Hansford: A Tale of Bacon's Rebellion Part 20

"Reverend sir," said Hansford, "you have the reputation of having a sound head on your shoulders, and should have a prudent tongue in your head. I would advise you, therefore, to refrain from the too frequent use of that word 'rebel,' which just fell from you. But it is time we should part. I will conduct you to the gate lest you find some difficulty in pa.s.sing the sentry, and you will oblige me, kind sir, by seeing this young lady to her home." Then turning to Virginia, he whispered his brief adieu, and imprinting a long, warm kiss upon her lips, he led the way in silence to the gate. Here they parted. She to return to her quiet chamber to mourn over hopes thus fled forever, and he to forget self and sorrow in the stirring events of martial life.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"In the service of mankind to be A guardian G.o.d below; still to employ The mind's brave ardour in heroic aims, Such as may raise us o'er the grovelling herd And make us shine forever-that is life."

_Thomson._

In a short time the bustle and stir in the camp of the insurgents announced that their little army was about to commence its march.

Nathaniel Bacon rode slowly along Stuart street, at the head of the soldiery, and leaving Jamestown to the east, extended his march towards the falls of James river. Here, he had received intelligence that the hostile tribes had gathered to a head, and he determined without delay to march upon them unawares, and with one decisive blow to put an end to the war. Flushed with triumph, he thought, the soldiery would more willingly and efficiently turn their arms against the government, and aid in carrying out his darling project of effecting some organic changes in the charter of the colony; if, indeed, it was not already his purpose to dissolve the political connection of Virginia with the mother country.

The little party rode on in silence for several miles, for each was buried in his own reflections. Bacon, with his own peculiar views of ambition and glory, felt but little sympathy with those who united in the rebellion for the specific object of a march against the savages.

Hansford was meditating on the heavy sacrifice which he had made for his country's service, and striving to see, in the dim future, some gleam of hope which might cheer him in his gloom. Lawrence and Drummond, the two most influential leaders in the movement, had been left behind in Jamestown, their place of residence, to watch the movements of Berkeley, in whose fair promises none of the insurgents seemed to place implicit confidence. The rest of the little party had already exhausted in discussion the busy events of the day, and remained silent from want of material for conversation.

At length, however, Bacon, whose knowledge of human nature had penetrated the depths of Hansford's heart, and who felt deeply for his favourite, gave him the signal to advance somewhat in front of their comrades, and the following conversation took place:

"And so, my friend," said Bacon, in the mild, winning voice, which he knew so well how to a.s.sume; "and so, my friend, you have renounced your dearest hopes in life for this glorious enterprise."

Hansford only answered with a sigh.

"Take it not thus hardly," continued Bacon. "Think of your loss as a sacrifice to liberty. Look to the future for your happiness, to a redeemed and liberated country for your home-to glory as your bride."

"Alas!" said Hansford, "glory could never repay the loss of happiness.

Believe me, General, that personal fame is not what I covet. Far better would it be for me to have been born and reared in obscurity, and to pa.s.s my brief life with those I love, than for the glittering bauble, glory, to give up all that is dear to the heart."

"And do you repent the course you have taken," asked Bacon, with some surprise.

"Repent! no; G.o.d forbid that I should repent of any sacrifice which I have made to the cause of my country. But it is duty that prompts me, not glory. For as to this selfsame will-o'-the-wisp, which seems to allure so many from happiness, I trust it not. I am much of the little Prince Arthur's mind-

'By my Christendom, So I were out of prison and kept sheep, I should be as merry as the day is long.'

Duty is the prison which at last keeps man from enjoying his own happier inclination."

"There you are wrong, Hansford," said Bacon, "duty is the poor drudge, which, patient in its harness, pursues the will of another. Glory is the wild, unconfined eagle, that impatient of restraint would soar to a heaven of its own."

"And is it such an object as this that actuates you in our present enterprise?" asked Hansford.

"Both," replied the enthusiastic leader. "Man, in his actions, is controlled by many forces-and duty is chiefly prized when it waits as the humble handmaiden on glory. But in this enterprise other feelings enter in to direct my course. Revenge against these relentless wolves of the forest for the murder of a friend-revenge against that proud old tyrant, Berkeley, who, clothed in a little brief authority, would trample me under his feet,-love of my country, which impels me to aid in her reformation, and to secure her liberty-and, nay, don't frown,-desire for that fame which is to the mere discharge of plain duty what the spirit is to the body-which directs and sustains it here, but survives its dissolution. Are not these sufficient motives of action?"

"Pardon me, General," said Hansford, "but I see only one motive here which is worthy of you. Self-preservation, not revenge, could alone justify an a.s.sault upon these misguided savages-and your love of country is sufficient inducement to urge you to her protection and defence. But these motives are chiefly personal to yourself. How can you expect them to affect the minds of your followers?"

"Look ye, Major Hansford," said Bacon, "I speak to you as I do not to most men-because I know you have a mind and a heart superior to them-I would dare not attempt to influence you as I do others; but do you see those poor trusting fellows that are following in our wake?

These men help men like you and me to rise, as feathers help the eagle to soar above the clouds. But the proud bird may moult a feather from his pinion without descending from his lofty pride of place."

"And this then is what you call liberty?" said Hansford, a little offended at the overbearing manner of the young demagogue.

"Certainly," returned Bacon, calmly, "the only liberty for which the ma.s.s of mankind are fitted. The instincts of nature point them to the man most worthy to control their destinies. Their brute force aids in elevating him to power-and then he returns upon their heads the blessings with which they have entrusted him. Do you remember the happy compliment of my old namesake of St. Albans to Queen Elizabeth? Royalty is the heaven which, like the blessed sun, exhales the moisture from the earth, and then distilling it in gentle rains, it falleth on the heads of those from whom she has received it."

"I remember the compliment, which beautiful though it may be in imagery, I always thought was but the empty flattery of a vain old royal spinster by an accomplished courtier. I never suspected that St. Albans, far less his relative, Nathaniel Bacon, believed it to be true. And so, with all your high flown doctrines of popular rights and popular liberty, you are an advocate for royalty at last."

"Nay, you mistake me, I will not say wilfully," replied Bacon, in an offended tone, "I merely used the sentiment as an ill.u.s.tration of what I had been saying. The people must have rulers, and my idea of liberty only extends to their selection of them. After that, stability in government requires that the power of the people should cease, and that of the ruler begin. You may purify the stream through which the power flows, by constantly resorting to the fountain head; but if you keep the power pent up in the fountain, like water, it will stagnate and become impure, or else overflow its banks and devastate that soil which it was intended to fertilize."

"Our ideas of liberty, I confess," said Hansford, "differ very widely.

G.o.d grant that our antagonistic views may not prejudice the holy cause in which we are now engaged."

"Well, let us drop the subject then," said Bacon, carelessly, "as there is so little prospect of our agreeing in sentiment. What I said was merely meant to while away this tedious journey, and make you forget your own private griefs. But tell me, what do you think of the result of this enterprise?"

"I think it attended with great danger," replied Hansford.

"I had not thought," returned Bacon, with something between a smile and a sneer, "that Thomas Hansford would have considered the question of peril involved in a contest like this."

"I am at a loss to understand your meaning," said Hansford, indignantly.

"If you think I regard danger for myself, I tell you that it is a feeling as far a stranger to my bosom as to your own, and this I am ready to maintain. If you meant no offence, I will merely say that it is the part of every general to 'sit down and consider the cost' before engaging in any enterprise."

"Why will you be so quick to take offence?" said Bacon. "Do I not know that fear is a stranger to your breast?-else why confide in you as I have done? But I spoke not of the danger attending our enterprise. To me danger is not a matter of indifference, it is an object of desire. They who would bathe in a Stygian wave, to render them invulnerable, are not worthy of the name of heroes. It is only the unmailed warrior, whose form, like the white plume of Navarre, is seen where danger is the thickest, that is truly brave and truly great."

"You are a singular being, Bacon," said Hansford, with admiration, "and were born to be a hero. But tell me, what is it that you expect or hope for poor Virginia, when all your objects may be attained? She is still but a poor, helpless colony, sapped of her resources by a relentless sovereign, and expected to submit quietly to the oppressions of those who would enslave her."

"By heavens, no!" cried Bacon, impetuously. "It shall never be. Her voice has been already heard by haughty England, and it shall again be heard in thunder tones. She who yielded not to the call of an imperious dictator-she who proposed terms to Cromwell-will not long bear the insulting oppression of the imbecile Stuarts. The day is coming, and now is, when on this Western continent shall arise a nation, before whose potent sway even Britain shall be forced to bow. Virginia shall be the Rome and England shall be the Troy, and history will record the annals of that haughty and imperious kingdom chiefly because she was the mother of this western Rome. Yes," he continued, borne along impetuously by his own gushing thoughts, "there shall come a time when Freedom will look westward for her home, and when the oppressed of every nation shall watch with anxious eye that star of Freedom in its onward course, and follow its bright guidance till it stands over the place where Virginia-this young child of Liberty-is; and oh! Hansford, will it then be nothing that we were among those who watched the infant breathings of that political Saviour-who gave it the lessons of wisdom and of virtue, and first taught it to speak and proclaim its mission to the world? Will it then be nothing for future generations to point to our names, and, in the language of pride and grat.i.tude, to cry, there go the authors of our freedom?"

So spake the young enthusiast, thus dimly foreshadowing the glory that was to be-the freedom which, just one hundred years from that eventful period, burst upon the world. He was not permitted, like Simeon of old, to see the salvation for which he longed, and for which he wrought. And yet he helped to plant the germ, which expanded into the wide-spreading tree, and his name should not be forgotten by those who rejoice in its fruit, or rest secure beneath its shade.

Thus whiling away the hours of the night in such engrossing subjects, Hansford had nearly forgotten his sorrows in the visions of the future.

How beneficent the Providence which thus enables the mind to receive from without entirely new impressions, which soften down, though they cannot erase, the wounds that a harsh destiny has inflicted.

But it is time that the thread of our narrative was broken, in order to follow the fortunes of an humble, yet worthy character of our story.

CHAPTER XXIV.

"I am sorry for thee; thou art come to answer A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch, Uncapable of pity, void and empty From any claim of mercy."

_Merchant of Venice._

It was on a bright and beautiful morning-for mysterious nature often smiles on the darkest deeds of her children-that a group of Indians were a.s.sembled around the council-fire in one of the extensive forest ranges of Virginia. Their faces painted in the most grotesque and hideous manner, the fierceness of their looks, and the savageness of their dress, would alone have inspired awe in the breast of a spectator.

But on the present occasion, the fatal business in which they were engaged imparted even more than usual wildness to their appearance and vehemence to their manner. Bound to a neighbouring tree so tightly as to produce the most acute pain to the poor creature, was an aged negro, who seemed to be the object of the vehement eloquence of his savage captors.

Although confinement, torture, and despair had effected a fearful change, by tracing the lines of great suffering on his countenance, yet it would not have been difficult even then to recognize in the poor trembling wretch our old negro friend at Windsor Hall.

After discovering the deception that had been practised on them by Mamalis, and punishing the selfish ambition of Manteo, by expelling him from their tribe, the Indian warriors returned to Windsor Hall, and finding the family had escaped, seized upon old Giles as the victim on whom to wreak their vengeance. With the savage cruelty of their race, his tormentors had doomed him, not to sudden death, which would have been welcome to the miserable wretch, but to a slow and lingering torture.

It would be too painful to dwell long upon the nature of the tortures thus inflicted upon their victims. With all their coa.r.s.eness and rudeness of manner and life, the Indians had arrived at a refinement and skill in cruelty which the persecutors of the reformers in Europe might envy, but to which they had never attained. Among these, tearing the nails from the hands and feet, knocking out the teeth with a club, lacerating the flesh with rough, dull muscle and oyster-sh.e.l.ls, inserting sharp splinters into the wounded flesh, and then firing them until the unhappy being is gradually roasted to death-these were among the tortures more frequently inflicted. From the threats and preparations of his captors, old Giles had reason to apprehend that the worst of these tortures he would soon be called upon to endure.

There is, thank G.o.d, a period, when the burdens of this life become so grievous, that the prayer of the fabled f.a.ggot-binder may rise sincerely on the lips, and when death would indeed be a welcome friend-when it is even soothing to reflect that,

"We bear our heavy burdens but a journey, Till death unloads us."