drifting down the chesapeake at night! what exquisite beauties of earth and sky wrapped the weary voyagers in their embrace, soothing their aching bodies and exhausted nerves! drifting on the moon-kissed ripples, into the waves of liquid silver slowly changing into gold under the alchemy of the rising sun! in the open glades, stretching away into forests still draped in the morning mists, antlered monarchs of the wilderness led the herd of doe and bounding fawn to the pools of fresh water for their morning bath.
as the barge swung around into the james that morning, the voyagers descried the flag of saint george, bidding defiance to the indian as it fluttered in the summer’s breeze from the mast of a ship just ahead.
“look, there is newport come again,” said captain smith. “rouse up, adam; the danger is long past.”
uttering a hollow groan, adam raised himself from the bottom of the boat where he had lain since the mad race down the pamunkey.
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“lord, but i am thankful to see civilization again! if i am forgiven for this exploit, i will never be caught among those devils again; and if i only had a cup of sack, i swear i would feel like a human being once more.”
“how about those vows you made never to swear again, when you fell into that hole?” inquired smith.
“there were reservations, man; mental reservations. i took care to put them in,” said the now courageous adam.
with swift strokes they came alongside the english ship and hailed her, and as she slowed down, captain newport came to the side and called out to smith:
“i have something on board that will delight your eyes. a fair gentlewoman, mistress forrest, and her maid, anne burras.”
with courtesies and smiles, the lady and her maid came forward to acknowledge the greeting of the voyagers.
“beside such a pleasant sight, madam, the whole of his majesty’s dominions in this land pale into insignificance,” said captain smith, sweeping his soft hat almost to the bottom of the boat as he stood to greet her.
then gaily proceeding up the stream, the110 barge leading, they came to anchor at jamestown.
where were all the settlers who should have been upon the beach to greet them? hardly a dozen could be seen strolling around idly or lolling under the trees.
“where are all the men?” was smith’s first greeting.
“they are at work in the woods, building a palace fit for the habitation of the president of this magnificent settlement,” ironically answered percy.
meantime, wingfield had caught sight of mrs. forrest and her maid. “shade of henry viii., i do believe it is the wilful anne!” hastening forward, his plumed hat swept the ground as he bent to mrs. forrest. not quite so low was its sweep to anne, but there was enough gallantry in his action, and admiration in his eye, to set the foolish little maid’s heart to fluttering. not only in our day do maidens dream of being elevated to rank above the station in which they are born.
“anne,” said mrs. forrest sharply, noting the confusion of her maid, and having no mind to encourage this unequal flirtation, “look to the bales in which my gowns are packed, and have a care for the packet containing my ruffs.”
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with a slight toss of her curly chestnut head, anne obeyed the bidding of her mistress.
the most commodious cabin was set apart for mrs. forrest and her husband, and during the ensuing days that thrifty lady speedily had her lares and penates safely housed.
it was a touching sight to see the home-longing in the eyes of the men as they passed her open door. no matter in what direction they were bound, their path always lay directly past her door and windows, where they could see the dainty anne standing before the spinning-wheel, or bending over the fire tasting the contents of some savory mass bubbling and singing upon the crane.
captain smith had lost no time in seeking out the men engaged in building ratcliffe’s house in the woods, under the direction of laydon. adam clotworthy had already arrived there.
toiling under the weight of huge logs and straining to lift them into position had worked the men up into mutiny. mutterings of strange torments in the way of revenge were whispered from one to another. adam, who had no liking for ratcliffe, egged them on.
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“you fellows might just as well be slaves in africa, toiling and moiling for some wooly-headed chief. why not choose a president for yourselves? i have the very man in my eye.” then he launched into a description of smith’s exploits on the pamunkey, embellishing the tale with such wonders as would have put don quixote to the blush. “i can tell you a few little tricks, i learned up there, of dealing with a traitor, that are uncommon good.”
this recital acted as a lighted fuse to the gunpowder of their feelings, and the explosion took place just as smith arrived. throwing down axes, hammers, chisels and spades, they gave themselves up to fierce anger against ratcliffe.
when he judged the moment to be ready, adam threw up his hat and yelled, “smith! smith for president!” the cry, was taken up on every side as they moved in a body back to the settlement, carrying smith in their midst.
so dark were their scowling looks, and so fierce their gestures, that ratcliffe made haste to scuttle aboard newport’s ship and place himself behind the protection of the guns. a vote was then taken, and by an overwhelming majority captain smith was elected president of the colony.
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as soon as the excitement quieted down a bit, captain smith drew john laydon aside.
“did you know a mistress forrest has arrived with newport, bringing a maid called anne burras with her?” he said.
“anne here?” john replied in bewilderment.
“yes, i suspect it is that bewitching damsel. have an eye upon wingfield. watch over her whenever possible.”
with his heart palpitating between love and fear of his reception, the young carpenter hastened to the cabin of mrs. forrest, where he found anne looking through the window at the excited men and wondering what the trouble was.
“anne, anne!” he cried, his rugged face beautiful with the strength of his great love.
“good-day to you, master john laydon,” responded anne, eyeing with disfavor his coarse woolen jerkin and rough, toil-worn hands.
“is that all you have to say to me, anne, after our long separation?” he pleaded, a hurt look creeping into his eyes. “my girl, i have dreamed of you day and night out here under the stars and glare of the sun. at first i longed to have you with me; but114 when cold and starvation killed off our men, and many died at the hands of the savage, i thanked god you were safe in england.”
“you do me too much honor, master laydon,” replied the damsel, imitating in manner and gesture the carriage of her mistress.
“‘master laydon, master laydon,’” echoed the indignant john. “your tone smacks too much of the fine lady, child.” then changing his tone to one of persuasion, he drew nearer and attempted to take her hand. “it used to be ‘john’ and ‘anne,’ when we strolled through the lanes at home.” snatching away her hand, and drawing her little body up, anne scornfully replied:
“a child does many things which it leaves off when it comes to know better. i must bid you good-by, as my time is of too much importance to idle it away.”
turning away with a haughty inclination of her head, she went into another room and made straight for a window where she could see the disconsolate john moving away.
her eyes sparkled with excitement. it was truly delightful to have a handsome gentleman like wingfield paying her compliments, 115 and at the same time the despairing john was not to be despised. he served as a somber background to her glowing dreams.
as the summer ripened, many stealthy meetings with wingfield, filled with compliments and airy nothings, alluring as a mirage and as tangible as a will-o-the-wisp, kept the ambitious maiden’s heart in a turmoil of excitement. that accomplished flatterer was too skilful a navigator to run his ship upon the rocks of definite words, although keeping in full sight of the green fields of her untutored heart. his pleasurable enjoyment in balking john changed into pure malice as the weeks drifted by. everywhere he turned, the stern watchful eyes of the carpenter were upon him, and he often found him dogging his footsteps. this unceasing shadowing irritated the cowardly wingfield. “if he keeps up this espionage on my movements, i will rid the colony of him,” he would mutter to himself.
