The Cavaliers of Virginia, vol. 2 of 2 / or, The Recluse of Jamestown; An historical romance of the Old Dominion

by William Alexander Caruthers

On the succeeding morning, the sun rose upon the ancient city, in unclouded splendour, for the last time it was destined ever to shine upon the earliest erected city in North America. It was the dreaded day to our heroine, appointed for her marriage. Her uncle had solemnly assured her upon their landing on the previous day, that the one which had now arrived, should see her the wife of Beverly. The latter, too, claimed the fulfilment of her solemn promise. The distressed and enfeebled girl knew not whither to turn for sympathy and succour; she was beset on all sides, and not a little oppressed with the shackles of her own promise. She did not dare to hope that her lover had already made his way from Accomac to her own vicinity. She remembered indeed, that the Recluse had charged her, in case of any sudden danger or emergency, to send him a memento of the bloody seal, but she likewise remembered, that he had since been the main cause of her separation from one to whom she was heart and soul devoted. She was also oppressed with unutterable sadness on account of her mother's death, the true account of which she had just heard,—the body having been sent by the patriots to the city for burial, immediately before her arrival. To her aunt she appealed, with touching pathos; but alas, she could do nothing, even had she been so disposed. Wyanokee had returned with the body of her mother, and by her devotion to the revered remains, revived all Virginia's former affection, but she was powerless, and withal a prisoner, and so wrapped up in her own gloomy meditations, that she looked more like one of the dumb idols of her own race, than a living maiden. When spoken to, she started up as one from a trance—and without speaking again, sought communion with her own ideal world.

The hour was a second time fast approaching for the celebration of the nuptials of our heroine. None of the fortunate occurrences or lucky accidents for which she had hoped, relieved the despair of the fleeting moments. Her uncle and Beverly had both repeatedly sent up to her apartments, and desired to be admitted to her presence, but on various pretences they had been as yet denied. Her aunt had again and again urged her to prepare for the ceremony, but hour after hour flew by, and she was still sitting in her robe de chambre her neglected ringlets hanging in loose clusters over her forehead and neck, the former of which rested upon her hand, and it in its turn upon her knee—her head turned slightly to one side, where Wyanokee sat, straight as an Indian arrow, and silent and immovable as death. At length she heard her uncle at the door, who swore that if she did not dress and descend immediately to the parlour, where the clergyman and Beverly were in waiting, he would have the door forced, and compel her to go through the ceremony even should her feet refuse to sustain her. Soon after he had retired, Lady Berkley again entered, when the distressed and bereaved maiden clasped her round the neck and wept bitterly. "Oh, dearest aunt," she exclaimed, "save me from this desecration—this perjury! Great and merciful God," she cried, loosing her hold, and clasping her hands, "how can I vow before Heaven to love, honour and obey a man that I abhor and detest?"

"You should have thought of that, my dear child, before you gave your solemn promise to Frank; it is too late now to retract."

"Is it even so? then I will swear when they come to ask me to pledge my vows, that my love never was mine to give away; that I learned its existence in another's possession. They shall not—they cannot force me to swear an untruth. They may lead me through the outward forms of a marriage ceremony, but racks and torments shall not make me in any way accessary to the deed. If I promised otherwise, it was the last despairing refuge of outraged nature. It was the instinct of preservation within me, and not my free and voluntary act." Influenced by this idea, she stood like an automaton, and suffered her women to deck her out in bridal array, and was then mechanically led from her room, accompanied by her aunt, Wyanokee, and her female dependants. She found Sir William Berkley and Frank Beverly waiting her approach in the entry. She shrunk back at the sight of the latter, but he, none the less bold, approached at the same time with her uncle, and together they led her toward the room where the clergyman waited, with many of the loyal Cavaliers. When they arrived at the door, and she saw the reverend gentleman in his robes, and the book open before him, her excited frame could bear the tension no longer, and she fell lifeless upon the floor. A loud roar from the brazen throat of a cannon at the same moment shook the windows like a peal of thunder, and was succeeded by the echoing blasts of the trumpet's charge, multiplying the bold challengers it rolled from river to cliff. This plan of daring an opponent to battle, was strictly in accordance with the usages of the age, and was instantly understood by the Governor and his friends, all of whom flew to the windows, where they beheld a sight, which soon drove softer emotions from their hearts, if they had any. The former saw the smoke curling over Bacon's breastwork and entrenchments, and was struck dumb with amazement. But soon recovering his voice, and throwing up the sash, he shouted to the guard below, "to arms, to arms—for king and country."

Whatever were the faults of Sir William Berkley, and they will be considered many in this refined age and renovated country, cowardice was not one of them. In a very few moments he mounted his charger and, together with Beverly and Ludwell, galloped swiftly along his forming battalions rebuking the tardy and cheering on the brave. With his superior numbers and heavier appointments, he felt as sure of victory as if he already sat in judgment, or was pronouncing sentence upon the chief of the rebels. That Bacon was already at the head of his army never for a moment entered his imagination; but the knowledge would have made no change in his arrogant calculations, even had he possessed it.

So confident was he of an easy and speedy victory, that he scouted the idea of remaining within the palisade, and waiting for the attack of the patriots; and this was indeed becoming every moment more impracticable, for the cannon balls from the heights were even now tearing through the houses, riddling the ships and throwing his troops into confusion. No time therefore was to be lost. He ordered the vessels to draw off into the middle of the stream, threw open the gates, and sallied boldly out to meet the foe.

Virginia was borne to her apartment still senseless, and the physician was immediately sent for, but before his arrival, she had several times opened her eyes as her aunt with real but unavailing sorrow in her countenance applied the usual restoratives. At every discharge of the artillery she slightly moved; her excited imagination identified the sound with the fearful thunder that attended the former disastrous ceremony at the chapel.

But when her aunt explained to her the occasion of the uproar, she sprang up in the bed, clasped her hands, threw her eyes to Heaven, and exclaimed,—"Merciful God, I thank thee! Providence has indeed interposed for my preservation! Oh, if he could only be there?—No, no, no, it is better, perhaps, as it is—for cruel as my uncle is, I could not bear to see him pierced by Bacon's sword, and he would assuredly seek his life. Merciful Father, thou orderest all things wisely. Aunt, let me prepare you for another turn of fortune! The patriots will be successful! my heart assures me they will. Young Dudley and Harrison are there, and they have lion hearts; but weep not, aunt, they are as generous as they are brave."

Sir William Berkley, with that blind, passionate, and impetuous courage for which he was distinguished, scarcely delayed to organize his troops effectually, but rushed with reckless fury against his enemies.

Bacon, from the moment that he perceived the marshalling of the troops outside the gate, silenced his cannon, and waked with coolness, and in profound silence, the approach of the opposing columns. Sir William began to calculate upon a bloodless and easy victory, and even contemplated sending in a flag with terms of capitulation. But dearly did he pay for his error, and terribly was he awakened from the momentary delusion.