“Lay hands unto this work with all thy wit,
Yet pray that God may speed and profit it.”
ROBERT SALTERNE.
It was the very last of September; the day had been a perfect one,
just the faintest touch of autumn in the air and on the trees. The sun
had gone down in a sea of glory, and the peaceful hour of twilight was
hushing everything to rest. The sentinel was pacing to and fro. It was
Jake Barnes’s turn that night, and he did not like the work at all; in
fact, it was hard to find anything in the way of work that he did like.
As he came to a sudden halt by an old tree that overhung the water
he muttered, “It’s lots of good I’d do if the redskins should come!
I suppose they’d like me to kill ’em all. A nice lot of cowards the
fellows here are; why don’t they go and fight them savages, and let us
take their lands to pay us for coming away across the water; frighten
them, let ’em see we mean business. If we don’t, they’ll finish us
all. I wouldn’t make friends with any of ’em; carrying them around the
world as if they were white Christians; and just because they call one
a chief, he must be treated like a king. I hope some day I’ll have the
pleasure of putting my sword through that red shining-faced Manteo.”
He stopped suddenly, for a slight sound on the bank below caught his
ear. He stepped quickly behind the tree, so that if there were an arrow
coming it could not possibly touch his precious body. As none came, he
gathered all his courage and called out, “Who goes there?”
Immediately a soft voice answered, “Don’t fire, Master Barnes! It’s
only me, Patience.”
“What are you doing there? You deserve to be shot,” was the gruff reply.
“Oh, please don’t!” cried Patience. “I was only watching the stars
come out to look in their looking-glass. Do you know, Master Barnes,
that the sea is the looking-glass for the sun and moon and all the
little stars? To-night the moon-mother has stayed at home, but she has
sent some clouds to take care of her star-children, and as soon as they
look at themselves for a little while, their nurses, the clouds, carry
them away home. Pretty soon they’ll be all gone, and then the sky will
be lonely.”
Barnes walked on, and had forgotten the child. Passing the same spot
a few minutes later, he started at the sound of a soft voice saying,
“Master Barnes!” Patience stood beside him; the hand she had laid on
his sleeve shook, and her upturned face was very white, while she said
in a voice that trembled with fear, “There is a canoe coming over from
the land, and there’s an Indian in it, I think.”
“Where, child? Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied; “and I was so frightened I hurried to find you.”
“I’ll make short work of him if he’s alone, I will,” Barnes muttered.
“One of Manteo’s fine braves, I hope. I wish it were the old fellow
himself, I’d soon put a ball through his royal crown, and not feel bad
about it either;” and he laughed to himself. Then, turning to Patience,
he said, “Where is he coming ashore?”
“He was pointing towards the little bay, Master Barnes; but,” she
added, “if he’s one of Manteo’s Indians, we ought not to hurt him,
ought we?”
“You go to bed, child, and mind you say nothing of this; it’s my duty
to shoot any one that’s lurking around in a suspicious way; I ought to
have shot you. I’ll have to do it now, if you don’t hurry to bed and go
to sleep. Off with you! I guess your Indian was all a fancy.”
Patience waited for nothing more: she almost flew toward the little
group of cabins, until she was hidden from Barnes by the woods. Then,
with an anxious look behind, to see he was not following her, she stood
still. Barnes had no idea of following her; he watched her out of
sight, descended the bank to a rock from which he could command a good
view of the little bay, and sat down, ready to fire.
Meanwhile, Patience stood in the old forest alone. As her feet had been
flying over the ground, her mind had been flying too. In less than half
the time it takes to write it, she thought over what Barnes had said
about killing one of Manteo’s men; she also remembered what she had
heard Mrs. Dare say one day, after Manteo had been in to see the baby
Virginia, “Manteo is a faithful friend to us. If the Indians ever give
us trouble he will stand by us to the very end.” Perhaps this was one
of his men; perhaps he was bringing a message from Manteo; perhaps it
might be Manteo himself. Some one must save him.
Before she could reach the huts to call any one, the canoe would reach
the bay; she was the one to save him. But what if Master Barnes should
see her and shoot her! For one moment the thought frightened her, and
she crouched down on the ground. Another, and the brave resolution was
made. She must save the man in the canoe. Once more she was flying
through the dark forest.
Well for the baby Virginia, and for all in that little colony, that her
steps were light and quick, and her heart was brave.
Patience reached the clearing on the ridge of the bank; on she moved
stealthily, one slip and she would be in that dark, cruel water. Well
for her work that the clouds had hidden all the stars. She came to the
group of rocks standing out in the water; at the same moment she heard
the soft splash of the paddle. One quick spring and she reached the
first slippery stone. Could she stand firmly enough to jump to the next
rock? If not, within a few seconds the canoe would have passed beyond
her reach. The paddle sounded nearer; how her head whirled; what a
giddy spring! But it was done.
“Chief Manteo!”
The paddle stopped; she repeated her words; the canoe came closer. “Who
are you?” she asked.
The Indian took her hand and felt it, as if to try to understand who
or what she was, then he replied in broken English, “Ranteo comes from
Manteo to the white chief. Why is the white child here alone on the
rocks?”
“I came here to save you, for you must not go into the little bay.
Master Barnes will not know who you are. He says it is his duty to
shoot every one that is about at this hour.”
The Indian muttered something in his own tongue that was hardly
complimentary to the whites. While Patience was trying to get up her
courage to make the difficult spring back toward the land, the canoe
had been concealed under some bushes, for Ranteo did not feel quite
sure the whites were to be trusted; if so, why should this child come
to warn him? He thought of all this as he drew his canoe up on land and
hid it. He was standing, holding his hand out to Patience before she
had gained courage enough to move. She took his hand and tried to jump,
but the fright that had lent her strength was over now, and she was
trembling and unsteady. Ranteo drew her to the rock on which he stood,
then, raising her to his shoulder, stepped across to the land. He did
not put her down, but turned into the unbroken forest by a path or
trail which his Indian eye had traced.