of friendship for her relatives was thrown to the winds. Every few days he sent Major Burwell such threats of ruin that the poor man was kept in a constant state of alarm. "For what I know not, unless it is because I will not force my daughter to marry utterly against her will, which is a thing no Christian body can do," he wrote Philip Ludwell, Senior. "If it please God I live until the return of our next fleet, I propose for England, for I shall not be able to live here."[26]
Nicholson became violently jealous of young Stephen Fouace, minister of Martin's Hundred parish, in which the Burwells resided. One night, when he was returning from a pastoral call at King's Creek he happened to meet the Governor. Falling into one of his rages, Nicholson, in a thundering voice, commanded him never again to visit the house unless sent for, and never again to speak to Lucy.[27]
"Why, Sir," stammered the frightened pastor, "what is the matter? Does your Excellency take me for your rival? I assure you, sir, I have not that foolish presumption to think to be preferred to your Excellency."
"Hold your prate, sirrah. I have taken good notice of you. You are an impudent rogue, a villain, a rascal."