The Cavaliers of Virginia. Volume 2 of 2

"It is almost useless for me to profess now, how wholly, how profoundly, I sympathize with you in witnessing this scene of desolation. Naught but the dictates of inevitable necessity could have induced the army under my command to perpetrate this melancholy devastation. But I trust that the soothing influences of time, your own good sense, and the ministrations of your kind white friends, will reconcile you to these stern decrees of fate."

"Kind indeed is the white man's sympathy – very kind. He applies the torch to the wigwam of his red friend, shoots at his women and children as they run from the destruction within, and then he weeps over the ruins which his own hands have made."

"It is even so, Wyanokee. I do not expect you to understand or appreciate my feelings upon the instant; but when you are once again peacefully settled at Jamestown with your sorrowing young friend, and will cast your eyes over this vast and fertile country, and see to what little ends its resources are wasted, and on the other hand, what countless multitudes are driven hither by the crowded state of other parts of the world, you will begin to see the necessity which is driving your red brethren to the far west. You can then form some conception of the now unseen power behind, which is urging them forward. You will see the great comprehension and sublime spectacle of God's political economy! you will see it in its beauty and its justice. You feel the partial and limited effects of these swelling waves of the great creation now upon yourself and your nation. I grant they are hard to be borne, but once place yourself above these personal considerations, and compare the demands of a world with the handful of warriors lying dead around those ruins, and you will bow to the justice of the decree which has gone forth against your people!"

"Does your Great Spirit then only care for the good of his white children? You taught me to believe that he too created the red men, and placed them upon these hunting grounds, that he cared as much for them as he did for their white brethren – but now it seems he is angry with the poor red man, because he lives and hunts as he was taught, by the Great Spirit himself. These hunting grounds are now wanted for his other children, and those to whom he first gave them, must not only yield them up, but they must be driven by the fire and the thunder, and the long knives of those who have been professing themselves our brethren."

"Your view of the case is a very natural and plausible one, yet it seems to me you have overlooked that point in it, upon which the whole matter turns. Let us for one moment grant the necessity of making room on your hunting grounds for your white brethren, who are crowded out of the older countries. There seemed at first no need to disturb the red men, there was room enough here for all, we were content to live upon this kind and neighbourly footing. Had your brethren been equally content, the great purposes of the Creator would have been answered without any destruction of his red or white children. Have the red men so demeaned themselves toward the whites that we could all dwell here together? Let the massacre of last night speak! You point to yonder smouldering ruins and bloody corpses. I point to the bleeding bodies of my countrymen and friends, and their demolished dwellings as the cause – the direct cause of the desolation you behold."

"The white man talks very fast – and very well – he talks for the Great Spirit and himself too; but who talks for the poor red man, but Wyanokee. All you say is very good for the white men upon our hunting grounds, and the white men driven from over the great waters, and for the white men left behind. It leaves room to hunt and plant corn there for the white men, and finds room here to hunt and plant corn, but you do not give the poor red man any hunting ground. You say we must go to the far west, but how long will it be the far west? How many of your white friends are coming over the big waters? How far is this place, where the red man will not be driven from his new hunting ground? If we cannot live and smoke the calumet of peace together, we must have separate hunting grounds. Where are our hunting grounds? Ah, I see your eye reaches where the clouds and the blue mountains come together – to the end of the world, we must go, like those beneath us to the hunting grounds of the Great Spirit."

"Not so, Wyanokee, we would willingly spare the effusion of blood, and when our arms have taught the men who assembled here two days ago, our firm determination always to avenge the murder of our friends and the plunder of their property, it is our intention to propose a fair and permanent peace. We will endeavour to convince them of the necessity of abandoning for ever the country between these two great rivers, and moving their hunting grounds where the interests of the two races cannot come in conflict."

"O yes, you will run the long knives through their bodies, and then smoke the calumet! You will drive us from our homes, and then you will persuade us to give them up to the white man."

"You are not now in a proper mood to reason upon this subject calmly, my gentle friend, nor do I wonder at it; but the time will come when your views of this matter will be similar to my own."

"No, Wyanokee cannot see through the white man's eyes; she has not yet learned to forget her kindred and her country. She came here to-night to sit upon the graves of the great hunters and warriors who slept here with their calumets and tomahawks beside them, long before the long knives came among us. She will carry away from this place to night, this little flower planted by her own hands over the graves of her fathers and brothers. She would leave it here to spread its flowers over their ancient war paths and their graves, but even these silent and peaceful bones, and these harmless flowers must share the fate of them who buried the one and planted the other. Wyanokee will never see this place more – never again be near the bones of her fathers, until she meets them all at the hunting ground of the Great Spirit. Farewell, home and country and friends, and fare thee well, ungrateful man; when next the Indian maiden steps between thee and the tomahawk of her countrymen repay not her kindness with the torch to her wigwam and the long knife to her heart."

With these bitter words of parting, she descended from the mound with dignity, and disappeared through the forest, notwithstanding the urgent entreaties of Bacon, that she would return. She gave no other evidence of heeding him than turning back the palm of her hand toward him, and leaning her head in the opposite direction, as if she were exorcising an evil spirit. He made no other attempt to stay her progress; once indeed the thought occurred to him to hail the sentinel and arrest her for her own sake, but the idea was as speedily abandoned. He determined to leave her destiny wholly in the hands of him who first decreed it. For a moment he ascended the mount and cast his eye over the wide-spread and melancholy desolation, and then rapidly retraced his steps to the camp. When there, his first orders were to have the slain warriors of the expatriated tribes, buried in the tomb of their forefathers, while his own personal attention was bestowed upon the condition of the prisoners taken during the demolition of the village.

They sat round the tents appropriated to their use, in stern and sullen dignity. Wounded or whole, no sound escaped their lips; and their food and drink remained untouched before them. They noticed the entrance of the commander in chief no more than if he had been an insignificant creeping reptile of the earth; no signs of recognition lighted up their features, though most or all of them must have been present at the scene of his own tortures. While Bacon stood no unmoved spectator of the calm unshaken fortitude with which they bore their misfortunes, an incident occurred that served to exhibit the stern qualities of their pride in still bolder relief. One of the old warriors had been taken while attempting to escape with one of his children, after having fought until there was not a vestige of hope remaining for the preservation of his people and their homes. He was brought into the camp, together with his child. While the prisoners were all sitting round in sullen dignity, and the general of the invading army stood surveying them as we have mentioned, this little child came entreatingly to its father's knees, and begged for the food which stood untouched before his face. He made no verbal reply – a momentary weakness softened his countenance as he gazed into the face of the tender petitioner, but in the next, he raised his tomahawk and sank it deep into the brain of his child before any one could arrest his arm. The innocent and unconscious victim fell without a groan or struggle, and the stern old warrior reinserted the handle of his weapon in his belt, crossed his arms upon his breast, and resumed his former attitude of immobility. Bacon gazed at him in astonishment and horror for an instant, and then wheeled suddenly round to retire from an exhibition of humanity, so rude, ferocious, and appalling. But as he was about to emerge from the portal of the tent, Wyanokee was rudely thrust into the door, and they stood face to face.

His first impulse was to draw his sword, and rush upon the two soldiers who had guarded the prisoner, but a moment's reflection served to remind him that they had but obeyed his own general orders. He returned the half drawn weapon therefore, and stood an embarrassed spectator of the captive maiden's searching glances, as her eyes wandered around the room, first resting upon her unfortunate companions in captivity, next upon the corpse of the slain infant, and lastly upon the commander himself. He had seen her previously when her subdued manners and lady-like deportment, inclined him in communing with her to forget her Indian origin, but he saw her now with all her native impulses roused to their highest tension. Her eye flashed fire as it rested upon him after completing her survey, and she thus addressed him, stepping a few paces backward, while her person was drawn up to its utmost height, and her bosom heaved with struggling emotions.

"Are you the same person who sometime since undertook to inspire noble sentiments into the mind of the purest being that ever honoured a white skin? Are you the same youth who aspired to her hand and renounced it on the marriage night, because of kindred blood? Are you the youth whose fair and deceitful form, and apparently noble nature, once made Wyanokee look with contempt upon this heroic race of warriors? If the form, the person be the same, the Great Spirit of evil has poisoned the fountains of your heart, and turned your goodness and your honour to cruelty and cunning. How far has the great light gone down behind the sea, since you stood upon the ruins of all that Wyanokee loved, and professed sorrow for their destruction, and sympathy in her misfortunes? When you stood before her, and dared not lay your own hands upon her person! – you could leave her untouched upon the grave of her great warriors – you dared not seek to injure her, lest their spirits should return from the happy hunting ground and kill you on the spot. But you could deceitfully order these poor long knives to stand in her path and prevent her from taking the last look, and heaving the last sigh that should ever be looked and uttered in these forests."

"I gave no orders for your arrest, Wyanokee; I have not spoken to the sentinels since I saw you!"

"But you could stand and mourn with Wyanokee over the ashes of her fathers' wigwam, when you had just come from ordering these to carry her into captivity. They told me themselves that they acted by your orders. Oh how cruel, how deceitful is the white man! He gladdens the poor Indian's eyes with his glittering toys, till he cheats him of all the corn laid up for his squaws during the winter. He smokes the calumet with the chiefs, while his own followers are burning down the houses of their nation. You, sir, redeemed Wyanokee from captivity, to carry her into a more galling bondage. You taught her the knowledge of the white man, only that she might multiply her sorrows, when this long foreseen night should come. Was it for this that she redeemed you from the red hot tortures of these chiefs? Did you come upon their hunting ground to learn how to torture in preparation for this occasion, and trusting to Wyanokee's soft and foolish heart for your safe return? Lead them and her to the stake! we will show the white warrior how to endure the tortures of our enemies without fainting like women."

"You will not listen to me, Wyanokee, else I could have told you long ago, that I had given no orders to the sentinels. We do not desire your captivity? you are free to go now whithersoever you choose, provided you keep beyond the range of our sentinels. What our race has done against yours, has only been done to protect their own lives and property, and to make that protection secure and permanent. You know that we never torture prisoners; when the war is ended and peace obtained, these warriors shall go free and unharmed. I see that they have refused to touch their food, under the belief that they are to suffer, but I will leave you to undeceive them, after which you are free to go or to remain. If the latter be your choice, a tent shall be provided for your sole accommodation."

Having thus spoken, he hastily left the tent and sought the marquée occupied by the higher grade of officers and the more aristocratic of the Cavaliers. Gay sounds of song and minstrelsy greeted his ears as he approached the spot – Bacchanalian scraps promiscuously chimed in chorus with more sentimental ditties, and all occasionally drowned in boisterous shouts of laughter. These evidences of the mood in which he should find his associates deterred him from entering, under his present feelings, and he therefore passed on to his own solitary quarters. In a few moments he was extended upon such a bed as a camp affords, with no external source of interruption to his repose, save the distant cries of the wild beasts, and the more monotonous tread of the sentinel, as he paced his narrow limits in the performance of his duty.

The sun rose the next morning over the ruins of Orapacs and the scene of the late strife in unclouded splendour. The enlivening notes of drums and trumpets had long since roused the soldiers from their slumbers, and having despatched their morning meal, they were speedily forming into marching order. The commander of this imposing little army mounted his charger, and galloped along the forming battalions; his eye bright and serene, his spirits, in comparison with the previous night, bounding and elastic. Having detailed to his council of officers his intention of next attacking the king of Pamunky, the orders for the march were given, and the lines wheeled into columns, headed by the gay and brilliant cortége of youthful Cavaliers.

The prisoners were marched into the centre of the column, and as they assumed their station, the general ran his anxious eye eagerly over their persons, to ascertain whether his former pupil had availed herself of the accommodations provided by his orders. But no such graceful form greeted his sight, and he learned from the Captain of the guard that she had departed soon after he had himself left the prisoners – entirely alone. A momentary sadness shaded his brow, as he reflected upon the desolate condition of the Indian maiden, but it was soon lost in the absorbing duties of his station.

Toward evening, of the ensuing day, as the army pursued their route between the Chickahominy and Pamunky Rivers, the vanguard discovered several of the Pamunky tribe, skulking among the trees of the forest immediately in advance of them. The general, apprehending an ambuscade, immediately ordered the Cavaliers to fall back upon the main body of the army, while a practised band of rangers were ordered to examine the cover of the wood. Scarcely had these orders been transmitted to their various destinations, before a bright beacon fire shot its spiral column of smoke and flame high above the surrounding trees. What this new device portended the commander could not divine, nor could the council, which was immediately summoned, give to it a satisfactory interpretation. The Rangers returned without discovering any signs of an ambuscade, though they had penetrated to the huge fire which lighted up the forest. Not an Indian was to be seen there or beyond. Bacon and his staff rode forward to the scene in person – but the aid of a glass enabled him to discover nothing more.

The army was again put in motion, and every precaution used which some experience in Indian warfare had taught the general was so necessary. For miles they proceeded with the most watchful caution, until the absence of the undergrowth in the forest taught them that it had been fired, and thereby disclosed the probability of their being in the near neighbourhood of the town of the Pamunkies. The verdant glades were lighted up at intervals by broad masses of red light from the setting sun, as they fell between the natural interstices of the trees. The appearance of the woodland vista before them was romantic and picturesque in the extreme. The forest had the aspect of a country which had been settled for ages. The venerable trees, surmounted with green and brown moss, were now occasionally richly bronzed with the rays of the sun as they fell horizontally upon their hoary trunks, and the whole more resembled an ancient and venerable park, which some wealthy gentleman had inherited from careful and provident ancestors, than a wild woodland, fresh from the hands of nature, in which the woodman's axe had never been heard, and upon which no other care or culture had been bestowed than the occasional torch of the savage.

They were not left long to revel in these wild beauties – a more appalling scene awaited them. The sun was fast declining behind the river hills of the Chickahominy and darkness encircling the sombre groves in which they rode, when suddenly a hundred fires cast a lurid glare across their path, and the army instinctively halted on beholding the town of the Pamunkies wrapped in flames. Again they were put in motion, and cautiously approached the spot. Bacon fearing that some treachery lurked beneath these unexpected measures of the Indians, could scarcely restrain the impetuosity of his mounted force, spurred on by curiosity to see in what new device of savage warfare they would terminate.

They arrived upon the skirts of the town, however, and within the influence of the heat, without hindrance or adventure; and what no less surprised them, not a living creature was perceptible, around or near the conflagration.

The first idea that suggested itself to the mind of Bacon was, that the savages had, in despair, thrown themselves into the burning ruins of their own dwellings. He now understood the meaning of the beacon light on their route; "it was the signal for commencing the tragedy," he muttered to himself as he reined up his steed and ordering his troops to halt, brought them into line along the outskirts of the burning village, which, like the one they had themselves fired, was constructed upon the banks of the Pamunky river. While the troops thus stood upon their arms, some of the officers rode through the blazing wigwams, very much against the will of their rearing and plunging chargers. It was completely deserted; but while they were consulting upon the measures to be taken, a tumultuous and astounding yell burst suddenly upon their startled ears. The intense light of the burning village rendered the twilight gloom around as dark as midnight by the contrast, and not a savage could anywhere be seen. The mounted troop made a wide sweep round the alignment, but with no better success. Another astounding shout of savage voices ascended to the clouds. Many of the frail and tottering wigwams tumbled in at the same moment – throwing the light in a lower line of vision over the water, so that they were enabled to discover a large body of mounted Pamunkies drawn up like themselves on the opposite bank of the river. Their grim and painted visages, close shaven crowns, scalp locks, and gaudy feathers, appeared through the medium of the red and flickering light reflected from the water, in horrible distinctness. A legion of devils from the infernal regions, clothed in all the horrors of German poetry, never startled the senses and aroused the imagination more than did this spectacle its amazed beholders. With another yell and a flourish of their tomahawks above their heads, the Indians simultaneously wheeled their horses and flew over the plain towards the source of the river. In a few moments all was silent as death, save the crackling of the burning wigwams. The squaws and children seemed to have been long since removed. Again the colonial army – or to speak more properly, the army of the people, encamped before the ruins of an ancient and venerable settlement.

Here were no painful reminiscences for the sensitive but energetic commander. The savages were flying before his as yet scarcely tried army, in the very direction in which it was his purpose to drive them. He knew them too well to believe that the whole peninsula would be thus tamely abandoned, and he issued his orders, before lying down to rest, for redoubled vigilance through the night, and an early march in the morning toward the falls of the Powhatan, where he had every reason to believe that the tribes of the former confederacy were again drawing to a head.

CHAPTER VI

Our hero was not deceived in his supposition, that the savage tribes inhabiting the Peninsula would make a desperate effort to retain possession of a country so admirably adapted to their mode of life. Two noble rivers, one on either hand, abounding with a variety of fish, and a fertile soil, yielding its treasures with little culture, were considerations in the eyes of these ignorant but not misjudging sons of the forest, not to be surrendered without a struggle.

As the army of the colonists pursued its march toward the point already indicated as the rendezvous of the again confederated tribes, it was constantly harassed with alarms – signal fires and flying bodies of mounted warriors, first cutting off their communication with the river – now assailing the vanguard, and then hovering upon the rear. Three weeks and more were thus consumed in partial and unsatisfactory engagements; the skirmishers first approaching one river, upon the representation of some treacherous savage, and then hurrying back in the opposite direction to meet some illusive demonstration made by the cunning enemy. The youthful commander soon perceived that this mode of warfare was the one exactly suited to the nature and condition of his foes, and the least adapted to the impetuous courage of his own troops. He saw too, that the savages had the double design of wearying out their invaders in the manner we have described, and of collecting and concentrating their forces, at some point where their own mode of warfare could be rendered available, without exposing themselves to the destructive discharges of artillery which they still held in superstitious terror. A very little reflection satisfied him that there would be no immediate danger in pursuing the direct route between the Powhatan and Chickahominy rivers, toward the falls of the former, where he had already some intimation that the enemy were collecting in great force. He was well satisfied that the tribes already dislodged had removed all their winter provisions, and their wigwams being destroyed, there could be little hazard to the city in disregarding their daily demonstrations in his front, flank, and rear. Accordingly his troops were concentrated in a solid column, and marched directly toward the falls, entirely disregarding the petty annoyances which had already detained them so ingloriously in the Peninsula.

While they were marching toward the scene of the great and final struggle for supremacy between their own race and the Aborigines, in this narrow neck of land, which had so long been the scene of contention, we will retrace our steps for a short space, in order to bring up the proceedings at Jamestown to the point at which we have just arrived.

In doing so, however, it is not our intention to fatigue the reader with a minute account of the long and tedious days, and still more wretched nights, spent by our heroine after the shock given to her delicate constitution by the painful and unexpected adventure in the chapel, and by the subsequently reported death of her mother under peculiarly awful and afflicting circumstances. The reader has doubtless more truly imagined her condition during the first paroxysms of the fever, than we could describe it. Down to the time when her favourite and confidant was permitted to enter her room, the daily occurrences of her yet endangered life were sad and monotonous enough, but the paramount cravings of diseased nature once assuaged, her mental excitement once more rose in the ascendant. Not that her reason ever became deranged, except from violent febrile action during the height of the attack; however feeble her physical organization, her mental powers were clear and unclouded, and her spirits, though of necessity somewhat broken, were firm and elastic. The truth is, that she did not believe the assertion of the Recluse by which the nuptial ceremony was so dreadfully interrupted. She had indeed a feeling of superstitious reverence for whatever came from his lips, but she had also seen the wild fire of his eye when under deep excitement, and she did not therefore give implicit confidence to any declaration he should make.