“I hold him great who for love’s sake
Can give with earnest, generous will;
But he who takes for love’s sweet sake,
I think I hold more generous still.”
PROCTOR.
News came from Ranteo, just as Iosco was starting on his return to
Croatoan, that the whole tribe had risen up against him for helping his
father’s murderers to escape, and they would not have him for their
chief. This was the doing of the medicine-men, who had lost much of
their former power since Manteo’s visit to England, for he had given up
many of the old superstitions. Ranteo strongly urged Iosco to go on to
Powhatan, and if he were received kindly, to stay there for a while; if
his people needed him, Ranteo would let him know. He felt certain they
would soon want him, for Meninosia, Manteo’s brother, who was now to
be chief, was hard and cruel. So it came about that Iosco reached the
camp of the great Powhatan on the Youghianund flu at Werowocomoca, in
company with the miserable remnant of the English Roanoke Colony. It
was at dusk when he made known who he was, and they were admitted into
the camp, and told that the great Werowance would see the son of the
brave warrior, Manteo, when the sun next stood over the tall pine-tree.
The next day was rainy, so the medicine-men said the sun was not there,
as they could not see it, and Iosco was obliged to wait till the
following day, when the sun came out bright and clear, and the whole
world seemed shining with unusual lustre. The fugitives would know
their fate soon. At noon Iosco would be summoned to the great Werowance.
The sun had just come above the horizon as Virginia stepped out of the
wigwam, the birds were singing their morning hymn, the little squirrels
were scampering to and fro getting food for their young; a few of the
women were beginning to work at skins, others were preparing food. They
looked curiously at Virginia as she passed them, but did not speak, for
she looked sad, and they were sorry for her. She must be the wife of
the young chief, they thought. But where did he find a squaw with eyes
like the sky, and hair like the sun? She passed under the shadow of the
great pines alone. All the world seemed to be in families, or at least
to belong to some one, while she was all alone. She had never known a
relation but her mother. Oh, for that mother! why could she not have
gone with her?
Virginia had lived long enough among the Indians to learn to restrain
any display of feeling. And yet the thought of her mother in that sad,
lonely hour was too much. She did not cry out, or even sob, as another
English girl would have done. She only sank down at the foot of the
great pine, covering her face. A little moan of “mother,” seemed to
shake her whole frame. Then she lay there so motionless that the little
birds flew about her and never noticed her. Hundreds of miles across
the water her thoughts travelled to her father. What could he be like,
and where must he be? Would he ever come for his poor child? Oh, how
she longed for him, that father whom she had never seen! Must she die
alone here? And if she should die, would she go to her mother? She
hardly knew the great God to whom her mother had gone. Would he know
her? Or was it really as Mistress Wilkins had said, that he would not
listen to the prayers of his children in a heathen land? Did it not
really belong to him? Then she fancied she was sitting on her mother’s
lap, and listening to the wonderful story of the creation, and her
mother saying, “After sin had come, God’s sorrow was so great that he
promised to send a Redeemer, which would be his own dear Son, and he
would come to save us all.” If he was, then, such a loving Father, he
could not forget one of his children, and if he made the whole world,
it must all belong to him. All these people must belong to him too, and
they did not even know him. Perhaps she had been sent to teach them.
Why hadn’t her mother been spared a little longer to teach her? Oh, for
some one to tell her over again what she had heard from her mother when
she was too young to remember or understand it!
An earnest prayer for guidance rose to her lips. There were no special
words, only the cry of the child to the Father whom she felt was
listening. She had clasped her hands, and was looking up so earnestly
that she did not see the bushes drawn aside and a young Indian maid, a
mere child of nine or ten, step out and then draw back and look at her
curiously. Hearing a sound among the leaves, Virginia turned, and saw
the child also looking up to see what was there to gaze at so earnestly.
She was a strangely beautiful little figure as she stood there, one
foot raised as if to step forward, but resting still on the root of a
great tree that rose some distance out of the ground. She wore a robe
or mantle of fur, for it was only May, and the Indians are never in a
hurry to change their few articles of clothing; besides, it had been
the gift of her brother, whom she had loved dearly. The mantle was
loosely girded, and fell low on her shoulders, over which masses of
dark hair fell in dusky profusion. Her dark eyes were full of wonder at
seeing Virginia, and at her strange position. Both looked at each other
for a moment, wondering who the other could be. Then the Indian child
sprang forward like a young deer, and threw herself on the ground by
Virginia, and looked tenderly in her face, her great eyes full of pity,
as she held out a garland of red flowers which she had been holding.
Virginia took it with a smile; but the child snatched it back, and
bound it about Virginia’s head. Then she drew back, pointed to the wavy
golden hair and blue eyes with a strange look of awe, and clasped her
hands, and bowed very low. Virginia caught one of the brown hands. She
said laughingly, “I am not a goddess or a spirit, I am only a girl.
Who are you?”
The child did not now draw her hand away. She said in a pretty way,
putting her head on one side, “It is Cleopatra, the daughter of
Werowance Powhatan, the sister of Nantiquas, the bravest, strongest
Indian who ever shot an arrow.” As she spoke, a bird-call sounded
through the forest. She answered it almost exactly. There was a
crackling and breaking among the bushes, and a young warrior stood
before them.
“Does not the fairest little maid go to the Great Father, when all are
gathered to see the mighty wonder which is like a linnet with a finch’s
bill, the captive from Croatoan, with eyes from the sky and”-- But
seeing Virginia, he stopped.
The sunlight peeping through the trees fell on Virginia’s hair till it
shone like gold. They stood looking at each other for several moments.
Then the Indian maid took Virginia’s hand and pressed it to her breast.
Nantiquas at once did likewise, and then said, “The one with eyes from
the sky belongs to the Spirit. Means it evil or good to the camp of the
mighty Powhatan? He is a brave Werowance.” And he took his sister’s
hand as she stood beside him.
“I do not belong to any spirit,” Virginia said, smiling; “I came with
the white people whom Iosco, the son of Manteo, is seeking shelter for,
and my forest name is Owaissa.”
“Owaissa looks more like her namesake than like the white tribe whom
the great Werowance is now to hear of,” replied Nantiquas.
“Is the sun at the top of the tall pine? Oh, I must go to Iosco; where
is he, can you tell me?” Virginia asked, almost passing them in her
eagerness.
“Nantiquas will take the Owaissa maid to the wigwam of the Werowance
Powhatan; the brave Iosco sits before the door.” As he spoke, he turned
and led the way, and the maidens followed him. Virginia could not help
noticing how tall and handsome he was, his long black hair pushed back
from his high forehead. He wore a skin girded about his waist with a
belt of wampum. Over his shoulder hung a quiver of arrows, and on his
left arm he carried a bow. In his belt he wore a tomahawk, and across
his forehead was bound the skin of a green serpent, its bright eyes
gleaming over his left temple. From his right ear to his waist was
fastened a long string of pearls.
A strange sight was the wigwam or bower in which Powhatan held his
court. He sat on a couch, which looked not unlike one of our modern
bedsteads. It was made of fine wood, rudely carved with strange
devices. He wore a robe of raccoon-skin, with a belt of the rarest
wampum. His powerful arms were decorated with metal bracelets. The
ground around him was strewn with dried sweet grasses and crushed
pine-needles that made the air fragrant. At his head and feet sat two
beautiful maidens. A hundred bowmen formed, as it were, the wall or
outside of the court-chamber. In front of them were a hundred women
with bare necks and arms, which were dyed with paccoon and decorated
with white coral. Beside the great Werowance sat a beautiful girl about
twelve or fourteen. (She looked like Cleopatra, and was, in fact,
her sister Pocahontas, known to her people as Mataoka.) She gazed
wonderingly at Virginia as Nantiquas and Cleopatra led her in, and
she took her place among the wives and daughters that sat at the head
of Powhatan’s couch, on the right side of which, on mats, were seated
the priests, or medicine-men, singing a queer dirge, keeping time to
the melody with their grotesquely painted bodies. The curious song
continued while Iosco entered. He was in the dress of a prince, wearing
a white skin girded with his father’s rare and beautiful wampum belt,
in which was supposed to rest a great charm. On his feet he wore
moccasins made of skins and beautifully wrought with queer patterns.
Across his forehead were bound some rare and beautiful feathers, which
rose high above his tall figure and nodded gracefully as he moved. He
was attended only by one of his braves and three of the whites, who
were dressed as Indians, and carried the presents he had brought from
Croatoan, which they had now laid before him. An odd medley enough
they were--a coil of deer sinews, a small belt of wampum, a string of
noughmass, and last, but not least in the eyes of the chief, an old
rusty English sword.
The chief did not deign to notice the things till the sword was put
down, then he extended his great hand, and picked it up with a gleam
of delight in his small, dark eyes as he held it. He took from his
mouth his long pipe, passed it to Iosco, who smoked for some moments
in silence. Then Powhatan nodded to Iosco, who returned the pipe and
began his tale, not as if he were making a petition, but as if he
were chanting or reciting a story. He told first of Manteo’s going to
England, then of the white men coming to Croatoan; of the years that
had passed since, when they had lived in peace together; then of his
father’s death, and the anger of his people, and his wish to remain or
leave the two dozen pale-faces that were yet alive at Werowocomoca. He
spoke of their skill in many things not known to the Indian people.
He told it in a sing-song drawl, as if he did not care in the least.
But when the medicine-men began to mutter, “They are ghosts; have none
of them; they kill,” Powhatan looked at the three white attendants, who
certainly were weird looking, with their yellow, grisly faces, their
colorless eyes, and white skins, and shook his head unfavorably.
Iosco looked anxiously over at Virginia. It was evident she was his
chief anxiety; but she, mistaking his look, thought he wanted her, and
sprang to him, saying, “Must we go, and where?”
Powhatan half raised himself to look at her, as she clung to the
tall figure, fixing upon him her great blue eyes, her wavy golden
hair falling loosely about her. Even the medicine-men stopped their
muttering, and the beautiful princess Mataoka bent over her father and
whispered something in his ear. He could not but admire her beauty,
old savage as he was, and he nodded to his daughter, who led Virginia
away to her own wigwam. Then he ordered food to be brought to Iosco,
which was his way of showing his welcome. And Iosco knew that he and
his party were safe for the present.