by Annæus.
Originally published in The Casket, or Flowers of Literature, Wit and Sentiment (Atkinson & Alexander) vol.3 #11 (Nov 1828).
Whoever shall visit Gloucester-Town, in Virginia, will long gaze on the wild and splendid scenery, which nature, in a mood of wayward system and fantastic levity, has planted there. Towards the east is Chesapeake Bay, opening a boundless horizon to the observer, over which numerous dark and dense squadrons of wild fowl are flitting in airy courses. Here and there may be seen the diminished canvas of some solitary vessel, reflecting, in struggling and trembling lines, the brightness of the sunny day, or the fragile bark of the lazy fisherman, now hid beneath the billow, and at the next moment with the crested spray glittering on its summit. The ruined and desolate village of York is opposite: no busy hum of enterprise is heard from her moss-grown pavement; and where was once concentrated the opulence and chivalry of the Auld Dominion, there remains nought but the melancholy vestiges of ruin. In the pathetic language of Persia's poet, "The spider has woven her web, and the owl has built his nest in the palace of Astracan." I wandered about this scene, with a heart impressed with the power of nature's God, and my feelings of patriotism kindled into affectionate devotion at the recollected triumphs of Liberty. My old and venerable guide interested me with a magical influence, and although the time has long passed, I still remember, with intense pleasure, the soul-beaming expression of his sunken eye, and the mild benignity of countenance which evinced that his life had been dedicated to the practice of virtue. He led me to a retired seat on the brink of the hill, and undisturbed, except by the wild screams of the snowy curlew, and the eagle's note of triumph, he related a tale which gave to every spot the most interesting associations.
Courtenay Melville was the pride of Stratford. Although descended from a noble and illustrious ancestry, she possessed no repelling and artificial hauteur, but was sweetly dignified and gently reserved. She was not tall—but who, when they gazed with rapture on the exquisite and delicate symmetry of her form, could coldly criticise? Her hair was of raven black, which occasionally fell in careless curls over a neck which might rival, in whiteness, the Parian marble. To a frank and benevolent disposition were added the fascinating graces of a polished education. Among her numerous suitors, she could easily discern the merit of Florio, amid the butterfly fops who declared their pretensions in all the pageantry of affected sensibility, and ere long she resigned to him that heart on which the romantic piety of love had deeply impressed his image. The day was fixed for their union, and that period of life which calls into active energy all the trembling sensations of the heart, was spent by them in calm anticipations of an endearing and unclouded prospect of happiness. But alas! how soon does stern reality prostrate the gay frost-work of fancy, and annul all the airy fabrics of ideal bliss. Florio was ordered to join the regiment to which he was an officer, then about to embark for America. He received his orders with apparent indifference, while his heart was agitated to distraction by contending emotions. He would not degrade the character of his station, by a resignation of the post of duty and honor for slothful and luxurious ease—but could he leave the adored object of his affections?
He soon made Courtenay acquainted with the heart-corroding care which then tortured him. She, though deeply affected with the intelligence, urged him to sail, and trust to that Providence which ever guarded and protected virtuous rectitude: and oh! when you return, covered with laurels, the pride and ornament of your country, will I not then find your heart still constant and still sincere! It shall return, and the ecstatic memory of thy loveliness shall ever be my guide in glory's path. Impressing on her pallid cheek a burning kiss, and sighing the whisperings of adieu, he fled with precipitation from that influence which might, even in one moment, sever the honor of the soldier.
With a deep and bitter melancholy of heart, Florio embarked at Plymouth, and after a speedy and prosperous voyage, he soon reached the shore of America. In many a sanguinary contest, laurels freshened around his reputation, and he soon acquired, by the daring chivalry and desperate enterprise of his character, the confidence of the whole army—and they who, in time of perilous danger and conflict, rallied around his white plume, always found themselves in the path to victory and distinction.[1]
A full tide of success had for a time accompanied the progress of the American army.—The brave and noble Cornwallis bad gradually retreated before the band of patriot heroes, flushed with the confidence of victory, until be was beesieged in the little town of York. The American troops day after day rapidly advanced their works, and annoyed the enemy with a continued and destructive fire. At last a general attack from the American batteries opened on the British entrenchments. The deafening roar of artillery, the clashing of armor, and the shrieks of the wounded, all gave to the scene a wild and dismal coloring. The gay and chivalric officer fell indiscriminately with the private, and many a brave heart breathed its last sigh, while the bitter memory of wives and children far across the wave, came gathering in horror over the dying moments of the soldier.
The standard of St. George yet floated in triumph on the British entrenchments, and although torn in shreds by the enemy's fire, it still flickered the dazzling beacon of glory, amid the sulphureous smoke of the battle. A shot, too truly aimed, struck in the earth where it was planted'. It trembled' for a moment, and amid the anxious gaze of the multitude, it was prostrated to the earth.
Is there no British soldier here? cried Cornwallis, as he rapidly urged his foaming steed.
But ere he had uttered these words, Florio had ascended the entrenchments, and while thousands of eyes were directed to him, he raised the prostrate standard, and it again floated in proud majesty. A continued and glaring stream of fire was directed against him, and alas! a ball, too truly aimed, threw him headlong from the ramparts, while a heart-thrilling shriek, from thousands of his comrades, was his dismal knell. Life was fast quivering in its frail abode, and turning to one of his companions he faintly said; "Carry my heart to Courtenay."—He fixed his eyes with intense expression on the standard, which then fitfully glared in the rich and mellow beams of the setting sun. The close and, heavy fire of the American cannon had become slow-and unsteady. The vapor and smoke had in vast waves fled before the western breeze, and while a flood of glory, which broke from the western horizon, lightened in a brilliant stream o'er his pallid countenance, he gazed with chivalric rapture on the floating standard, shouted victory, and—expired.
A few years since, continued the old man, on a bleak and stormy day in November, a small, skiff was discovered at the mouth of York river, pursuing its course upwards, under a full display of sail. It anchored off this place, and two strangers, of genteel deportment and military costume, soon landed, and lodged themselves at the only house of entertainment in the town.—In a few days they were noticed by the inhabitants to be closely employed in surveying every nook and corner of the place. They were discovered to use mathematical instruments of a novel construction, and to note with accuracy every tree and house. The cobbler of the village, who was at once its oracle and philosopher, after due deliberation, summoned a meeting of the inhabitants, and prefacing much on the subject of his devotion to the interests of the corporation, proceeded to inform his audience, that the strangers, who then excited their curiosity, were "money diggers," and that they ought to be strictly watched. This report was soon circulated with rapidity. The strangers were followed with attention, and wherever they marked a tree, if soon fell beneath the axe of the cobbler, or some of his-associates, (fer he had sagely united himself with all the ditchers and grave-diggers of the neighborhood,) its roots were torn up, and every stone which struck against the spade excited the most sanguine expectations.
The innkeeper always evinced a distant and becoming air of mute respect to his guests. His wife, whose curiosity had been tortured into a painful agony of suffering, was shrewdly cunning and closely accurate in the numerous inquiries she made of the strangers.
One evening the elder stranger offered the landlord £100 for an acre of land belonging to him. What acre? replied the landlord. That acre of your land, continued the stranger, which I may think proper to designate He shall not sell any of it to you, interposed his wife. The poor landlord, conscious of his dame's superior sagacity and discernment, obstinately refused to sell it to his guests, who replied only by unmeaning monosyllables to all the numerous anxious inquiries of the good lady, what they wanted with it, &c.
The next morning the skiff was seen at a distance, full in the bosom of Chesapeake Bay, gradually receding from the sight. Confused suspicions flashed across the mind of the landlord. His wife was soon in a hurried bustle, and lo! in their own garden was discovered the strong proof, that on the previous night the money diggers had been at work. A pit was found, and at its bottom were easily perceived the traces of an iron box, which had been carried off.
The vessel which had escaped with the treasure, to the endless mortification of the lazy villagers of Gloucester-Town, and which had borne away the mysterious strangers, soon reached a ship at the Capes of Virginia—on which the strangers embarked for England, and, after a speedy voyage, reached its white and snowy cliffs. The iron box contained the heart of Florio, which, after the eventful day at York, had been carefully embalmed, and interred in this manner at Gloucester-Town—and it was for Courtenay Melville's, sake that this pious pilgrimage was made.
When the too true and mournful intelligence of her beloved Florio's untimely yet glorious death reached her, she received it with feelings apparently composed: but alas! a deep, keen, searching grief toe sensibly preyed on her soft and affectionate disposition. Her melancholy sadness was alone and solitary. She could find no sympathetic heart, on which she could pour out its troubled overflowings. Her wild and agitated fancy often, in moments of maniac frenzy, pictured him as returning in every sail. Although to please she sometimes endeavored to smile in cheerfulness, it was only for a moment, and like
"That silvery almond flower,
Which blooms on a leafless bough,"
her mirth was in sad unison to that care wasted frame, which evinced the deeply seated agony of a breaking heart. Consumption stole o'er her damask cheek, and while gradually sinking to the tomb, she hourly retraced, in all the freshness of memory, those moments which had winged their way, on downy feet, never to return. Her last and only wish was, to enfold in her embrace the heart of Florio. It was presented to her by the mysterious strangers—she kissed it with emotion, and in a convulsive frenzy of tortured anxiety and rapturous feeling, her soul winged its way from its frail and mortal abode to a better and a happier world.
1. Si vous perdez vos enseignes rallier—vous a mon panache blanc: vous le trouverer tonjoues au chemin de l'honneur et de la gloire.—Vol. 1, Hist. Gen. Win 4, 352, De Hean IV.