“Every human heart is human,
That in even savage bosom
There are longings, yearnings, strivings,
For the good they comprehend not,
That the feeble hands and helpless,
Groping blindly in the darkness,
Touch God’s right hand in that darkness,
And are lifted up and strengthened.”
LONGFELLOW.
Where was Iosco? He had followed Owaissa in the afternoon, to tell
her the news of the English ships. He went through the forest trail
that led to the little stream just in time to see her, Owaissa,
holding Nantiquas’s hand, and looking eagerly into his face. All the
passion of his Indian nature was roused into a hatred and jealousy of
Nantiquas. He turned quickly away, before he had been noticed, and
walked far into the woods. Was it for this that he had given up his
people, his home, his inheritance? For a people who cared nothing for
him. Strangely enough he found his love for the pale-faces was really
founded on his love for one member of the race. He had never dared to
hope that Owaissa would love him; she was a being too beautiful, too
pure, for man to woo. Though he would never have thought of asking her
to be his wife, he could not see any one else win her love. He felt
that he had the first right to her. Had not he been like a brother to
her, always? And he knew well that Owaissa had treated him always as a
brother. He could kill Nantiquas, and then he would see. But Powhatan
would no longer give them shelter. What did that matter? He would have
vengeance. Iosco had thrown himself on the ground, and as he lay there,
the great stillness and peace of the forest crept into his heart, and
he seemed to hear Mrs. Dare’s voice saying, “The dear Jesus would
rather suffer all than save himself from one pain, that he might teach
us the great lesson of forgiveness.” “The dear Jesus,” the very words
brought with them a certain peace and rest. Forgive! Could he forgive
Nantiquas for taking from him what he cared most for? And yet that holy
Jesus forgave. A crash of thunder seemed to shake the whole forest,
and the darkness crept around him, like the darkness which clouded his
soul that was groping for light. Could he still live for love? For
life could not be without love. Could he live for the love of that
great chief, that holy Jesus? Did he want his love? How could he give
his service, his life if need be? Oh, for some one to teach him as Mrs.
Dare had done when he was a little child!
The storm beat fiercely against him as he rose and forced his way
through the tangle of the forest. But a peace he could not describe had
crept into his heart. He must be near Owaissa. To-morrow that white
father might come and carry her away. He loved her, and would be near
her while he might. He was tramping on, crushing everything before him
like the strong man Kwasina, when a voice called to him softly. He
listened. It said, “Nantiquas, is it you?”
He knew the voice. It was Cleopatra’s, and it sounded full of trouble.
“Is Cleopatra in sorrow?” he asked, going in the direction of the sound.
“O Nantiquas,” she said, not recognizing the voice, “O Nantiquas,
Owaissa is in great trouble. She is to die when the day comes, with all
the pale-faces; for Barnes, the red white man, did take the life of
Nanogh, and our father says all the whites shall die.”
She knew it was not Nantiquas’s hand that clasped hers, and she drew
back half afraid, till she heard Iosco’s familiar voice.
“Owaissa is in trouble, to die! The great Werowance Powhatan would
never take her life, even now as the white man is coming.”
Then Cleopatra told Iosco the whole story; how, while Ramapo was
telling what he had seen of the white men, the medicine-men’s chant
came to them; of the dreadful sentence, and how she had only now left
Owaissa to watch for Nantiquas, who had gone away in his canoe in the
afternoon, and had not come back. “If he would only come back,” she
said, “I am sure he could do something.”
Iosco said, “Cleopatra must stay no longer, lest her sad tears and
the rain be too much, and she die. Could she not speak to the great
Werowance, and ask the life of Owaissa? He must grant what his sweet
daughter wishes.” Cleopatra stood up, and Iosco led her. But she said
sadly, “The great Powhatan is very angry. He would never spare a
captive for a child’s wish, Iosco.”
Suddenly Iosco loosened and drew off his large, rich wampum belt.
“Will Cleopatra take this with her petition? It is the charmed belt of
Manteo, my father. I prize it, but know the mighty Powhatan’s eye often
rests on it. He will grant the prayer of Cleopatra, if she carries the
charmed belt of the far-journeyed Werowance Manteo.”
She took the wampum from Iosco, and having reached her wigwam they
parted, she to sleep on her tussan of stretched skins, and Iosco to
find the wigwam where Owaissa slept. He would lie, but not sleep, on
the wet ground outside.
The morning dawned, dull and rainy. The loving Cleopatra held the
wampum belt and watched for her father to eat his food. Virginia,
too, had wakened early. She thought herself deserted by Iosco, and to
her surprise that thought brought more pain than the thought of her
probable death, which would undoubtedly be a torturing, painful one.
She little knew that Iosco had been watching by her all the night, and
was even now looking sadly at her through the openings in the logs,
of which the wigwam was made. He marvelled how she could kneel so
calmly, her sad face more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. If
Cleopatra were not successful, she would soon be led to death. He would
die first, before she should suffer. But she should not be disturbed
by him in these solemn hours.
A joyous cry made Virginia look up; Iosco, too, from his post could
see the lithe figure of Cleopatra as she bounded into the wigwam and
threw her arms about Virginia, crying, “The beautiful Owaissa shall not
die this day! The good Powhatan says that she shall fly all day and
make his little daughter merry; she shall be merry at his great feast
to-day, and before night comes Nantiquas will come. He will save the
sweet Owaissa.”
Virginia rose, still holding the little girl in her arms, and said, “I
will try to make my dear Cleopatra happy to-day, even if it be my last
one she shall be merry. If Nantiquas does not come, and if he has not
the power you think he has, when does Werowance say I shall die?”
Cleopatra covered her face with her brown hands to hide her tears, but
she could not keep back the sobs, as she replied, “Cleopatra’s father,
the Werowance Powhatan, says the pretty Owaissa shall fly to-day with
his child, and not die until the sun goes down and the moon comes out
and the sun shines again, but when it hangs on the great pine, the
Owaissa and six of her tribe, who shall live till then, shall die
before Powhatan.”
Iosco could see Owaissa comforting the child. He heard her say, “There
are other things more cruel than death, Cleopatra, when one’s heart
dies. But we will love each other to the end, whenever it may be.”
He saw her kiss the child, who clung to her, and heard her say, “We
will remember that God knows our trouble. If he will that I should
live, he can save me even from a great Werowance like Powhatan. And if
not, he will help me to be brave.”
Iosco stood quietly with unmoved face, showing nothing of the struggle
and pain in his heart.
That day there was a dreadful massacre of nearly all the whites. They
were slain before Powhatan and his courtiers. As they were led out,
Beth Harvey caught Virginia’s arm as she passed the wigwam where
Virginia stood, trying to say something encouraging to each one as they
passed. “Come, oh, come with me, Virginia!” she cried, “stay with me
to the end.” It was the old childhood name, and poor Beth’s face was
so full of agony that Virginia could not have refused her anything, so
she took her hand and went with her, and stayed with her, and kept
her courage up as she had done all through her life. She stood bravely
by Beth, never flinching at the dreadful sights. She did not know that
Nantiquas and Iosco stood looking at her with wonder and admiration, as
she held poor Beth’s trembling hand, and bent all her energy to keep
the little spark of courage bright.
“Dear Beth, you will be brave. It will only be a moment of pain, and
then you will be beyond all pain, with your mother and with mine. But
O Beth, you will know all that we have longed to know about the dear
Saviour who died for us.”
* * * * *
All was over. Beth no longer needed human aid. A slight figure, with
halo of golden curls, tottered and fell. But before it touched the
earth, it was caught and carried away. Under the great pine, Virginia
lay motionless, while two Indian princes bent over her, doing all in
their power to bring back a sign of life, and a child knelt by, crying.
Life came back; the weary brain began slowly to awake. The great blue
eyes opened. She tried to smile; but that awful scene came before
her,--Barnes, Gray, Smith, even Beth, all that she had called her
people, lying dead about her. She closed her eyes; but soon she opened
them again, and found that she was lying on the low rush tussan in
the wigwam. Nantiquas was standing, looking down at her. At first she
thought he was her father, and stretched her hand out to him; he caught
it, and knelt down by her.
“Is it you, Nantiquas?” she said. “I forgot that you had come back.”
He bent low over her as he said, “Nantiquas is here: the Puk-weedjie
hurried him back to save the life of the sweet Owaissa.”
“Save me from what? Oh, I forgot. But how can you save me? Will
Powhatan listen to you, Nantiquas?”
She said it half dreamily, as if she didn’t care.
Iosco had been lying close outside, and heard her last words, and
Nantiquas’s reply, which made him clinch his hands:--
“Powhatan will not hurt Nantiquas’s wife. To save Owaissa, she will be
Nantiquas’s wife, and love him.”
The voice was clear and decided, that answered:--
“O Nantiquas, you are so good to want to save me, but I could not be
saved that way; I could never be your wife, Nantiquas. I would do
anything else in the world that I could for you.”
After a long silence, Nantiquas replied, “Then Owaissa will sooner die
than be the wife of Nantiquas? He cannot save her.”
“No, Nantiquas,” she said firmly and clearly; “no; I can never be your
wife.”
He said not a word, but passed out of the wigwam into the twilight.
Cleopatra tried to coax Virginia to eat. Iosco lay concealed at the
back of the wigwam, and wondered why Owaissa had refused Nantiquas,
till the darkness crept up and the moon rose, and the stars came out to
keep their mother moon company. The hours slipped by, those last hours,
as it seemed, of Owaissa’s life. Iosco asked himself over and over
again, should he go to her or not?