Bonnybel Vane. Embracing the history of Henry St. John, gentleman

Front matter

CORNELL

UNIVERSITY

LIBRARY

Author's Preface To This Edition

In this, and other works treating of Virginia in the eighteenth century, the writer's design was to draw the likeness of a picturesque society at a remarkable epoch. In order to do so, it was necessary to penetrate beneath the surface of events — to see the Virginians in the midst of their peculiar environment, and to come in contact with them as with real people. The actual men and women were not to be found in the histories ; and to make their acquaintance the writer was compelled to go back in fancy to the times in which they lived ; to become an inmate of the old manor-homes on the banks of the Tidewater rivers ; and to see their joys and sorrows, and all the comedy and tragedy of their lives, with the eyes of a contemporary.

Perhaps his age, when this book was written, was an advantage. The ardent instincts of those old Virginians denianded ardor in him who attempted to delineate them. The earnest faith, the love of country, the impulsive kindness, the devotion to duty, and, what was united with all these traits, the passion for every species of enjoyment, could scarcely have been interpreted by a writer who was not in full sympathy with them. That sympathy must be plain in the pages of this book. The subject was surrounded by a glamour which heightened its attractions. The rosy sunshine of youth lit up vi author's preface to this edition.

the figures and made them charming ; but, after all, that did not mislead. The fresh tints suited the picture ; for that old Virginia society, of what is called the " Golden Age," was so attractive that it was almost impossible to over-color it.

Such studies, when they are truthfully executed, must luive their value. Each is a phase of the national life, and that is at last beginning to interest us. To understand the whole it is necessary to study the parts : to know the meaning of the Kepublic we must go back to the States. In a century the American Kepublic will probably contain some hundreds of millions of inhabitants, and these future generations will, no doubt, be interested in the original races composing the nation. The corner-stones supporting the whole edifice are the original Commonwealths, and the firat in point of time was Yirginia. Other societies soon followed, but the Virginians were the first Americans. They brought with them the great traits of the Englisli blood in all times — the respect for law, the personal pride, and the stubborn antagonism to any invasion of their right ; and by the middle of the next century they had fought their way, over every obstacle, to what was essentially republican government.

This era of fullest development was that chosen by the writer for his picture of Virginia society. It is the moment when all the features which distinguish the race are seen in the boldest relief. "What precedes it is the period when the community, in process of formation, has lived in and for itself ; what follows it is the new age, when the Colony lias become a unit of the Kepublic. That fact necessarily worked a very great change in society : the new regime effaced the old ; and author's preface to this edition. vii

thus the years just preceding the final conflict with England present the fullest and most characteristic picture of the Virginia people. The turbulent old adventurers had been succeeded by quiet citizens ; the rough swordsmen who had fought with Bacon against Charles II. by ruffled dignitaries — ^powdered planters, who lived in luxury on their estates amid swarms of dependents, administered justice in the county courts, watched over their Church as energetic vestrymen, sat as members of the Burgesses, and ruled society as its natural lords.

The rough old society had thus flowered into what very much resembled an aristocracy ; but the student, looking closer, will see many traits to modify the picture. Under the surface of the pompous old "nabob " was the obstinate manhood of a strong race : his misfortune is, that his critics have only looked at tlie surface. They have been blinded by that . imposing apparatus of class distinctions ; by what one might see anywhere in America at that time — -the spectacle of men and women in silks and laces rolling in their chariots ; making formal old-world bows as they moved in the royal minuet, superbly conscious, one would say, that the world was made only for themselves. But all this splendor of living did not prevent the Virginia planter from being a type of the highest manhood. In all times he had stood up for his right as a freeman ; and the more the race is studied, the plainer will be the conviction that the men were, in effect, republicans. In the seventeenth century they had violently deposed the King's governor, and made war on the King. In the eighteenth century, when a new king oppressed them, they fought him, as they had fought his predecessor. And this was done on republican principles — that a man viii authok's peeface to this Edition.

was a man, and to be respected as sucli. The Virginia Burgesses, composed of planters, were tlie first Americans who declared that " all men are by nature equally free and independent;" that "all power is vested in the people ;" and who instnicted their delegates in the General Congress to propose the Declaration of Kepublican Independence.

This race is here painted with the colors which the writer believes to be the colors of truth. The men are presented to the reader at the moment when the great issue with England is about to test their resolution. When the narrative begins, the Eevolutionary outburst is at hand ; and it will be seen that the representatives of the planter class — ^Mason, Lee, Pendleton, Washington, and many others — will direct events. Their names are now illustrious ; but they are only types of a race which is worth studying, if only to see how it happened that an "aristocratic" society moved before all others for popular right. There is only one method of solving what is otherwise the most curious of problems : to understand that these Virginians of the Kevolution were, with all their failings, a very gi'eat race of men.

If the reader who has so often followed the writer into the Virginia past is not weary of the subject, he will find in this volume not only the portraits of these old worthies, but of the people of every class in the Virginia of that time. Whatever may be said, the drawing-room is not the best place to see character; we must look for it in the hovel as well, and that view is often the more interesting. What the writer here offers the reader is a careful study of that old society in all its phases. He will see the boys and girls of all classes at the "old field school;" the smiling faces of

Author's Preface To This Edition. IX

Lady Dunmore and her daughters as they pass through the illuminated streets of WiUiamshurg; the harsh frowns of his Excellency, and the dismissed Burgesses assembling in the Ealeigh; the political conspirators hatching treason in their midnight haunts at the Capital ; the couriers sowing rebellion as they pass on their swift horses; the rough swordsman back from the wars ; the secret emissary going to arouse the savages ; the pale secretary listening to the growling multitude ; and, at Vanely, under its oaks, the patriotic ladies ^rating bad verses, and the testy "nabob," the friend of Church and King, denouncing England, and swearing that he will buckle on his sword and go to the wars before he will suffer his rights to bc trampled upon. In this old society he is the central figure and the fountain of resistance. His critics in all the years will not see his true character. They cannot understand that ho belongs to a resolute race, always jealous of its right ; and that men of his character are the truest republicans.

So serious an introduction is perhaps out of place in a love-story : for " Bonnybel Yane " — the original title of the history here presented to the reader-^is, throughout, an attempt to paint the passion of love. The more romantic theme is not lost sight of in tho attempt to delineate the political aspect of the times ; and this fact, the writer hopes, will conciliate the favor of that dearest of all audiences — ^the young and romantic. Other readers of more serious tastes may even find fault with the predominance of sentiment ; but sentiment is the sunshine of life, which is the dreariest of things without it. It is rarely logical or reasonable, which is its greatest attraction ; and the impetuous hero and ca-

X authoe's peeface to this edition.

pricious heroine in this volume are not painted as pieces of perfection. They act after the wont of their class, and nothing in their proceedings is new or original. Their affair is the old story which is eternally new in its appeal to the sympathies — the tale told a thousand times, but fresher than the newest invention of the dramatist.

If in dealing with this romantic phase the writer has fiincied an elderly gentleman telling his family story, with the aid of family papers, in the historic phase of liis subject he has adhered to history or authentic tradition. This volume and the "Virginia Comedians" are two conscientious studies of a remarkable period. The first relates to 1765, when " Yifginia gave the signal to the continent." The present narrative begins at the moment when the country is on the threshold of revolution. The air is growing hot, and men are preparing for great events. The Americans have protested until they are weary, and will protest no longer. The old ties binding them to the Home-land have grown so weak that they are about to snap. At Williamsburg, as at Boston, the collision is about to be precipitated by the royal authorities. But as yet nothing is known of that. Yirginia society on the surface is full of mirth and social enjoyment. In the Capital there is no indication of a storm but the stern face of Dunmore, shut up in his palace. On the plantations the courtly planters welcome their guests, and go about their daily employments. The youths and maidens enjoy their spring-time and bow low to the music of the minuet ; and that music will salute his Excellency, at the great ball given to his family at the very moment of collision.

author's peeface to this edition. xi

A few months afterwards the hurricane is to be definitely unloosed. A new world is to begin, not to the sound of the minuet music, but to the roar of cannon. The men of the South and the men of the North, who have never known each other, wiU stand shoulder to shoulder ; and in the end this old society of Virginia, so firm in its allegiance to the Crown, wiU take its place as one of the most resolute elements of the American Republic.

The Briaes, Vibginia, April, 1883.

Contents

Chapteb paqe

Prologdb. 1

I. — ^MowetB of the Forest 11

Chapter I. Fioweks Of The Fokkst

It is a beautiful May morning, in tlie year 1774.

The sun is shining brightly, the ofiole swings to and fro on his lofty spray, and carols to the spring ; the month of flowers has da^vned upon the world in all its loveliness, and scattered daisies, violets and buttercups on tiie green expanse of smiling meadows, and along the grassy banks of streams.

Two children holding each other by the hand, ta.ke theii way through a forest stretching to the west of Williamsburg, the old capital of Virginia.

Tlioy aie a boy and a girl, apparently about ten years of age.

The boy is a gallant looking urchin, clad in a richly embroidered roundabout, drab shorts, and gayly colored stockings, which disappear in high-quartered shoes, ornamented with rosettes of ribbon ; his curling hair, fiaming ruddy cheeks, is surmounted by a little cocked hat with a jaunty feather.

The girl's costume is in some points similar.

She wears a sort of frock coat, so to speak, of pink " caliinanco," opening in front, and displaying a species of waistcoat, laced across a ruffled stomacher. The frock falls only to the knees, where it is met by white silk stockings, held by velvet garters, ornamented with clocks at the instep, and ending in small high-heeled shoes, with galoshes. Her head, with its bright curls, is protected by u broad-rimmed chip hat, secured with a blue i-ibbon tied beneath the chin.

The boy is gay, mischievous, full of mirth and high spirits. The gill gentle, sedate, with a pensive look in her mild eyes which peer out from a number of stray linglets. In one hand she carries a checker-work satchel, holding a few books — for they are going to the old field school ; in the other, a nosegay of violets aiid sweet-briar roses, the gift of her cavalier, who disputes the possession of lier hand with tlic flowers.

They soon come in sight of the old field school. It is a log building, with a broad, well barred door, a log for a step, a chimney of rough stone built outside, and heavy oaken shutters on rusty hinges.

The rude old building sleeps beneath the lofty oaks very tranquilly ; but from the interior comes a busy hum which indicates the presence of children.

The girl looks anxiously toward one of the windows and says :

" Oh me, Paul ! See the sun on the shutter ! We're very late, and I'm afraid Uncle Jimmy '11 keep us in !"

"Let him !" replies Mr. Paul with great gallantry, "who cares? We've had a glorious time getting flowers. Blossom ; and I don't mind being kept in with you."

Paul inserts one tliurab into the arm-hole of his waistcoat as he speaks, and bestows a devoted look upon his companion.

" I don't mind myself," says Blossom, hurrying on, " but you love Prisoner's Base so, Paul !— and then you came in time :^ for yonder is your pony tied to the oak, and you'll be kept in, because you came to meet me."

" WeU, what if I did come ?" says Paul, carelessly, " although you wouldn't let mo carry your satchel. Is Uncle Jimmy to ride roughshod over me for that ? Can't a Vir-

IIENEY ST. JOHN, GEJJTLEMAlir. 19

ginia gentleman get flowers for a lady without being brought to trial ?"

And Paul loots proud and indignant.

"A lady, Paul !" says Blossom, with a low silvery laugh ; " why I'm only a child !"

" You're my sweetheart."

" Pshaw, Paul ! what a goose you are ! how foolish you do talk !"

And Blossom turns away her head, hastening on towards the school-house. Paul gets before her, however, and in a moment they are standing in presence of Uncle Jimmy Doubleday, an old gentleman with a lengthy coat, huge goggles, splatterdashes, and a gray queue, who presides over a crowd of boys and girls — all rosy cheeks, curls, freckles and health — busy studying at the long desks against tlie walls.

Uncle Jimmy has just inflicted condign punishment upon an urchin who was drawing individuals in a boxing attitude upon his slate — the criminal having been posted in a corner with the slate around his neck, and a huge dunce's cap upon his head. Uncle Jimmy is therefore irate. He sternly demands of Paul and Blossom why they are so late.

Paul, who still holds his companion's hand, declares, with an eiisy air, that he is the cause of it: he thought he'd carry Blossom ofi" to get some flowers.

" Oh no, Uncle Jimmy !" says Blossom, with a timid look into the old schoolmaster's face, " I was late before, and Paul is not to blame. Papa came home last night, and I love to talk with him so much."

At the word papa. Uncle Jimmy seems suddenly mollified.

" Well, well," he says, looking through his great goggles at the child's face, and trying not to smile, "well, Blossom, you are excused ; you never do wrong purposely, my child ; and for your sake I excuse this youngster. But take care sir !" added Uncle Jimmy, turaing with a tremendous frown to the urchin, " take care, in future, Mr. Paul Effingham ! I

20 HENRY ST. JOmS, GENTLEMAN.

make the prediction, that the birch destined for yon, la growing."

And Uncle Jimmy scowled ferociously at Paul, who sauntered with a jaunty air toward his desk. For Paul was a favorite too.

The old pedagogue fell into a reverie, caressed gently Blossom's hair, heaved a sigh, and then awoke. Having vigorously applied the birch to a youngster who had just made his neighbor execute a terrible leap, by sticking a pin into him, Uncle Jimmy called the next class, and so the old field school went on its way as usual.

At last came "playtime," and the old schoolmaster closed his books. To his profound astonishment the girls and urchins did not move. Uncle Jimmy saw with incredulous stupefaction that they did not snatch their hats with ardor, and rush into the open air.

The worthy pedagogue rubbed his eyes. Was he dreaming? Had he made a mistake and forestalled the hour? No : there was the rustic dial consisting of a nail driven into the window seat, whose shadow, when it ran along a certain line, marked noon ; and now the shadow plainly indicated twelve. Instead of rushing out, the boys and girls had gathered around Blossom, and evidently desired to use her favor with the pedagogue to obtain some boon.

Blossom seemed to resist ; but the eloquent advocates redoubled their entreaties, and at last the girl approached the schoolmaster.

"If you please, Uncle Jimmy," she said, timidly, "we want you to give us a holiday to-day."

" Holiday !" cried Uncle Jimmy, with a horrified expression, " holiday ! On what earthly ground ?"

Blossom was a little abashed by the loud exclamation, and faltered.

"There, my child— there, Blossom," said Uncle Jimmy, " don't mind my outcry. I'm not a little forest bird like you, that does nothing but cheep and twitter. I growl : don't mind me; but say why you want a holiday. Can any one explain such an unusual request ?"

IlEJiTRT ST. JOHN, GENTLESTAK. 21

And the pedagogue addressed himself with dignity to the crowd. He had cause to regret the movement. A deafening explanation greeted liis appeal, above whose uproar were heard only the words, " They're coming ! They'i-e coming ! They're coming !"

The schoolmaster closed his ears \yith horror; and tlieii rising to his full height upon the rostrum, extended both his' hands in wrath above the youthful orators, and cried —

" Cease, ye young bulls of Bashan ! — cease ! Have you no regard for my ears, unhappy reprobates that you are ! Let Blossom speak, and hold your clatter, or I'll birch every mother's son of you !"

It seemed that even the little maidens were terrified by this address to the boys. A deep silence followed, and Blossom having again urged the general request. Uncle Jimmy did what he had never for a moment hesitated about — ^he gave the desired holiday.

"Go, go my children," he said, "yes, go and see the vain pageant of a poor mimic royalty ! You are not an old fellow like me ; you are children, and love music, and bells ringing, and fine dresses. Go see how gallant we can be in old Virginia when we — ^pshaw ! I'm not making an address ! (ro, children, and come early in the morning."

With these words Uncle Jimmy extended his hands paternally, and in a minute and a half the old school-house was deserted.

At the same moment the noise of chariots was heard upon the forest road in front of the school-house — the rolling of wheels, and the sound of the hoofs of horses.

Chapter II

FLOWEES OF THE C O tT E T .

Paul was hastening, with his arm around Blossom, toward the tree where his pony Shag was tied — the young gentleman's design l^eing to convey his sweetheart behind hinj into Williamsburg — when suddenly both stopped, arrested by the appearance of a brilliant cavalcade.

It consisted of three richly decorated chariots, each drawn by six glossy horses, and followed by plainer vehicles. The drivers and footmen who hung behind were white English servants, as were the numerous outriders.

The first equipage contained three ladies — the rest seemed occupied chiefly by gentlemen.

As the flock of children ran out to look upon the brilliant spectacle, the head of a young lady was thrust from the window of the foremost coach, and she seemed to be calling the attention of her companions to the children.

It was a beautiful face, framed in bright curls, and looking very sweet and good-humored.

" Isn't she pretty, Paul ?" said Blossom, in a whisper.

" Uncommonly," returned Paul, with the air of a connois- Beur ; " but look. Blossom, she is beckoning to you !"

In fact, the pretty picture of the boy and girl, with their arms around each other, had attracted the attention of the young lady, and taking advantage of a momentary pause, occasioned by a portion of the harness becoming out of place, she had really beckoned to the girl.

Blossom approached the chariot, followed by Paul, and looked with timid grace into the face of the young lady, who smiled sweetly, and gave her hand to each.

" That is a school-house, is it not, my dear ?" she said ; "every thing is bright here, and you and all look very happy."

" That's because Blossom is so good, ma'am " said Paul politely; "everybody's happy where she is."

'* Blossom," said the lady smiling, " is that your name ?"

"' Yes, ma'am," returned the child, " and his is Paul,"

" Paul ! do you hear, Susan ?" said the young lady, turning one of her companions ; " what pretty names they have in Virginia — JSlossom and Paid ! and you know we stopped last night at Hoslyn Sail."

Then turning to the children, the young lady added :

" I wish you would come and see me, Blossom — and you too, Paul. My name is Augusta Murray, and we are going to live in Williamsburg now."

As she spoke, the footman again mounted behind, having fixed the harness, and the young lady again gave her hand to the children, with a pleased smile.

The cavalcade then resumed its way slowly.

The flock of children. Blossom and Paul leading, surrounded and followed it, as a triumphal escort, and it went thus attended toward the old capital.

For many hours the good town of Williamsburg has been in commotion. An immense crowd has assembled, and the waves of the multitude now extend from the college of "William and Mary," past the old magazine, and the " Raleigh" tavern, quite onward to the steps of the capitol, where, around the base of Lord Botetourt's statue, the restless and variegated billows seem to break into foam and spray.

All classes, all costumes are seen. Plain homespun clothes and rich doublets, gentry and commoners, merchants and factors, and yeomen, and negroes, and a great crowd of students from the college of " William and Mary," who flock in gay groups along the thoroughfares, Bracking jokes., like their brethren in all ages.

" Duke-of-Gloacester-street" thus represents a jubilant carnival : it is a conglomeration of forms, plain and picturesque, old and young, male and female — jesting, laughing, shouting, jostling — awaiting the event of the day.

From time to time the crowd moves to and fro unwillingly, and as it were under protest ; then rapidly divides ii;self ii niiNKY ST. jonN gentleman.

into parallel columns on each side of the street ; and through this space rolls a chariot, with four glossy horses. It contains some old planter in his richest pourpoint, with his wife and daughters blazing in silk and velvet and diamonds; and the driver is a portly and consequential negro, who, proud of himself, his master, and his position, looks down with aristocratic condescension on the " poor white folks."

As the chariot disappears in the direction of the palace of the Governor, some richly clad gallant, mounted upon his gayly-caparisoned thorough-bred, prances by in the same direction ; and if he be handsome he occasions favorable remarks from the damsels, whose heads are visible in the windows above.

He is succeeded by some country ci'.rt of rude pine board, drawn by a solemn-looking donkey ; and as the old countryman and his wife bounce up and down, the heads at thewindows utter jests and laughter — a taste for the gi-otesque having characterized the maidens of that epoch, as it does the damsels of to-day.

With the uproarious crowd mingle members of the House of Burgesses, and many personages who seem to look with a philosophic eye on the carnival. These do not laugh or jest ; they wait ; they seek for the currents of popular opinion, and continue to gaze silently.

All at once, in the midst of the tumult, a bell is heard, and this is followed by a shout.

Then a great undulation takes place in the mass ; the waves roll right and left, young girls are precipitated into [Strangers' arms ; through the open space comes on a troop of horsemen from the direction of the palace — Lord Dunraore's guards, who occupy barracks near at hand.

They ride vigorous horses, and are clad in the British uniform, being, indeed. Englishmen. They disappear at the western end of Gloucester street, followed by some murmurs.

The crowd closes after them ; the bells continue to ring ; the windows are more densely crowded ; urchins even

ItENEY ST. JOHN, GENTLKMAiT. 25

mount upon the old Magazine, and clasp the flag-staff bearing aloft the banner of St. George. A great shout tells that the object of all this excitement has entered the capital.

The confusion becomes now like Pandemonium. The heads of young girls are thrust to a dangerous distance from the windows ; handkerchiefs are violently waved by these splendor-loving youthful personages; and the number of damsels, children, arid all weaker characters who are f)recipitated upon alien bosoms is more marked than ever.

But the end is accomplished ; the center of the street is left free.

A score of the guards, riding lour abreast, precede the cavalcade which we have seen stop a moment near the old Seld school. As many follow it.

The first chariot contains the Countess of Dunmore, wife of his Excellency the Governor, with her daughters the Ladies Susan and Augusta.

The second is occupied by Lady Catherine and her brothers, the Honorable Alexander and John Murray.

The thii-d contains Lord Fincastle, Captain Foy, the private secretary of his Excellencj", and his wife. Captain Foy looks forth calmly on the crowd — his pale, quiet face betrays nothing.

But the couatess, her daughters and her sons, are plainly gratified by their reception. The young ladies especially, with their rosy and good-humored faces, seem far from indifferent to the shouts of welcome which greet them. They look out and smile, and raise their eyes to the fair faces at the windows, or scan the crowd.

The crowd looks back amiably. It pays no attention to Lord Fincastle, Captain Foy, or the sons of his Excellency. They are accustomed to lords and honorables, and prefer the smiling faces of the young ladies.

Thus the cqrtege passes along Gloucester street, accompanied by the crowd which bears it on its way. The beUs continue to ring — a band of music in the palace grounds commences an inspiring march — ^th& chariots enter the great

26 HENEY ST. JOHN, GENTLEMAIT.

gateway, flanked as now by the two guard-houses— and then the Scottish lindens hide them from the eyes of the multitude.

Virginia has beheld her last viceregal " entrance."*

Chapter III

now BLOSSOK FAINTED, AND WHAT FOLLOWED.

The crowd does not at once disperse. It busies itself looking at the chariots, at the fat gentleman on the palace portico, at the musicians who blow away with pufied cheeks.

The strident music has a less pleasing effect upon the horses of the troop, who, ranged on each side of the great gate, defend the passage against all but the chariots of the " gentry."

The animals move uneasily, threatening every moment to trample on the crowd, and their riders are evidently as ill at ease.

This sentiment seems experienced, more than all, by their commander.

He is a young man of twenty-four or five, wearing a ricL uniform, and a heavy saber. He curbs with a vigorous hand his restive charger ; his dark eyebrows are knit into a heavy frown.

More than once his animal has just escaped trampling on some member of the crowd whose attention is attracted by the efforts he plainly makes to subdue the horse ;' but the officer seems ill disposed to furnish an object for popular comment. His patience all at once gives way — anger overcomes him — and striking the animal violently on the he^ with his gauntleted hand, he mutters something very much like an imprecation.