The Land of Bondage: A RomanceBloundelle-Burton, John
History
The Land of Bondage: A Romance
Bloundelle-Burton, John
Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Virginia -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
Meanwhile the night grew late, and I, who had heard so many stories of
how the Indians pursued their attack, though, heaven be praised, this
was the first experience I had ever had of so dreadful a thing, knew
very well that, if they meant to besiege the house itself, the time
must now be drawing nigh. At this period of the year it was full
daylight by four o'clock, when, if they were not first driven off and
routed, the Indians would withdraw into the woods, and there
sheltering themselves renew their attack at nightfall. But as to
driving them off, it was, we deemed, not to be hope for. Outside
assistance we could not expect. The booming of the church-roof cannon
that still went on, the ringing of bells from neighbouring plantations
with--worst of all! the lurid light in the sky that told of some other
manor, or perhaps village, in flames, forbade us to think that. So we
had none to depend on but ourselves--a handful of brave men and a
number of almost useless, timorous women. And thus, knowing what must
come, we waited for the worst.
"Promise me," I whispered to my lord at this moment, "promise me that,
as the first Indian crosses the threshold and if all hope is gone, you
will never leave me, or that, if you must do so, you will slay me
first. To fall into their hands would be more bitter than death or the
grave itself." And unwittingly, for I was sore distraught, I laid my
hand upon his arm and gazed up into his eyes.
His eyes, glancing down, met mine as he said, "Joice, my dear, I shall
never leave you now. Oh! sweetheart, in this hour of peril I may tell
you what I might never have told you else, being smirched and
blemished from my birth as I am. My dear, my sweet, I do love you so
that never will I leave you if it rests with me, and if you die then
will I die too."
After which, drawing me to him, he folded me in his arms and kissed me
again and again, and stroked my hair and whispered, "My pretty Joice,
I have loved you always; aye, from the very first time when I saw your
golden head bending over your flowers in the garden."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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