When Bacon perceived that he slept profoundly, he at once gave way to the restless anxiety to see the papers, by which he was consumed. Eagerly, but softly, he sought the library, opened the doors of the high old fashioned black walnut secretary, with its Lion's claws for feet, and his grisly beard and shining teeth, conspicuous from every brass ornament with which it was adorned.[4]
He returned to his post and opened the package of papers with a trembling anxiety, and intense interest, similar to what one might be supposed to feel who was about to unseal the book of fate.
He had no sooner cast his eye upon the handwriting, than the package fell from his grasp in the most evident disappointment. Until this moment he had indulged a vague undefined hope that from a single glance at the characters, he should at once possess a clue to unravel the whole mystery. His mind had instantly settled upon one peculiar and remarkable individual in the Colony, as the only one likely to possess such knowledge, and from the interest which that person had always manifested in his fate, he had almost persuaded himself that he would prove to be the writer. With his handwriting and the peculiarly dignified and stately character of his language, he had long been familiar. The first few lines over which his eye glanced rapidly and eagerly, convinced him of his error; neither the characters nor the language were his. Nevertheless they possessed sufficient interest, after the momentary disappointment had passed away, to induce him to grasp them again and once more commence their perusal. In this occupation he was soon so completely absorbed as to be unconscious of the time which elapsed, the situation and circumstances in which he was placed as regarded himself, as well as the wounded Cavalier, who lay in the same apartment. In unfolding one of the papers he came upon the gold trinket mentioned by his benefactor. Here again was a new subject of intense interest. "This," said he to himself, "was worn by my mother and was placed around my neck at our last parting." Here was a fragment of her tresses precisely similar in character and colour to his own, interwoven with the darker shades of those of his father. Here too was the date of their marriage and the initials of their names agreeing sufficiently well with his own supposed age. These were all subjects of earnest contemplation to the excited imagination of a youth rendered morbidly sensitive on the subject of his birth and parentage, by many painful occurrences with his aristocratic young associates, and still more by recent developments with the idol of his affections. The trinket was laid down and the manuscript resumed, of whose contents as much as is important to our narrative has already been communicated to the reader. The characters in which it was written, were successively compared in his mind to those of every person in the Colony who handled the pen. In that day it was not hard to remember who they were from their great number, chirography having been an art with which the Cavaliers were less familiar than with the use of the small and broad sword. Not a scribe in the country wrote in characters similar to the one he held in his hand, so far as he could recollect. He thought they resembled those of Governor Berkley more than of any other, yet that sturdy old knight had invariably frowned so much on his attempts to assume the place and standing in society to which his education and intelligence entitled him, that he could not believe him concerned in benefiting him, even as an agent.
The Recluse was the only individual upon whom his mind could rest as the probable author, notwithstanding the variance of the writing. Yet against this conclusion there were many powerful arguments. The first that suggested itself to his mind was the money. Could he command such large sums? And if he could, was it possible with his known habits and peculiarities, not to mention his occasional aberration, to arrange complicated pecuniary affairs in Europe? Then again, if he was the writer, why were these communications continued after he had himself arrived at years of discretion? Every reason seemed to favour the idea that he himself would have been chosen as the depository of these communications, had the Recluse been the man, especially when he reflected that he was at that very time possessed of more of his confidence than any other person in the Colony. The papers were perused and re-perused, and the locket turned over and over listlessly in his fingers, while a shade of deep sadness and disappointment settled upon his countenance.
From this unpleasing revery he was suddenly aroused by the groans of the wounded sufferer, who now awoke in the greatest agony. When Bacon came to his bed-side a melancholy change was visible in his countenance. He was making his last struggle with the grim monster. He was however enabled to express a desire that his family should be called, but when they arrived, he could not give utterance to his ideas. He took first the hand of his wife, and next that of his daughter, and successively resigned them into those of his young executor. This, under the existing circumstances of the moment, attracted no particular attention, but was the subject of many an after-thought and remark. A few convulsive struggles followed, and then the generous and noble spirit of the Cavalier deserted its prison house.
We will not attempt to describe the heart-rending scene which ensued. Suffice it to say, that after a decent and respectful delay, (far more than is allowed in our day,) the much loved and much lamented Mr. Fairfax was borne to the grave, amidst the lamentations and regrets of the whole assembled gentry of the Colony. The long line of mournful pageantry moved in slow and melancholy steps to the sound of a solemn dirge through the streets of the ancient city, and after the usual sad, but appropriate rites of the established church, the corpse was deposited in the burying ground, which to this day preserves the crumbling ruins of many monuments of the ancient Cavaliers.
CHAPTER XIV.
It was some weeks after the funeral of Gideon Fairfax, that Bacon, attracted by the genial warmth of a summer day, sauntered out for the first time, in company with his friend Dudley, to seek the usual rendezvous of the young Cavaliers. Scarcely were they seated in the Tap of the "Arms," before Philip Ludwell hastily entered, touched his castor formally to Bacon and Dudley, and handed to the former a note, fastened with a silken cord, and sealed with the arms of the House of Berkley. Bacon cut the cord and read the note, without changing countenance, and then handed it to Dudley, who had no sooner perused its contents, than they both arose, retired to a private room, and called for pen, ink and paper. The latter soon returned with an answer, sealed in like manner, and handed it to Ludwell, who again formally bowing retired. The first ran thus:
Jamestown, June —, 16—.
To Nathaniel Bacon, Esq.Sir—I seize the first moment of your appearance in public, restored to health, to demand the satisfaction due for the grievous insult put upon me, on the night of the Anniversary Celebration, in presence of the assembled gentry of the Colony. All proper arrangements will be made by my friend Ludwell, who will also await your answer. I have the honour to be your most obedient servant,
Francis Beverly.