Berkeley proved himself a tiger, as he had proved himself a ruffian in insulting Mrs. Cheeseman. The taste of blood maddened him. He tried and executed nearly every one on whom he could lay his hands. Virginia became a vast jail or Tyburn Hill. Four men were hung on the York, several executed on the other side of the James River, and one was hanged in chains at West Point. In February, 1677, a fleet with a regiment of English troops arrived, and a formal commission to try rebels was organized, of which Berkeley was a member. This commission determined to kill Bland, who had been captured in Accomac. The friends of the prisoner in England had procured and sent over his pardon; but the commissioners were privately informed that the Duke of York (afterward James II.) had sworn that "Bacon and Bland must die," and with this intimation of what would be agreeable to his royal highness, Bland was hung. It was a revel of blood. In almost every county, gibbets rose and made the wayfarer shudder and turn away at sight of their ghastly burdens. In all, twenty-three persons were executed, and Charles II., disgusted with the tyranny of Berkeley, declared: "That old fool has hanged more men in that naked country than I have done for the murder of my father." Shortly after the execution of Mr. Edmund Cheeseman, and before the arrival of the English regiment, the first British troops ever brought to Virginia, Mr. Hugh Price, who was very active in capturing rebels, one evening brought in a miserable, half-starved, half-frozen young man, whom he had found lying in the snow, too feeble to fly or resist. Mr. Price was especially delighted with the capture, as the captive was Robert Stevens. Old black Sam recognized the prisoner, and when he had been thrust in jail to await his trial, the old negro mounted a swift horse and rode all night across the country to the James River. Then, stealing a boat at one of the plantations, he rowed down the stream until he came to the _Despair_, on board of which was Mrs. Price, her daughter and Ester. Sam's story caused instantaneous action, and next morning at daylight Governor Berkeley was amazed to see the strange ship anchored before his quarters, as near to shore as she could be brought. There was something particularly menacing in the vessel, with her double rows of guns pointed at the shore and the marines all on deck under arms. Berkeley was alarmed. A boat was lowered, and Sir Albert St. Croix came ashore. He hurried at once into the governor's presence. "Sir Albert, I am pleased to see you; yet I do not understand that demonstration," said the governor, who, like all tyrants, was a coward. "Surely, you do not mean any hostilities toward me." "That depends on circumstances. Have you a young man named Stevens prisoner?" "Yes." "Has he been tried?" "He has and has been condemned." "To hang?" "Yes." "Has the sentence been executed?" asked Sir Albert, trembling with dread. "Not yet."