Fort Lafayette

Fort Lafayette

Project Gutenberg's Fort Lafayette or, Love and Secession, by
Benjamin Wood This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no
cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give
it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Fort Lafayette or, Love and Secession
Author: Benjamin Wood
Release Date: May 27, 2004 [EBook #12452]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FORT
LAFAYETTE ***

Produced by Curtis Weyant, Stephen Hope and PG Distributed
Proofreaders

FORT LAFAYETTE
OR LOVE AND SECESSION
A Novel

BY BENJAMIN WOOD
MDCCCLXII
1862

----"Whom they please they lay in basest bonds." Venice Preserved.
* * * * *
"O, beauteous Peace! Sweet union of a state! what else but thou Gives
safety, strength, and glory to a people?" Thomson.
"Oh, Peace! thou source and soul of social life; Beneath whose calm
inspiring influence, Science his views enlarges, art refines, And
swelling commerce opens all her ports; Blest be the man divine, who
gives us thee!" Thomson.
"A peace is of the nature of a conquest; For then both parties nobly are
subdued, And neither party loser." Shakspeare.
CHAPTER I.
There is a pleasant villa on the southern bank of the James River, a few
miles below the city of Richmond. The family mansion, an old
fashioned building of white stone, surrounded by a spacious veranda,
and embowered among stately elms and grave old oaks, is sure to
attract the attention of the traveller by its picturesque appearance, and
the dreamy elegance and air of comfort that pervade the spot. The
volumes of smoke that roll from the tall chimneys, the wide portals of
the hall, flung open as if for a sign of welcome, the merry chat and
cheerful faces of the sable household, lazily alternating their domestic
labors with a sly romp or a lounge in some quiet nook, these and other
traits of the old Virginia home, complete the picture of hospitable
affluence which the stranger instinctively draws as his gaze lingers on
the grateful scene. The house stands on a wooded knoll, within a
bowshot of the river bank, and from the steps of the back veranda,

where creeping flowers form a perfumed network of a thousand hues,
the velvety lawn shelves gracefully down to the water's edge.
Toward sunset of one of the early days of April, 1861, a young girl
stood leaning upon the wicket of a fence which separated the garden
from the highway. She stood there dreamily gazing along the road, as if
awaiting the approach of some one who would be welcome when he
came. The slanting rays of the declining sun glanced through the
honeysuckles and tendrils that intertwined among the white palings,
and threw a subdued light upon her face. It was a face that was
beautiful in repose, but that promised to be more beautiful when
awakened into animation. The large, grey eyes were half veiled with
their black lashes at that moment, and their expression was thoughtful
and subdued; but ever as the lids were raised, when some distant sound
arrested her attention, the expression changed with a sudden flash, and
a gleam like an electric fire darted from the glowing orbs. Her features
were small and delicately cut, the nostrils thin and firm, and the lips
most exquisitely molded, but in the severe chiselling of their arched
lines betraying a somewhat passionate and haughty nature. But the rose
tint was so warm upon her cheek, the raven hair clustered with such
luxuriant grace about her brows, and the petite and lithe figure was so
symmetrical at every point, that the impression of haughtiness was lost
in the contemplation of so many charms.
Oriana Weems, the subject of our sketch, was an orphan. Her father, a
wealthy Virginian, died while his daughter was yet an infant, and her
mother, who had been almost constantly an invalid, did not long
survive. Oriana and her brother, Beverly, her senior by two years, had
thus been left at an early age in the charge of their mother's sister, a
maiden lady of excellent heart and quiet disposition, who certainly had
most conscientiously fulfilled the sacred trust. Oriana had returned but
a twelvemonth before from a northern seminary, where she had
gathered up more accomplishments than she would ever be likely to
make use of in the old homestead; while Beverly, having graduated at
Yale the preceding month, had written to his sister that she might
expect him that very day, in company with his classmate and friend,
Arthur Wayne.

She stood, therefore, at the wicket, gazing down the road, in
expectation of catching the first glimpse of her brother and