Virginia -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
Her companion laughed musically and sang a stave of a cavalier love
song. He was a slender, well-made man, dressed in the extreme of the
mode of the year of grace, sixteen hundred and sixty-three, in a richly
laced suit of camlet with points of blue ribbon, and the great scented
periwig then newly come into fashion. The close curled rings of hair
descending far over his cravat of finest Holland framed a handsome,
lazily insolent face, with large steel-blue eyes and beautifully cut,
mocking lips. A rapier with a jeweled hilt hung at his side, and one
white hand, half buried in snowy ruffles, held a beribboned cane with
which, as he talked, he ruthlessly decapitated the pink and white
morning-glories with which the porch was trellised.
The house to which the porch belonged was long and low, built of wood,
with many small windows, and at either end a great brick chimney. From
the porch to the water, a hundred yards away, stretched a walk of
crushed shells bisecting an expanse of green turf dotted with noble
trees—the cedar and the cypress predominating. Diverging from this
central walk were two narrower paths which, winding in and out in
eccentric figures, led, on the one hand, to a rustic summer-house
overgrown with honeysuckle and trumpet-vine, and on the other to a tiny
grotto constructed of shells and set in a tangle of periwinkle. Along
one side of the house, and protected by a stout locust paling overrun
with grape-vines, lay the garden, where flowers and vegetables
flourished contentedly side by side, the hollyhocks and tall white
lilies, the hundred-leaved roses and scarlet poppies showing like gilded
officers amidst the rank and file of sober essuculents. Behind the
house were clustered various offices, then came an orchard where the
June apples and the great red cherries were ripening in the hot
sunshine, then on the shore of a second and narrower creek rose the
quarters for the plantation servants, white and black—a long double row
of cabins, dominated by the overseer’s house and shaded by ragged yellow
pines. Along one shore of this inlet was planted the Indian corn
prescribed by law, and from the other gleamed the soft yellow of
ripening wheat, but beyond the water and away to the westward stretched
acre after acre of tobacco, a sea of vivid green, broken only by an
occasional shed or drying house, and merging at last into the darker hue
of the forest. Over all the fair scene, the flashing water, the velvet
marshes, the smiling fields, the fringe of dark and mysterious woodland,
hung a Virginia heaven, a cloudless blue, soft, pure, intense. The air
was full of subdued sound—the distant hum of voices from the fields of
maize and tobacco, the faint clink of iron from the smithy, the wash and
lap of the water, the drone of bees from the hives beneath the eaves of
the house. Great bronze butterflies fluttered in the sunshine,
brilliant humming-birds, plunged deep into the long trumpet-flowers;
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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