Hansford: A Tale of Bacon's Rebellion Part 14

"And he will not want my aid in building up his fortunes," returned Berkeley; "but they have only been in the colony about six months as yet-and the young man has entwined himself about my heart like a son.

My own bed, alas! is barren, as you know, and it seems that a kind providence had sent this young man here as a subst.i.tute for the offspring which has been denied to me. See Temple," he added, in a whisper, "with what admiring eyes he regards your fair daughter. And if an old man may judge of such matters, it is with maiden modesty returned."

"I think that you are at fault," said Temple, with a sigh; "my daughter's affections are entirely disengaged at present."

"Well, time will develope which of us is right. It would be a source of pride and pleasure, Harry, if I could live to see a union between this, my adopted boy, and the daughter of my early friend," said the old Governor, as a tear glistened in his eye; "but come, Presley, the dancing has ceased for a time," he added aloud, "favour the company with a song."

"Oh, d.a.m.n it, Governor," replied the old burgess, "my songs won't suit a lady's ear. They are intended for the rougher s.e.x."

"Well, never fear," said the Governor, "I will check you if I find you are overleaping the bounds of propriety."

"Very well, here goes then-a loyal ditty that I heard in old England, about five years agone, while I was there on a visit. Proclaim order, and join in the chorus as many as please."

And with a loud, clear, merry voice, the old burgess gave vent to the following, which he sung to the tune of the "Old and Young Courtier;" an air which has survived even to our own times, though adapted to the more modernized words, and somewhat altered measure of the "Old English Gentleman:"-

"Young Charley is a merry prince; he's come unto his own, And long and merrily may he fill his martyred father's throne; With merry laughter may he drown old Nolly's whining groan, And when he dies bequeath his crown to royal flesh and bone.

Like a merry King of England, And England's merry King.

"With b.u.mpers full, to royal Charles, come fill the thirsty gla.s.ses, The pride of every loyal heart, the idol of the ma.s.ses; Yet in the path of virtue fair, old Joseph far surpa.s.ses, The merry prince, whose sparkling eye delights in winsome la.s.ses.

Like a merry King of England, And England's merry King.

"For Joseph from dame Potiphar, as holy men a.s.sert, Leaving his garment in her hand, did naked fly unhurt; But Charley, like an honest lad, will not a friend desert, And so he still remains behind, nor leaves his only shirt.

Like a merry King of England, And England's merry King.

"Then here's to bonny Charley, he is a prince divine, He hates a Puritan as much as Jews detest a swine; But, faith, he loves a shade too much his mistresses and wine, Which makes me fear that he will not supply the royal line, With a merry King of England, And England's merry King."

The singer paused, and loud and rapturous was the applause which he received, until, putting up his hand in a deprecating manner, silence was again restored, and with an elaborate _impromptu_, which it had taken him about two hours that morning to spin from his old brain, he turned to Berkeley, and burst forth again.

"Nor let this mirror of the king by us remain unsung, To whom the hopes of Englishmen in parlous times have clung: Let Berkeley's praises still be heard from every loyal tongue, While Bacon and his hoggish herd be cured, and then be hung.

Like young rebels of the King, And the King's young rebels."

Various were the comments drawn forth by the last volunteer stanza of the old loyalist. With lowering looks, some of the guests conversed apart in whispers, for there were a good many in the a.s.sembly, who, though not entirely approving the conduct of Bacon, were favourably disposed to his cause. Sir William Berkeley himself restrained his mirth out of respect for a venerable old man, who stood near him, and towards whom many eyes were turned in pity. This was old Nathaniel Bacon, the uncle of the young insurgent, and himself a member of the council. There were dark rumours afloat, that this old man had advised his nephew to break his parole and fly from Jamestown; but, although suspicion had attached to him, it could never be confirmed. Even those who credited the rumour rather respected the feelings of a near relative, in thus taking the part of his kinsman, than censured his conduct as savouring of rebellion.

FOOTNOTES:

[35] This jovial old colonist is referred to in the T. M. account of the Rebellion.

CHAPTER XVII.

"And first she pitched her voice to sing, Then glanced her dark eye on the king, And then around the silent ring, And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say Her pretty oath, by yea and nay, She could not, would not, durst not play."

_Marmion._

"How did _you_ like Major Presley's song?" said Bernard to Virginia, as he leaned gracefully over her chair, and played carelessly with the young girl's fan.

"Frankly, Mr. Bernard," she replied, "not at all. There was only one thing which seemed to me appropriate in the exhibition."

"And what was that?"

"The coa.r.s.e language and sentiment of the song comported well with the singer."

"Oh, really, Miss Temple," returned Bernard, "you are too harsh in your criticism. It is not fair to reduce the habits and manners of others to your own purer standard of excellence, any more than to censure the scanty dress of your friend Mamalis, which, however picturesque in itself, would scarcely become the person of one of these fair ladies here."

"And yet," said Virginia, blushing crimson at the allusion, "there can be no other standard by which I at least can be governed, than that established by my own taste and judgment. You merely asked me _my_ opinion of Major Presley's performance; others, it is true, may differ with me, but their decisions can scarcely affect my own."

"The fact that there is such a wide variance in the taste of individuals," argued Bernard, "should, however, make us cautious of condemning that which may be sustained by the judgment of so many. Did you know, by the way, Miss Virginia, that 'habit' and 'custom' are essentially the same words as 'habit' and 'costume.' This fact-for the history of a nation may almost be read in the history of its language-should convince you that the manners and customs of a people are as changeable as the fashions of their dress."

"I grant you," said Virginia, "that the mere manners of a people may change in many respects; but true taste, when founded on a true appreciation of right, can never change."

"Why, yes it can," replied her companion, who delighted in bringing the young girl out, as he said, and plying her with specious sophisms.

"Beauty, certainly, is an absolute and not a relative emotion, and yet what is more changeable than a taste in beauty. The Chinese bard will write a sonnet on the oblique eyes, flat nose and club feet of his saffron Amaryllis, while he would revolt with horror from the fair features of a British la.s.sie. Old Uncle Giles will tell you that the negro of his Congo coast paints his Obi devil white, in order to inspire terror in the hearts of the wayward little Eboes. The wild Indians of Virginia dye their cheeks-"

"Nay, there you will not find so great a difference between us," said Virginia, interrupting him, as she pointed to the plastered rouge on Bernard's cheek. "But really, Mr. Bernard, you can scarcely be serious in an opinion so learnedly argued. You must acknowledge that right and wrong are absolute terms, and that a sense of them is inherent in our nature."

"Well then, seriously, my dear Miss Temple," replied Bernard, "I do not see so much objection to the gay society of England, which is but a reflection from the mirror of the court of Charles the Second."

"When the mirror is stained or imperfect, Mr. Bernard, the image that it reflects must be distorted too. That society which breaks down the barriers that a refined sentiment has erected between the s.e.xes, can never develope in its highest perfection the purity of the human heart."

"Well, I give up the argument," said Bernard, "for where sentiment is alone concerned, there is no more powerful advocate than woman. But, my dear Miss Temple, you who have such a pure and correct taste on this subject, can surely ill.u.s.trate your own idea by an example. Will you not sing? I know you can-your mother told me so."

"You must excuse me, Mr. Bernard; I would willingly oblige you, but I fear I could not trust my voice among so many strangers."

"You mistake your own powers," urged Bernard. "There is nothing easier, believe me, after the first few notes of the voice, which sound strangely enough I confess, than for any one to recover self-possession entirely. I well remember the first time I attempted to speak before a large audience. When I arose to my feet, my knees trembled, and my lips actually felt heavy as lead. It seemed as though every drop of blood in my system rushed back to my heart. The vast crowd before me was nothing but an immense a.s.semblage of eyes, all bent with the most burning power upon me; and when at length I opened my mouth, and first heard the tones of my own voice, it sounded strange and foreign to my ear. It seemed as though it was somebody else, myself and yet not myself, who was speaking; and my utterance was so choked and discordant, that I would have given worlds if I could draw back the words that escaped me. But after a half dozen sentences, I became perfectly composed and self-possessed, and cared no more for the gaping crowd than for the idle wind which I heed not. So it will be with your singing, but rest a.s.sured that the discord of your voice will only exist in your own fancy. Now will you oblige me?"

"Indeed, Mr. Bernard, I cannot say that you have offered much inducement," said Virginia, laughing at the young man's description of his forensic debut. "Nothing but the strongest sense of duty would impel me to pa.s.s through such an ordeal as that which you have described.

Seriously you must excuse me. I cannot sing."

"Oh yes you can, my dear," said her mother, who was standing near, and heard the latter part of the conversation. "What's the use of being so affected about it! You know you can sing, my dear-and I like to see young people obliging."

"That's right, Mrs. Temple," said Bernard, "help me to urge my pet.i.tion; I don't think Miss Virginia can be disobedient, even if it were in her power to be disobliging."

"The fact is, Mr. Bernard," said the old lady, "that the young people of the present day require so much persuading, that its hardly worth the trouble to get them to do any thing."

"Well, mother, if you put it on that ground," said Virginia, "I suppose I must waive my objections and oblige you."

So saying, she rose, and taking Bernard's arm, she seated herself at Lady Frances' splendid harp, which was sent from England as a present by her brother-in-law, Lord Berkeley. Drawing off her white gloves, and running her little tapering fingers over the strings, Virginia played a melancholy symphony, which accorded well with the sad words that came more sadly on the ear through the medium of her plaintive voice:-

"Fondly they loved, and her trusting heart With the hopes of the future bounded, Till the trumpet of Freedom condemned them to part, And the knell of their happiness sounded.

"But his is a churl's and a traitor's choice, Who, deaf to the call of duty, Would linger, allured by a syren's voice, On the Circean island of beauty.

"His country called! he had heard the sound, And kissed the pale cheek of the maiden, Then staunched with his blood his country's wound, And ascended in glory to Aidenn.

"The shout of victory lulled him to sleep The slumber that knows no dreaming, But a martyr's reward he will proudly reap, In the grateful tears of Freemen.