CHAPTER XIII.
It was the hour of midnight; the softened rays of a shaded lamp threw aflickering and uncertain light upon the paraphernalia of the sickchamber, as our hero sat a solitary watcher at the side of the woundedCavalier. The long and apparently profound sleep into which the invalidhad fallen, completely deceived the females of the family, so that theywere more easily persuaded by Nathaniel to leave the charge, during thefirst half of the night, to his sole care. He had for a long time sat asad and silent beholder of the unconscious sleeper, watching withbreathless eagerness every change of muscle, as some sharp and inwardpain vibrated in horrible contortions upon the countenance of thewounded Cavalier. In one of these he started suddenly up in the bed, hiseyes glaring wildly upon his unrecognised attendant in utter amazement.First looking into his face and then to the bandages around his ownperson, he fell back on his couch--a grim and frightful smile ofremembrance and recognition playing for a moment upon his features, ashe placed his cold hand within that of Bacon, which had been softly laidupon his breast to soothe his startled perceptions.
"Nathaniel," said he, his voice already hollow and thrilling, "My houris come! It is useless to disguise it. I feel and know it to be so,whatever the surgeon may pretend. You need not place your finger uponyour lip; I owe to you a duty which I must perform while yet I may. Youhave often importuned me, and sometimes impatiently, which I did notenough, perhaps, consider to be natural to your situation, but you mustforgive me--you have often importuned me upon the subject of yourorigin. If I had possessed any full or satisfactory knowledge on thesubject, you may be sure I would not long have detained it from you.Indeed, I was little less anxious than yourself to place you upon anequal footing in every respect with your associates." Here a smile ofinward satisfaction beamed upon his auditor's countenance, unobserved,however, by the speaker, as he continued: "There were some reasons too,connected with the history of my own family, which prevented me fromdivulging what little I did know of your's. If I have erred, for thistoo you must forgive me. The wrong shall now be repaired. You have nowbeen a member of my household for fifteen or sixteen years.
"One cold and rainy day our sympathies were excited, by seeing anathletic young Irishman in the street, near our door, carrying upon hisback a well dressed boy, apparently six or seven years of age. The childwas crying most piteously with cold and hunger. We called in theIrishman, and after furnishing him and his little charge with food,inquired whose child it was, and whither he was taking it. He answered,in his own expressive language, that he did not know to whom the childbelonged, nor whither he was taking it. That it had been a fellowpassenger with him across the ocean, until they were shipwrecked at themouth of the river, outside of the Capes. That a woman who had two boysnear the same age, either of her own, or under her protection, he didnot know which, had most earnestly prayed him to take one of them uponhis back, as he was preparing to swim to the beach. He did so, andsucceeded in landing with his charge in perfect safety. What became ofthe woman and the other child he never knew, as shortly after the wavesbroke over the vessel, and she went to pieces. Many of the passengersand crew, however, had been saved and were scattered about through theneighbouring plantations, driven to seek employment by the urgency oftheir immediate wants. Whether the woman and the child were among thenumber he could not learn, as those who were saved had necessarilylanded at distant points upon the shore. He brought the child toJamestown in hopes that it would be recognised, and if not, that somehumane person would take charge of it. His hopes had thus far provedfruitless, as to the first expectation, but we undertook cheerfully thelatter task, and likewise gave employment to the kind-hearted Hibernian.I caused it to be made as generally known through the Colony, as ourlimited means of communication would permit, that such a child was inour possession, particularly describing his person and clothes, but allin vain. I also caused search to be made for the woman with the otherchild, through the southern plantations, but no tidings of them wereever heard, and we naturally concluded that they had gone down with thevessel.
"Some months after the little stranger had been thus domiciliated amongus, I one day received an anonymous letter, which stated that the writerknew who were the parents of the child, but for important reasons of apolitical nature, he could not then divulge their names or history. Hestated so many circumstances connected with the shipwreck, and describedso exactly the child, that we were compelled to believe him. This letterwas followed by others at various intervals, from that time to thepresent, often enclosing drafts for large sums to be drawn for inEngland, for the benefit of the child. I need scarcely tell you that thechild was yourself--and your preserver, Brian O'Reily. The name by whichyou are called is the nearest that we could come to that by which, bothyourself and Brian stated, you were known on board the vessel. The moneyenclosed for your benefit, has been suffered to accumulate until thelate purchase of the plantation at the falls, of which you are now inpossession. Around your neck, at the time of your arrival, was a smalltrinket, enclosing the hair of two individuals, curiously interwoven,and on its outside were some initials corresponding with your own name,and the date of a marriage. This, together with the letters I havementioned, you will find in the left hand drawer of the secretary whichstands in the corner of my library. After opening the outside door, youwill perceive the key hanging beside the drawer. These letters werenever shown, nor the contents mentioned to my wife, for a reason which Iam now about to explain to you, if my strength will permit, and whichwill also unfold to you the cause of my reluctance to communicate withyou on this subject.
"When I first saw Emily in England, she was a young and beautiful widow.Early in life a mutual attachment was formed between her and the son ofa neighbouring gentleman, in rather more humble circumstances than thefather of my Emily. In consequence of this disparity in the fortunes andstanding of the two families, their attachment was kept a profoundsecret between themselves, until the youth having joined the army of theCommonwealth, they eloped. This was their last and only resort, becauseher father was as determined a Loyalist as his was indefatigable in thecause of the Independents and Roundheads. For two whole years shefollowed the perilous fortunes of her husband, now become adistinguished officer, during which time she gave birth to a son. For aseason she resided with her infant at a retired farm-house, in a distantpart of the country from the scene of strife; but her husband becomingimpatient of her absence, directed her to procure a nurse for her boyand again partake of his hazardous fortunes. Her child was accordinglyleft in the charge of the nurse, and she set out to join her husband. Onthe eve of meeting him, as she supposed, she was met by the news of adesperate engagement, in which the party opposed to her husband had beenvictorious, and very shortly afterward, she was herself, with herattendants, overtaken in the highway, and captured by a party commandedby one of her own brothers. He immediately sent her under a strongescort to her father's house, not however before she had time to learnfrom some of the prisoners taken in the engagement, the heart-rendingnews of the death of her husband. She gained these sad tidings from oneof his comrades, who saw him receive the wound and fall at his side.
"She found her father so exasperated against her that she dared not evenmention to him or her brothers the existence of her child, lest theyshould take some desperate means to separate them for ever. For a time,therefore, she contented herself with such clandestine communicationswith her nurse as the perilous nature of the times permitted. At length,the sum of her afflictions was consummated by the death of her infant,the account of which was brought to her by the nurse in person.
"When I first saw her, these many and severe misfortunes had beensomewhat softened down in the lapse of years. She was still a melancholybeing, however, but I belonging to her father's party, and being of agay and volatile turn of mind, and much pleased with her beauty andamiable temperament, offered to bring her out to America as my wife,whither the success of the Protector's arms was then driving so many ofthe Nobles and Cavaliers of England, a
nd where I already had a sistermarried to the then late, and now present Governor of Virginia. Aftercandidly stating all the foregoing circumstances, she agreed to acceptmy hand. And we were accordingly married and sailed for the Capes ofVirginia. You will perceive, upon a perusal of the anonymous letters,that the writer displays a most intimate knowledge of all the foregoingparticulars of our family history. The design, as you will doubtlessperceive, was to operate upon our superstitious feelings, by thismysterious display of knowledge, in matters so carefully guarded fromthe world. This was not at all necessary, because we had alreadyadopted, and treated you as one of our own family. Nevertheless hepartially succeeded with me. I confess to you that it has alwaysappeared to me one of the strangest circumstances that ever came undermy knowledge, that any living person should be acquainted with the factscontained in those letters. I have made the most strenuous and unceasingefforts to discover their author, by means of the European drafts, butall to no purpose. You will now readily comprehend the reason, why I didnot communicate with Emily on this subject. It would only have beenopening old wounds afresh, and would probably have excited her moresensitive feelings to a painful state of anxiety and, suspense. The samereasons which influenced my conduct in this respect, will doubtlessoperate upon your own judgment when I am gone. In the same drawer is awill, by which you will perceive, when it is properly authenticated,that I have left to you, in conjunction with others, the most sacred ofall human trusts. You will find yourself associated in the management ofmy affairs, with persons whom I knew at the time to be uncongenial withyou in your general feelings, but upon this one subject you will all beinfluenced by one desire. Governor Berkley and Mr. Harrison will neverthwart you in the active management, which I have left principally intrust to you.
"I have now rapidly sketched what you will better understand from thepapers themselves, and I have finished none too soon, as I am admonishedby the return of these cutting pains."
After another agonizing paroxysm, he fell again into one of thosedeath-like slumbers, which often fill up the intervals of sufferingafter a mortal wound.
When Bacon perceived that he slept profoundly, he at once gave way tothe restless anxiety to see the papers, by which he was consumed.Eagerly, but softly, he sought the library, opened the doors of the highold fashioned black walnut secretary, with its Lion's claws for feet,and his grisly beard and shining teeth, conspicuous from every brassornament with which it was adorned.[4]
[Footnote 4: Some idea of the rude state of the mechanic arts of theperiod may be formed by those who have seen the antiquated chair, inwhich the speaker of the Virginia house of delegates sits to this day.There are many specimens too of ancient furniture still preserved in theolder Counties of Virginia.]
He returned to his post and opened the package of papers with atrembling anxiety, and intense interest, similar to what one might besupposed to feel who was about to unseal the book of fate.
He had no sooner cast his eye upon the handwriting, than the packagefell from his grasp in the most evident disappointment. Until thismoment he had indulged a vague undefined hope that from a single glanceat the characters, he should at once possess a clue to unravel the wholemystery. His mind had instantly settled upon one peculiar and remarkableindividual in the Colony, as the only one likely to possess suchknowledge, and from the interest which that person had always manifestedin his fate, he had almost persuaded himself that he would prove to bethe writer. With his handwriting and the peculiarly dignified andstately character of his language, he had long been familiar. The firstfew lines over which his eye glanced rapidly and eagerly, convinced himof his error; neither the characters nor the language were his.Nevertheless they possessed sufficient interest, after the momentarydisappointment had passed away, to induce him to grasp them again andonce more commence their perusal. In this occupation he was soon socompletely absorbed as to be unconscious of the time which elapsed, thesituation and circumstances in which he was placed as regarded himself,as well as the wounded Cavalier, who lay in the same apartment. Inunfolding one of the papers he came upon the gold trinket mentioned byhis benefactor. Here again was a new subject of intense interest."This," said he to himself, "was worn by my mother and was placed aroundmy neck at our last parting." Here was a fragment of her tressesprecisely similar in character and colour to his own, interwoven withthe darker shades of those of his father. Here too was the date of theirmarriage and the initials of their names agreeing sufficiently well withhis own supposed age. These were all subjects of earnest contemplationto the excited imagination of a youth rendered morbidly sensitive on thesubject of his birth and parentage, by many painful occurrences with hisaristocratic young associates, and still more by recent developmentswith the idol of his affections. The trinket was laid down and themanuscript resumed, of whose contents as much as is important to ournarrative has already been communicated to the reader. The characters inwhich it was written, were successively compared in his mind to those ofevery person in the Colony who handled the pen. In that day it was nothard to remember who they were from their great number, chirographyhaving been an art with which the Cavaliers were less familiar than withthe use of the small and broad sword. Not a scribe in the country wrotein characters similar to the one he held in his hand, so far as he couldrecollect. He thought they resembled those of Governor Berkley more thanof any other, yet that sturdy old knight had invariably frowned so muchon his attempts to assume the place and standing in society to which hiseducation and intelligence entitled him, that he could not believe himconcerned in benefiting him, even as an agent.
The Recluse was the only individual upon whom his mind could rest as theprobable author, notwithstanding the variance of the writing. Yetagainst this conclusion there were many powerful arguments. The firstthat suggested itself to his mind was the money. Could he command suchlarge sums? And if he could, was it possible with his known habits andpeculiarities, not to mention his occasional aberration, to arrangecomplicated pecuniary affairs in Europe? Then again, if he was thewriter, why were these communications continued after he had himselfarrived at years of discretion? Every reason seemed to favour the ideathat he himself would have been chosen as the depository of thesecommunications, had the Recluse been the man, especially when hereflected that he was at that very time possessed of more of hisconfidence than any other person in the Colony. The papers were perusedand re-perused, and the locket turned over and over listlessly in hisfingers, while a shade of deep sadness and disappointment settled uponhis countenance.
From this unpleasing revery he was suddenly aroused by the groans of thewounded sufferer, who now awoke in the greatest agony. When Bacon cameto his bed-side a melancholy change was visible in his countenance. Hewas making his last struggle with the grim monster. He was howeverenabled to express a desire that his family should be called, but whenthey arrived, he could not give utterance to his ideas. He took firstthe hand of his wife, and next that of his daughter, and successivelyresigned them into those of his young executor. This, under the existingcircumstances of the moment, attracted no particular attention, but wasthe subject of many an after-thought and remark. A few convulsivestruggles followed, and then the generous and noble spirit of theCavalier 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 morethan is allowed in our day,) the much loved and much lamented Mr.Fairfax was borne to the grave, amidst the lamentations and regrets ofthe whole assembled gentry of the Colony. The long line of mournfulpageantry moved in slow and melancholy steps to the sound of a solemndirge through the streets of the ancient city, and after the usual sad,but appropriate rites of the established church, the corpse wasdeposited in the burying ground, which to this day preserves thecrumbling ruins of many monuments of the ancient Cavaliers.