“To cure heartache is godfather Time’s business, and even he is not
invariably successful.”--J. H. EWING.
When great sorrow comes to us in youth, we feel it must affect
and change the whole world; but when we have lived longer in this
changeable world, we take it for granted that the whirl of life will go
on as usual, only we ourselves drop out for a little while, to fight
with our heartache alone, and to conquer it, with God’s help, ere we
take up the busy thread of our life again with placid faces, just as
if our thread and shuttle were as bright and beautiful as before; and
perhaps when all our work looks gray to us, we are weaving the most
perfect and beautiful pattern.
Poor little Virginia had never thought of life without her mother,
until that conversation which Manteo had interrupted; and then her
mind was so full of Iosco’s sickness that she did not think of her
mother’s words again until that dreadful moment came when she called
and called, and no answer came from those still lips, and she knew
that her mother would never hold her in her arms again and kiss her.
Everything went on just as before, except that the frost soon changed
to a thaw, game became more plentiful, and the suffering less. But
not so Virginia’s sorrow: it was so deep and intense for a while,
Mistress Wilkins thought it would wear her young life out. Beth was
her great comfort through this lonely time: she was one to love, one
who really needed her, and the two children truly loved each other.
Iosco grew quite strong after a time: he never forgot what Mrs. Dare
had done for him, and that it was in saving his life she had hastened
her own death. He had always been fond of Virginia, and now his love
was mingled with gratitude. There was hardly an hour of the day he did
not bring some little offering for “Owaissa,” or tell her stories, or
sing songs to her. Time softens the greatest and sharpest sorrow. Let
us thank God for it: we should die were it not so. Though Virginia’s
heart was nearly broken by her mother’s death, and she wished that she
too might die, she did not die, but took her life up bravely after a
while; helping those among whom she lived and whom she really loved;
gathering flowers and forest treasures in the summer; watching the
birds build their nests, and the trees put on their pretty dresses in
budding-time; helping in the work, and playing merry games through
roasting-ear time; in the fall of the leaf gathering acorns and
nuts, and in winter sitting with others around the wigwam fires of
cedar-wood, and listening to the stories which the old men told.
So the years passed by, and Owaissa grew from a child to a girl. She
was tall and slender; her eyes had a more thoughtful expression than
when she was a child, but in other ways she was unchanged. She grew up
a perfectly natural girl, full of the poetry and romance of the wild
people of the forest. Iosco was still her devoted friend: she looked
upon him as a brother. They wandered through the forest together,
gathering flowers or acorns or sweet grasses. Sometimes they sat
down and rested on the banks of a little stream, and told each other
stories. Iosco’s were of the wild Indian lore. He told her of Odjibwa
and the Red Swan, of Hiawatha and his Minnehaha. One day they sat on
the bank of a little stream which rushed on, making a tiny waterfall
just below, which sang to them; so Iosco thought, as he sat there with
Owaissa, while overhead the pines waved their lofty branches, and the
soft breezes whispered love-songs among them. Wild-flowers and delicate
mosses nestled about their feet. All around, laurel blossoms made the
forest beautiful and the air fragrant. Birds were flying to and fro,
and from a near tree a whip-poor-will was singing to its mate, as if
it were telling its love. Iosco was watching Virginia. She looked more
like an angel than ever, as she sat with her golden hair falling in
masses over her mantle of doe-skins, her slender hands clasped while
she listened to the water and the birds.
Her eyes of deepest blue were looking thoughtfully far away. Iosco was
fond of Virginia, very fond; but he never thought of her as he did of
the Indian maidens. The moments he spent with her were the happiest
in his life. When they walked hand in hand, a strange thrill passed
through him. He would have died for her willingly, had there been any
need. His quick eye saw now that she was sad as she sat listening; and
he drew closer to her as he asked, “Where do Owaissa’s thoughts go,
that they send such sorrow out of her eyes?”
“Iosco,” she said, “mamma would tell me if she were here, that I ought
to be thankful for all God has given me. I often fancy when I sit alone
that I can hear her telling me just as she used to, that it is one’s
duty not only to be contented, but to be cheerful and happy. I think I
am usually, don’t you, Iosco?”
He nodded as he replied, “Owaissa is like a bird, her eyes are so
bright, her laugh is so merry.”
“I try to be,” she went on, “and I am very happy indeed. Every one is
so kind to me; but sometimes I can’t help wishing very much that I
could see some of my own people. I should like to know if my father is
alive, and if he sometimes thinks of me. He went away when I was only
ten days old: I know he could not forget his baby.”
They sat silently for a few minutes, then Virginia looked up into
Iosco’s face. “You know,” she said softly, “sometimes I feel sure my
father will come for me and take me away.”
Had she felt Iosco’s hand, she would have been astonished at its icy
coldness, and would have wondered what made him clinch his fingers
as if he were in pain. From that day a wild dread of the white man’s
return haunted Iosco. An Indian never shows his emotion, so he only
said quietly, “Did I ever tell Owaissa the story of Battao? It is a
beautiful one from the far north, a captive of my father’s told it to
me.”
“No: you never told it to me. I should like to hear it,” Virginia said,
with a little sigh.
Iosco would have made an ideal picture as he sat there. His black hair
was thrown back from a high forehead, beneath which two dark eyes
looked out, which were remarkable for their depth and truth. He had a
straight, well-cut nose, and a mouth almost severe, so firm and decided
was its expression. When he smiled, one forgot the stern look, for a
sweet, gentle expression transformed the face. It was a classical face,
and its owner had a deep sense and appreciation of the poetry of life.
Certainly they made a study for an artist,--the fair girl with her
golden hair, and the graceful figure of the Indian, as he told her the
quaint old Indian legend.
“Many, many moons back, in the sunny north, over towards the setting
sun, lived a mighty Werowance whom they called Tyee. His lands stretch
all along the beautiful sound, where fine wampum is found. This Tyee
had a daughter. The name of the beautiful maid was Battao. Every one,
even those far away, knew of the rich wampum and the fine furs that
would belong to the man who should take Battao for his wife. Her father
said she should go to no man whom she did not love, and he kept firmly
to this, though chiefs of great tribes came to win her, and many from
every part sought her. Battao would look at none of them.
“One day a brave warrior came, tall and handsome. Battao looked at him,
trusted his brave eyes, and loved him. As they floated over the smooth
waters in Battao’s swift canoe, they came to a beautiful island, where
they sat on the shore and talked. And many days when the sun had gone
half-way on its journey, and done its day’s baking, so that the air was
as that which comes from the fire, Battao and her maidens would cross
to the beautiful island, and there her lover would tell them strange
stories. As they listened, the maidens sifted the soft sea-sand through
their fingers, and as it fell upon the shore it formed the shape of
whatever Battao’s lover was saying; there it hardened, and yet may be
found, and it brings the favor of all the gods to any one who finds one
of the forms and wears it in his wampum belt.”
“Oh, I should like to see some of the shapes, Iosco, wouldn’t you?”
asked Virginia.
“Yes,” he said, “I should; and I should like to go to that land, it is
so sunny, our captive said.”
“It could not be more lovely than it is here,” Virginia replied; “but
please go on and tell me what became of Battao.”
Iosco was happy for the present; at least he had made Owaissa forget
the white tribe, and the canoes with pinions like wings, that she had
said she was sure would come. So he went on gladly:--
“One day, when Battao, with her lover in her canoe, and all her maids
in their canoes, were going back from the beautiful island, as they
came to the deep part of the water, Battao’s lover said some words to
her in a strange language that the maiden could not understand, then
sprang into the water. Battao did not cry out, she only looked down
where her lover had disappeared; so did her maidens. But he did not
rise, nor could they see anything of him, and they went home to their
people. When they told the strange story, all the people said Battao’s
lover had drowned himself, and other men began to come every hour. But
Battao would not look at them or their presents, saying that her lover
was not dead, that he said before he jumped into the water he would
come back in twelve days. None of her people believed Battao; and her
maids went into the wood, wailing and mourning for her loss. But every
day when the sun was half-way on its journey, she would call her maids
from the wood and lead them down to the water. Then they would paddle
their canoes to the place where Battao’s lover had disappeared, and she
would look down into the water, in which she could see the clouds, the
sun, and even the trees and mountains, all looking at themselves. She
saw not the brave and handsome lover until the twelfth day came. And
then, while she looked down, he sprang up out of the shining water into
Battao’s canoe.”
“Oh, how happy she must have been!” cried Virginia.
“Yes, very happy,” continued Iosco, “and all of Battao’s people; for
her lover brought many presents with him, rare and wonderful flowers
that grow in the sea, and large pearls. For Battao he brought beautiful
coral. Then there was a great happiness among all the people; for
Battao and her lover were married. As they paddled out in their canoe
one day soon after, Battao asked her lover where he went to down in
the water. He told her his people lived there, and he wanted her to go
and see his tribe, where they hunted whales and seals, and gathered
pearls and coral and beautiful shells, such as she had never seen.
She took his hand, and together they sprang into the shining water.
All the maidens, seeing the water swallow Battao up, gave a great cry
that shook the whole forest. But she called out to them that she would
come back to see her father. All her people mourned for her, and said
some evil spirit must have taken her, and she must now be a fish in
the water. But on the twelfth day she came to her people and to her
father’s wigwam, and told great and wonderful stories of the things she
had seen. And she brought beautiful presents to her father, and to all
her people. When she would go back, her father bowed down and grieved
so that he would have died, but that she put her hand on his breast and
promised him that while he lived his daughter would be with him six
moons every year. And so she was; the rest of the time she was with
her husband in the big sea-water. But she still remembered and loved
her people, and warns them of storms, even to this day, our captive
said. She is seen over the place where she and her lover went down, and
she looks tall and misty. No one dares come near her, for something
dreadful has happened to all who have ever tried; before every dreadful
storm she comes, and the people call the island to which she and her
maidens went to listen to the lover’s wonderful stories, the island of
Battao.”
They sat silently for a few moments, when Iosco had finished the story;
then Virginia asked, “Do you think, Iosco, that all can tell whether
they will love each other when they look at each other for the first
time?”
There was a strange look in Iosco’s eyes, as he answered, “Iosco can
tell little about such things, Owaissa; some people surely could.”
After another pause, Virginia said, “Your stories are so beautiful,
Iosco, and I love them; but they make me wish that I knew more of the
stories of my people; there must be many that I have never heard, and
even some of those my mother told me I have forgotten. I ought to have
remembered them, and then I could tell you them, and teach you more
about our God. I speak of him only to you, Iosco, for I know so little;
I cannot even remember for myself; and when I try to talk to Mistress
Wilkins about him, she shakes her head and says, ‘Oh! he has forgotten
us. If he loved us he would take us from this place; don’t speak to me
about him, child, this is not his land. He cannot hear us when we speak
to him. There is no priest or altar to hallow the land.’ But, Iosco,
when I am alone in the forest sometimes, and all is still, I can almost
hear him speaking to me, and I feel and know that he is close to me,
and I want so much to know him. I can only kneel down and say as mamma
used, ‘Dear Lord,’ and I know he hears me. Beth or Patience or any of
the others does not know as much as I: they have forgotten, or were
never taught as I was, and you know I could not ask any of the men.
Patience says they are the very worst that came over from England. I
wish you knew, Iosco.”
He did not reply; and they sat quietly together, only the song of
the little birds above, and the sound of the falling water broke the
perfect stillness.