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[1676.

freedom was unfurled only to be stained with blood; the accents of liberty were uttered only to be choked by executions.

CHAPTER XXVI.

VIRGINIA AND MARYLAND TILL THE REVOLUTION OF 1688.

MEANTIME Sir William Berkeley collected in Accomack a large crowd of followers; promising freedom to the servants of the insurgents, if they would rally under his banner. With a fleet of five ships and ten sloops, attended by royalists, a rabble of covetous hirelings, and a horde of Indians, the Cavalier sailed for Jamestown, where, on the eighth of September, he landed without opposition. Entering the town, he fell on his knees, returning thanks to God for his safe arrival; and again proclaimed Bacon and his party traitors and rebels.

The cry resounded through the forests for "the countrymen to come down. "Speed," it was said, "or we shall all be made slaves· man, woman, and child." "Your sword," said Drummond to Lawrence, "is your commission, and mine too; the sword must end it; and both prepared for resistance.

Returning from a successful expedition, and disbanding his troops, Bacon had retained but a small body of men for his personal defence, when the tidings of the fleet from Accomack surprised him in his retirement. His eloquence inspired his few followers with courage. "With marvellous celerity" they hasten towards their enemy. On the way they secure as hostages the wives of royalists who were with Berkeley, and they soon appear under arms before Jamestown.

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Victory did not hesitate. The followers of Berkeley were too cowardly to succeed in a sally; and to secure plunder they made grounds to desert. No considerable service was done, except by the seamen. What availed the passionate courage of a brave and irascible old man? The royalists deserted the town, and escaped in their fleet by night.

On the morning after the retreat, Bacon entered the little capital of Virginia. There lay the ashes of Gosnold; there the gallant Smith had told the tale of his adventures of romance; there English wives had been offered for sale to eager colonists; there Pocahontas had sported in the simplicity of innocence. For nearly seventy years, it had been the abode of Anglo-Saxons. But could Bacon retain possession of the town? And should he abandon it as a strong-hold for the enemies of his country? The rumor prevailed that a party of royalists from the northern counties was drawing near. In a council of war, it was resolved to burn Jamestown, the only town in Virginia, that no shelter might remain for an enemy. Should troops arrive from England, every man was ordered to retire into the wilderness. Tyrants would hardly chase the planters into their scattered homes among the woods. And, as the shades of night descended, the village was set on fire. Two of the best houses belonged to Lawrence and Drummond; each of them, with his own hand, kindled the flames that were to lay his dwelling in ashes. The little church, the oldest in the Dominion, the newly-erected state-house, were consumed. In the darkness of night, the conflagration blazed high in the air, and was seen by the fleet that lay at anchor twenty miles below the town. The ruins of the tower of the church, and the memorials in the adjacent graveyard, are all that now mark for the stranger the peninsula of Jamestown.

From the smoking ruins, Bacon hastened to meet the royalists from the Rappahannock. No engagement ensued; the troops in a body joined the patriot party; and Brent, their royalist leader, was left at the mercy of the

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insurgents. Even the inhabitants of Gloucester gave pledges of adhesion. Nothing remained but to cross the bay and revolutionize the Eastern Shore.

The little army of insurgents had been exposed, by night, to the damp dews of the lowlands; of a sudden Bacon himself sickened, and, after a short and vain struggle with the uncertain disease, on the first day of October he died. Seldom has a political leader been more honored by his friends. "Who is there now,' said they, "to plead our cause? His eloquence could animate the coldest hearts; his pen and sword alike compelled the admiration of his foes, and it was but their own guilt that styled him a criminal. His name must bleed for a season; but when time shall bring to Virginia truth crowned with freedom, and safe against danger, posterity shall sound his praises."

A

The death of Bacon left his party without a head. series of petty insurrections followed; but in Robert Beverley the royalists found an agent superior to any of the remaining insurgents. The ships in the river were at his disposal, and a continued warfare in detail restored the supremacy of the governor.

Thomas Hansford, a native Virginian, was the first partisan leader whom Beverley surprised. He disdained to shrink from the malice of destiny, and Berkeley condemned him to be hanged. Neither at his trial nor afterwards did he show any diminution of fortitude. He demanded no favor, but that "he might be shot like a soldier, and not hanged like a dog." "You die," it was answered, "not as a soldier, but as a rebel." Reviewing his life, he expressed penitence for every sin. What was charged on him as rebellion he denied to have been a crime. "Take notice," said he, as he came to the gallows, “I die a loyal subject, and a lover of my country." That country was Virginia. Hansford perished, the first native of America, on the gallows, a martyr to the right of the people to govern themselves.

Taking advantage of their naval superiority, a party of royalists entered York River, and surprised the troops

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that were led by Edmund Cheesman and Thomas Wilford. The latter lost an eye in the skirmish. Were I stark blind," said he, "the governor would afford me a guide to the gallows."

As the power of Berkeley increased, the ruthlessness of offended pride sought indulgence. Avarice also found delight in fines and confiscations; no sentiment of clemency was tolerated. From fear that a jury would bring in verdicts of acquittal, men were hurried to death from courts martial. On meeting William Drummond as a prisoner, in January, 1677, Berkeley could not repress his exultation. The patriot, avowing boldly the part he had acted, was condemned at one o'clock, and hanged at four. His children and wife were driven from their home, to depend on the charity of the planters. At length it was deemed safe to resort to the civil tribunal, where the judges proceeded with the virulence of accusers. Of those who put themselves on trial, none escaped being convicted and hanged. A panic paralyzed the juries, there was in most men so much guilt or fear. What though commissioners arrived with a royal proclamation, promising pardon to all but Bacon? In defiance of remonstrances, executions continued till twentytwo had been hanged. Three others had died of cruelty in prison; three more had fled before trial; two had escaped after conviction. More blood was shed than, on the action of our present system, would be shed for political offences in a thousand years. Nor is it certain when the carnage would have ended, had not the assembly convened in February, 1677, voted an address "that the governor would spill no more blood."

It was on occasion of this rebellion, that English troops were first introduced into the English colonies in America. Their support was burdensome. After three years they were disbanded, and probably mingled with the people.

With the returning squadron Sir William Berkeley sailed for England, to meet the censure of public opinion. and to die unlamented.

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HAPPINESS OF MARYLAND.

The results of Bacon's rebellion were disastrous for Virginia. The suppression of an insurrection furnished an excuse for refusing a liberal charter. Assemblies were required to be called but once in two years, and to sit but fourteen days, unless for special reasons. "You shall take care," said the king, "that the members of assembly be elected only by freeholders." In conformity with these instructions, all the acts of Bacon's assembly, except, perhaps, one, which permitted the enslaving of Indians, and which was confirmed and renewed, were absolutely repealed, and the former grievances immediately returned.

While the Old Dominion was thus desolated by carnage and civil war, the progress of Maryland, under the more generous proprietary government, was tranquil and rapid.

At the restoration, the authority of Philip Calvert, whom the proprietary had commissioned as his deputy, was promptly and quietly recognized; and, in 1661, a wise clemency veiled the incipient strife between the people and their sovereign under a general amnesty. Peace was restored, but Maryland was not placed beyond the influence of the ideas which that age of revolution had set in motion; and the earliest opportunity would renew the strife.

Yet the happiness of the colony was enviable. The persecuted and the unhappy thronged to the domains of the benevolent prince from every clime; and the colonial legislature extended its sympathies to many nations, as well as to many sects. From France came Huguenots; from Germany, from Holland, from Sweden, from Finland, perhaps from Piedmont, the children of misfortune sought protection under the tolerant sceptre of the Roman Catholic. Bohemia itself, the country of Jerome and of Huss, sent forth its sons, who at once were made citizens of Maryland with equal franchises. The empire of justice and humanity, according to the light of those days, had been complete, but that, for a few years, the refusal of the Quakers to perform military duty,