Oliver and the young girl were, in the mean time, eagerly endeavouring
to understand each other. They had left the group and were seated
together on the bank of the stream. Some new ideas had evidently come
into her mind; it seemed to flash upon her that she was of the same race
as the young paleface by her side. She had never known a father, she
said, or mother, and the squaw who had more especially tended on her in
her childhood had as tawny a skin as the rest of her tribe. Now and
then she talked with Oliver, but oftener sat with her finger on her
brow, lost in thought. After some time she began to understand his
questions better than at first. She replied that she would try to find
out what he wanted to know and tell him. Oliver felt himself every
instant becoming more and more interested; he could not help thinking,
as he watched her varying countenance, that she must be of his own race.
Perhaps her name would assist him to discover the truth. He asked,
looking up in her face, what she was called. "Manita," she answered,
"does it sound pleasant in your ears?"
"Very pleasant indeed," he replied, repeating it, "I shall remember it
as long as I live."
The old chief received the adventurers in a friendly manner, and to
prove his good intentions, said that he would direct his people to build
wigwams for them on any spot they might choose. Roger replied that as
he and his people were fond of water, they should prefer encamping on
the bank of the river, where the rivulet ran into it; his true motive
being that they should thus have only two sides to defend should they by
any chance be attacked; while they might also, by building rafts,
descend the stream into the main river and thus regain their ship.
The whole of the population at once set to work to supply the wants of
the white strangers, the men even being condescending enough to assist,
though the women were chiefly employed in bringing the materials for the
huts and putting them up. The Englishmen, however, as soon as they saw
their mode of proceeding, greatly lightened their labours. The rest of
the men went out hunting, and before evening returned with a plentiful
supply of game. In a wonderfully short time a village had sprung up,
affording ample accommodation in fine summer weather.
After the Indians had left them, the young girl came fearlessly into
their midst, bringing the fish she had caught as her present to Oliver
and the two officers, for she at once distinguished them from the rest
of the men. She had then a further talk with Oliver; she inquired
whether he would be willing to accompany her in her canoe up the stream,
and as they would have a long way to go, he must assist in paddling, but
no one else must accompany them, nor must the Indians or his own friends
know where they had gone. There might be some danger, she confessed,
though it was not such as to make her hesitate if she could serve her
new friends.
Oliver, who liked the notion of the danger, replied that he would
willingly go.
She advised him to sleep soundly and to be awake two hours before dawn,
when he would find her with the canoe at the mouth of the stream,
beneath a high bank, from which he could easily step on board without
being seen. "I will tell you more when we are away," she added, "but if
any one is awake and asks where you are going, you can let them
understand that you are about to fish in the stream, and my people will
not be surprised, as it is my chief occupation. I have no pleasure in
working with the squaws, who have little love for me, because I am the
favourite of my grandfather, who allows me to do what I like."
Such, in substance, was what the young girl said to Oliver. He promised
faithfully to obey her injunctions, and to be ready to accompany her at
the time she had fixed on. He had some difficulty in going to sleep for
thinking of the expedition he was to make on the morrow, but he at
length succeeded in dropping off. After sleeping for some time he
opened his eyes, and feeling broad awake, crept out of the hut, thinking
that it was time to set out; but as he could see the sentries at their
posts--for Roger judged it wise to place men on the watch lest the
Indians might play them false--he waited till the one next him had moved
to the end of his beat, and then keeping under the shade of the huts,
stole down towards the river's bank. Moving on cautiously, he soon
reached the spot at which the girl had told him to wait for her.
Sitting down, he gazed at the stream which rippled by in front of him,
ere it joined the broad river on his right. The murmuring of the water
as it sounded in his ears soon had the not unusual effect of sending him
off again to sleep. He awoke with a start on hearing a gentle voice
calling to him. Rubbing his eyes as he looked round, he saw the shadowy
form of the maiden standing up in her canoe, just below his feet.
Forgetting its frail structure, he was about to leap into it, when she,
observing his intention, exclaimed in a louder voice than she would
otherwise have used--
"Stay, stay, or you will break through the canoe, and put a stop to our
expedition."
Oliver, taking her hand, which she extended to him, stepped carefully
into the canoe, and seated himself at her bidding. As he did so, she
turned the canoe away from the bank, and the next instant they were in
the broader river.
"We will first steer down the stream," she whispered, "and then cross to
the opposite side, lest any one should have seen us. Take the paddle
you will find at your feet."
Oliver looked towards the shore, but could see no one, and felt
therefore satisfied that they were not watched.
"It is well," observed Manita; "we may therefore the sooner proceed up
the stream."
In another minute they were paddling away, Manita dexterously steering
the canoe. Having got so far from the village that their voices could
not be heard, Oliver inquired the object of the expedition.
"You wish to gain news of a white man who has been long in this
country?" answered Manita; "when I heard what you said, I recollected
that two moons ago I had gone on an expedition up this river with two
other girls somewhat older than myself. They took me with them to steer
while they paddled. Their object was to run away from those they did
not love, and to hide in the forest till they could return with safety.
The river, though not very wide, continues on far, far away; and we
paddled on all day; and not till night did we come to the end of our
voyage. They secured the canoe beneath an overhanging tree, whose
boughs afforded us shelter while we slept. At daylight, leaping out of
the canoe, with their basket of provisions, and telling me to take it
back, but not to say where they had gone, they ran off into the forest.
This I had no fancy for doing--not that I should have been punished--but
I liked not to be deceived, and wished to know what they were about. I
accordingly, instead of doing as they had bid me, followed their trail;
though I kept at such a distance that they could not hear or see me
should they look back. On they went, till I began to grow weary and
hungry; they stopped to eat, but I had forgotten to bring provisions
with me, not supposing that they would go so far. I lay concealed close
to them, till I heard them get up and go on again; then I knew that they
must be intending to go much further. Fortunately they had left some
fruit and a piece of corn-cake, which had slipped out of one of their
baskets. I ate it as I went along, afraid of getting far behind them.
"Leaving the forest, they went over hills and down valleys, and up other
hills; and I had great difficulty in concealing myself--indeed, had they
not hurried on without looking back, they must have discovered me. They
now entered another forest; they were getting farther and farther from
me, and I was becoming more and more weary. I was still trying to
overtake them, when I felt a sharp pain in my foot--a thorn had pierced
it, and sinking to the ground, I knew not what happened. How long I had
thus lain I could not tell, when opening my eyes I saw a tall man,
dressed in skins, but his face was fairer than that of any Indian I had
ever beheld; his hair light and long; and on his head he wore a covering
of straw. He cast a kind look at me, but I saw that he was as much
astonished as I was at seeing him. Stooping down, he spoke some words
which I did not understand; he then addressed me in Indian, and asked me
who I was, and whence I had come. I told him at once that I was the
grand-daughter of Oncagua, and that I was following some girls of the
tribe who had run away, begging him to tell me if he knew where they
were gone. He replied that they were safe with those by whom they would
be better treated than they were by their own people. My foot paining
me while he was speaking, I groaned, and he stooped down and pulled out
the thorn, when he bound up the wound with some leaves, fastening them
on with the fibres of a tree; then, seeing that I could not walk, he
took me up in his arms and carried me to a dwelling larger than any I
had ever before seen. It was on the borders of the forest, surrounded
by a garden and corn-field; close to it, at a little distance was a
large Indian village.
"He asked me if I would be content to remain there till the wound in my
foot was healed. I felt sure that he would treat me kindly, though I
wanted to go back to Oncagua, who would be mourning for me.
"To this the white man did not object, though he said that he should
have wished me to remain with him. He watched over me with the greatest
care, and in three days my foot was well; and though I did not learn
that which I wanted to know--what had become of my companions--I wished
to go back to my grandfather. I told the strange white man this, and he
would not stop me, he said, though he was loth to part with me. I, too,
was grieved to part with him, for he had been very kind, and told me
wonderful things about the great God who rules the world, and One who
was punished instead of man, that man's sins might be forgiven, and that
he might be made friends with God, and go to live with him in the sky.
And he told me much more, but I could not understand it.
"When he found how much I wished to go back he said that he would go
with me as far as the river, where I had left my canoe; that he should
like to see me safely to my grandfather, but that he was bound by an
oath to the chief with whom he lived not to go beyond the river, and
that he could not break that oath, though it cost him so much. He had
not allowed any of the people in the village to see me all this time, as
he was afraid that they might prevent my going away. He set off with
me, therefore, very early in the morning, and as I knew the way I had
come from the place where he found me, I was able to lead him directly
to the canoe. He was very sad at parting from me, and sighed much, and
made me promise that I would come back to him again if I could. I found
the canoe safe, as no one had passed that way. He asked me if I was not
afraid of remaining by myself, but with a laugh I told him no; that I
had often been out in the forest alone; that I would sleep in the canoe
that night, and be away by dawn in the morning. Still he seemed very
sorry to let me go, as he wanted to tell me more of the wonderful things
about which he had spoken, and the happy country of spirits to which
good men go. He said, therefore, that he would not leave me till he had
seen me begin my voyage. We lighted a fire, therefore, and cooked some
birds which we had shot as we came along, and then when it was time to
go to sleep, while I lay down in my canoe, he climbed up into a tree
above me, and lay down among the thick branches, so that he could watch
me.
"It was just daylight when I heard his voice telling me that it would be
time for me to begin my voyage, after I had had some more food. He then
kneeling down, prayed to his God to take care of me, and blessed me; and
then kissing my brow, helped to force the canoe out into the stream. As
I turned my head several times I saw him still standing on the bank
watching me, till I could see him no longer. As the current was with
me, I got back early in the day, before my grandfather and the other men
who had gone out hunting had come back. None of the squaws dared to ask
where I had been, nor whether any other girls had accompanied me; so I
went into my grandfather's hut, and waited till he had come back.
"When he appeared, he was too glad to see me to be angry; indeed, he
never has been angry with me since I can remember, but has looked upon
me as above every one else in the tribe, so that I can come and go as I
like. I would not say where I had been all that day, but the next I
told him of my long voyage up the river, how I had hurt my foot in the
woods, and had been helped by the strange white man. On hearing this,
he replied that the white man must be a wicked magician; that it was he
probably who had enticed the other girls away; and that, perhaps, if I
went back, he would kill and eat me. I knew that this was not true, or
why had he not done so at first, had he wished it?
"Since then, I have been longing to go back to see the white man; but I
found that a watch was kept on me. When I heard you, however, inquiring
for a white man, I at once thought that the stranger I had seen must be
the one you were in search of, and I resolved to help you to find him,
being assured that he is no magician."
"I have great hopes that he is the very man we are in search of,"
exclaimed Oliver, after Manita had finished her narrative, which took
much longer time to give than it has to describe, seeing that she had to
repeat it in a variety of ways before she was satisfied that her
listener understood what she said. She had brought a good supply of
provisions, and as Oliver hinted that he was getting very hungry,
somewhere about noon she guided the canoe towards the bank, where they
rested for awhile, and ate their food. They then paddled on again with
renewed vigour. Manita complimented Oliver on the way in which he
handled his paddle, and remarked that they were getting on much faster
than when she had gone up before. It was thus some time before evening
when she announced that they had arrived at the spot where she had
before landed. Having run the canoe close to the bank under a tree,
they secured it, and stepped on shore.
"We will take some provisions with us this time," she observed, "for
though I may kill some birds with my arrows, it will delay us to do so."
They set off at once, and made good progress before sunset, when, at
Oliver's suggestion, they both climbed up into a tree, in which he
formed a sort of platform, where she could sleep securely; he afterwards
making another for himself. They set off again at dawn, and Oliver,
helping Manita over the rough hills, to which he, a Devonshire lad, was
well accustomed, they made good progress. At last the clearing Manita
had described was reached, and they saw before them the white man
standing in front of his dwelling.
"There he is!" exclaimed Manita. "Oh, I am so glad to see him!" and she
bounded on ahead of Oliver. The recluse, for such he seemed, welcomed
Manita affectionately, but his gaze was turned towards Oliver. "Who are
you, young sir?" he exclaimed, looking from one to the other of his
visitors.
"Oliver Dane, sir, from near Dartmouth, in Devonshire," he answered.
The recluse appeared greatly agitated. "Speak, speak: with whom came
you? when did you reach this distant land?" he asked.
"I arrived here five days since, sir," replied Oliver, "in the
_Rainbow_, commanded by Captain Layton, with Master Roger Layton, Master
Vaughan Audley, and a company of twenty men."
"Vaughan Audley!" exclaimed the recluse; "is he with you?"
"He is with the rest of the party, thirty miles or more away down the
river," answered Oliver.
"And Mistress Audley, and her daughter Lettice--can you give me tidings
of them?" continued the recluse, before Oliver had finished his reply.
"I left; Mistress Audley and Lettice at James Town a week since,"
answered Oliver; "but, alack! Gilbert and young Fenton were carried off
by the Indians, and we have come up in search of them, as we have of
Captain Audley; and, if I mistake not, sir, you are that very
gentleman."
"I am indeed so; I believed that I was long ago supposed to be dead,"
answered Captain Audley; "or that search would have been made for me."
Oliver then told him all he knew respecting the report brought home by
Batten. "But how comes it that my son did not accompany Manita?"
inquired Captain Audley.
"She will tell you why she would only bring me," answered Oliver.
Manita's reply seemed to satisfy him; he then made many eager inquiries
about Gilbert, as to whom and by whom he had been carried off. Oliver
gave him all the information in his power. So interested had he been,
that he had forgotten to invite the young travellers into his house; he
now, however, did so, and placed before them an ample meal. Manita
seemed somewhat puzzled how to behave, but looking at Oliver she
imitated him very well. Their host frequently gazed at the young
people, as he plied Oliver further with questions.
"When will you come with us, sir?" asked Oliver, after waiting for some
time; "Manita is, I know, in a hurry to get back, and all will be ready
to welcome you when you arrive."
"Alas! I cannot go thus far unless one who holds my pledge is ready to
set me free," answered Captain Audley. "He may be willing to do so, or
fear of the white man's power may induce him to release me."
"I suppose, sir, you would not object to be carried off by force, if the
Indians will not by fair means let you go free?" said Oliver.
"As to that I shall make no answer, lad," replied Captain Audley; "I
wish by fair means alone to gain my liberty. I have, though, another
motive for remaining: to search, with the aid of my Indian friends, for
my boy Gilbert and his companions, who have been brought, you say, by
their captors to this part of the country. I will therefore bid you
return and invite the party to come up here. Their presence will, I
hope, have its effect."
The recluse, or Captain Audley, for such it appeared that he was,
continued looking at his young guests; suddenly turning to Oliver, he
asked whether he had heard that he had a sister born some short time
before the settlement was destroyed.
"Yes," answered Oliver, "my mother had a little daughter named Virginia,
the first child born in the settlement, who was, my grandfather
supposed, murdered with her and my father on that cruel day."
"It may have been so," remarked Captain Audley, "but she may have
escaped; and the thought occurred to me when I first saw this little
damsel; for a child of white parents she undoubtedly is, though brought
up with Indian ways and manners; and when I saw you and her together and
heard your name, judging by your age, and on examining your
countenances, which strongly resemble each other, I at once became
impressed with the idea, that she was no other than Virginia Dane, and
therefore your sister. There was no other child in the settlement so
young as she must have been when it was attacked, and none so likely to
have had its life spared."
Oliver looked upon Manita with still greater interest than before, and
giving her a kiss, told her what the white man had said, and asked her
whether she would wish to be his sister.
"Yes, yes," she answered, with a look of pleasure; "and you will come
and live at our village, and go out fishing and hunting with me, and
become some day chief of our tribe."
Oliver tried to explain that it was much more fitting that she should
come and live among the English. At first she did not understand this,
and doubted whether her grandfather would allow her to go. Oliver had
then to explain that the old chief was not her grandfather; possibly,
that he or his followers had murdered their parents, though for some
reason he had saved her life. This seemed to make her waver; she
promised Oliver that she would consider the matter.
"You are too weary to return at once, my young guests," observed Captain
Audley. "While you rest, I will go to the village that you see yonder
and seek out the chief Wamsutah. I may be able to win him over to
assist in our object. I trust by means of the influence I possess over
his mind, to induce him to aid in the recovery of my son Gilbert and his
companion. He possesses more power than any chief of the neighbouring
tribes, Powhattan excepted; and should he learn where they are to be
found, he will not fail to obtain their release."
Saying this, Captain Audley took his departure, leaving Oliver and
Manita in his dwelling. A considerable time passed, however, before he
returned. Manita, overcome with fatigue, had fallen asleep in a corner
of the room, wrapped up in her cloak. Oliver was too anxious to close
his eyes. As he watched the features of the young girl, he felt more
and more convinced that the surmise of Captain Audley was correct, and
he thought of the happiness it would be to restore her to civilised
life, and of the blessing she might prove to their aged grandfather,
whom she might tend with a watchful care far better than he was able to
bestow. At last he too dropped off asleep. He was awakened by the
return of their host.
"Have you succeeded, sir?" he asked, eagerly.
"I have news of the two lads, who are many hours' journey from this, in
the hands of a tribe, alas! at enmity with Wamsutah and his people. I
cannot hope, consequently, to communicate with them without much
difficulty, and must wait an opportunity, which I pray God to afford me.
I would have you, therefore, after resting here tonight, hasten back to
your people; tell my son Vaughan how I long to embrace him, but that
stern necessity compels me to remain here awhile, till the chief permits
me to depart with honour, and I can bring back the two missing ones. I
do not advise Vaughan and Master Layton to come up here, lest they
should create suspicion in the minds of the Indians. Let them be on
their guard against treachery, which this people look upon more as a
virtue than a crime; and if they can obtain canoes from the chief
Oncagua, or can contrive to build them, let them by all means return
down the river, which they will find navigable to the mouth. They would
thus avoid many dangers through which they before unconsciously passed,
and regain the ship far more speedily than by land."
Oliver promised to deliver the messages he had received from Captain
Audley, who the next morning told him that he had provided two Indian
lads, his pupils, in whom he could implicitly trust to escort him and
Manita to the canoe. Setting off, they safely reached it, and anxious
to arrive at the village before night, at once paddled briskly down the
stream. It was dark, however, before they neared their destination, and
Manita proposed that they should land at the English village. As they
approached they were hailed by Ben Tarbox from the bank, to whom Oliver
replied.
"Thankful to hear your voice, Master Dane," said Ben, as he helped them
out of the canoe, which he drew up on the bank. "We thought you were
lost, and the old chief has been in a great taking about his
granddaughter, accusing us of spiriting her away, and well-nigh creating
a breach of the peace."
"We have not been on a fool's errand, Ben," answered Oliver. "I want to
speak to our commander without delay, wherever he is."
"He and Master Audley are on foot, for we don't know at what moment the
natives may take it into their fickle heads to attack us," answered Ben.
"Here they come."
Oliver, followed by Manita, hastened to meet Vaughan and Roger, and as
fast he could pour out his words, he told them of his adventure.
Vaughan, prompted by filial affection, was eager to set off to meet his
father, but Oliver reminded him of the advice he had brought that the
party should remain at their present post, and Roger also giving his
opinion to the same effect, he agreed to wait further tidings. They
might, however, be compelled to move for want of provisions, though
their present stock would enable them to remain some days longer, but a
small portion having been exhausted. They had hopes, too, that when
Oncagua should discover that Manita was safe, his confidence would be
restored, and that he would be as ready as at first to supply them with
food. Both Vaughan and Roger agreed that the likeness between Manita
and Oliver was very great, and they had little doubt that she was really
Captain White's grandchild. Oliver declared that he had no doubt about
the matter, and already felt towards her as a brother for a sister. She
by this time fully comprehended that she was of the white man's race,
and when Vaughan asked her if she would go back to Oncagua, she burst
into tears.
No, she replied; she would remain with her new brother. The chief was
generally kind, but he might keep her prisoner or send her off further
away, when she could not return to her brother.
There might be truth in what the maiden said; and though they hoped, by
her means, to restore a good understanding between themselves and
Oncagua, they would not deliver her up into his power. It was agreed,
therefore, that she should remain in the village during the night.
Oliver begged that he might go the next morning to the chief, and tell
him how matters had fallen out.
"A brave thought," exclaimed Vaughan. "You shall go, and when the chief
sees you he will be convinced that you speak the truth."
Next morning Oliver set out, with his sword by his side, which, young as
he was, he knew how to use; but without other arms. The Indians gazed
at him as he walked fearlessly on till he reached the wigwam of the
chief, who had just come forth. In the best language he could command
he delivered his message, and then told him that he was the brother of
her whom he had so long nourished and protected, and that he came to
thank him for the kindness he had shown her; that she was now with her
own people, who heartily desired to be the friends of Oncagua and his
tribe.
The chief gazed at the bold youth with astonishment. "Does she remain
willingly with them, or do they keep her as a prisoner?" he asked.
"It is of her own free will that she remains," answered Oliver.
The chief sighed; "It is true that her parents were palefaces," he said,
"but the heart of Oncagua yearns towards her, and he has ever regarded
her as his child."
"But our grandfather has no other descendants than us two, and his heart
will be made glad when he hears that the daughter of his only child is
alive," replied Oliver; "it may be that Oncagua remembers the chief of
the palefaces when they first settled at Roanoke, Massey White."
"He was my friend, my brother," answered the old chief; "it was for his
sake, in return for the kindness he did me, that I saved his grandchild,
and would have saved her mother had I possessed the means of carrying
her off. Though I shall grieve to lose the maiden, yet willingly will I
send her to him to cheer his declining years. Bring her to me; she need
not fear that I will detain her; but I will gaze at her once again
before you take her away with you to your distant home. For her sake
you and your companions may rest assured that Oncagua will remain, as he
has ever been, a friend to the palefaces."
Highly satisfied with the result of his embassy, Oliver hastened back to
the camp. After due consultation Vaughan and Roger agreed to allow
Virginia, if she was so minded, to accompany Oliver to the chief; should
they not do so, it might show want of confidence, and Oliver declared
that he would die fighting for her sooner than allow her to be carried
off. She at first hesitated, but when Oliver told her what the chief
had said, she consented to accompany him. Holding each other fast by
the hand they set out, no one even addressing them till they reached the
chief's wigwam. Oncagua stood at the entrance waiting for them; he
gazed with a fond look at the young girl for some minutes without
speaking.
"Do you leave me willingly?" he asked at length, in a tone of grief.
She burst into tears. "Had I not found my white brother, I would have
remained with you, and tended you in sickness and old age," she said,
"but now I desire to go where he goes, and to dwell with those of my own
colour."
"Go, my child, go, the Great Spirit will have it so--and when you are
far away, Oncagua will dream that you are happy with those of your own
kindred and race." As he spoke, he entered his wigwam; quickly
returning with a small package carefully done up in opossum skin. "Take
this with you," he said, "it contains the clothes you wore and the chain
you bore round your neck as an infant; it will prove to your grandfather
that you are indeed his daughter's child." Taking the maiden in his
arms, he pressed her to his heart, and then placing her hand in that of
Oliver, told him to hasten back to his friends, as if he doubted his own
resolution to give her up. The rest of the people, who had collected
from all sides, gazed on the paleface maiden and her brother, with
glances of admiration and awe, regarding them as beings of a superior
nature to themselves.
Vaughan and Roger were on the watch to welcome them back; they both felt
that they could not sufficiently thank the young maiden for the service
she had done them, and they wished to express to Oliver their sense of
his courage and boldness.
"I have done nothing that I should be thanked," said Virginia, for by
her rightful name they now called her; "I heard that you were in search
of a white man, and knowing where one was to be found, I took my brother
to him."
The object of their expedition, however, was not yet accomplished; they
knew that Captain Audley was alive, but he and their two friends were
still a long way off, and it might be a hard matter to reach them. Two
days passed by, and they were becoming impatient, for as their stock of
provisions was now growing short, they must depend on the Indians for
their supply, and should they refuse it, they would be entirely in their
power. Virginia and Oliver offered to make another expedition up the
river to communicate with Captain Audley, but Vaughan considered himself
bound to abide by his father's commands. Roger proposed that they
should instead borrow the maiden's canoe, which still lay on the bank,
and send down to the ship. Oliver at once offered to go, and suggested
that Ben Tarbox, who knew well how to handle a canoe, should be asked to
accompany him.
"Of course I will," answered Ben, "if it was six times as far. We'll
find our way down easily enough, and if the navigation is clear, we'll
come back in the long-boat, and bring a good store of provision and
arms, and a couple of swivels in the bows in case we fall in with any
Indians likely to give us a taste of their arrows."
It was of course necessary to consult Virginia about taking her canoe.
On hearing that Oliver was going, she insisted on going also; she
understood better than any one else how to manage the canoe, and she was
eager to see the big ship and the good captain who had known her father.
So determined was she that Vaughan and Roger had to yield, believing
that with so careful a man as Tarbox she would not be exposed to more
danger than by remaining with them. As soon as the arrangement was
made, she hastened to the canoe, which she examined thoroughly, covering
the seams afresh with a gummy substance, a lump of which she produced
from the bow. She also found a third paddle, which, she observed, would
be for the sailor's use. As the day was far spent, it was necessary to
wait till the next morning. Virginia was up before daybreak, and
summoning Oliver and Ben, announced that it was time to start, that they
might not be seen by the Indians, who might perchance wish to stop them.
Vaughan and Roger with some of the men, came down to see them off.
Ben, who sat in the bow, had his musket by his side; Oliver paddled next
to him, and Virginia, who seemed to consider herself as captain of the
craft, sat in the stern and steered. Their friends uttering a prayer
for their safety, they pushed off from the bank, and commenced their
voyage.