Virginia -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
“I think that the Governor is quite safe, madam,” I said. “I do not
believe that the Indians will take the palisade. It may even be that,
knowing we are prepared, they will not attack at all. Indeed, I think
that you may be easy about him.”
She thanked me with a smile. “It is all so strange and dreadful to me,
sir,” she said. “At my home, in England, it was like a Sunday morning
all the year round,--all stillness and peace; no terror, no alarm. I
fear that I am not yet a good Virginian.”
When I had eaten, and had drunk the wine she gave me, I rose, and asked
her if I might not see her safe within the fort before I joined her
husband at the palisade. She shook her head, and told me that there were
with her faithful servants, and that if the savages broke in upon the
town she would have warning in time to flee, the fort being so close at
hand. When I thereupon begged her leave to depart, she first curtsied to
me, and then, again with tears, came to me and took my hand in hers. “I
know that there is naught that I can say.... Your wife loved you, sir,
with all her heart.” She drew something from the bosom of her gown.
“Would you like this? It is a knot of ribbon that she wore. They found
it caught in a bush at the edge of the forest.”
I took the ribbon from her and put it to my lips, then unknotted it and
tied it around my arm; and then, wearing my wife's colors, I went softly
out into the street, and turned my face toward the guest house and the
man whom I meant to kill.
CHAPTER XXXVII IN WHICH MY LORD AND I PART COMPANY
THE door of the guest house stood wide, and within the lower room were
neither men that drank nor men that gave to drink. Host and drawers and
chance guests alike had left pipe and tankard for sword and musket, and
were gone to fort or palisade or river bank.
I crossed the empty room and went up the creaking stairway. No one
met me or withstood me; only a pigeon perched upon the sill of a sunny
window whirred off into the blue. I glanced out of the window as I
passed it, and saw the silver river and the George and the Esperance,
with the gunners at the guns watching for Indian canoes, and saw smoke
rising from the forest on the southern shore. There had been three
houses there,--John West's and Minifie's and Crashaw's. I wondered if
mine were burning, too, at Weyanoke, and cared not if 't was so.
The door of the upper room was shut. When I raised the latch and pushed
against it, it gave at the top and middle, but there was some pressure
from within at the bottom. I pushed again, more strongly, and the door
slowly opened, moving away whatever thing had lain before it. Another
moment, and I was in the room, and had closed and barred the door behind
me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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