"Religion, 'tis that doth distinguish us
From their bruit humour, well we may it know,
That can with understanding argue thus,
Our God is truth, but they cannot do so."
_Smith's History._
As may be well imagined, the Indian attack formed the chief topic of
conversation at Windsor Hall during the day. Many were the marvellous
stories which were called to memory, of Indian warfare and of Indian
massacres--of the sad fate of those who had been their victims, the
tortures to which their prisoners had been subjected, and the relentless
cruelty with which even the tender babe, while smiling in the face of
its ruthless murderer, was dashed pitilessly against a tree. Among these
narratives, the most painful was that detailing the fate of George
Cassen, who, tied to a tree by strong cords, was doomed to see his flesh
and joints cut off, one by one, and roasted before his eyes; his head
and face flayed with sharp mussel shells, and his belly ripped open;
until at last, in the extremity of his agony, he welcomed the very
flames which consumed him, and rescued his body from their cruelty.[16]
Uncle Giles, whose premature action had so nearly ruined them all, and
yet had probably been the cause of their ultimate safety, was the hero
of the day, and loud was the laugh at the incident of the gun and
kitchen chimney. The old man's bruises were soon tended and healed, and
the grateful creature declared that "Miss Ginny's _lineaments_ always
did him more good than all the doctors in the world;" and in truth they
were good for sore eyes.
It was during the morning's conversation that Bernard learned from his
host, and from Virginia, the intimate relations existing between Mamalis
and the family at Windsor Hall. Many years before, there had been, about
two miles from the hall, an Indian village, inhabited by some of the
tribe of the Pamunkeys. Among them was an old chieftain named
Nantaquaus,[17] who claimed to be of the same lineage as Powhatan, and
who, worn out with war, now resided among his people as their
patriarchal counsellor. In the hostilities which had existed before the
long peace, which was only ended by the difficulties that gave rise to
Bacon's Rebellion, the whole of the inhabitants of the little village
had been cut off by the whites, with the exception of this old patriarch
and his two orphan grand-children, who were saved through the
interposition of Colonel Temple, exerted in their behalf on account of
some kindness he had received at their hands. Grateful for the life of
his little descendants, for he had long since ceased to care for the
prolongation of his own existence, old Nantaquaus continued to live on
terms approaching even to intimacy with the Temples. When at length he
died, he bequeathed his grand-children to the care of his protector. It
was his wish, however, that they should still remain in the old wigwam
where he had lived, and where they could best remember him, and, in
visions, visit his spirit in the far hunting ground. In compliance with
this, his last wish, Manteo and Mamalis continued their residence in
that rude old hut, and secured a comfortable subsistence--he by fishing
and the chase, and she by the cultivation of their little patch of
ground, where maize, melons, pompions, cushaus, and the like, rewarded
her patient labour with their abundant growth. Besides these duties, to
which the life of the Indian woman was devoted, the young girl in her
leisure moments, and in the long winter, made, with pretty skill, mats,
baskets and sandals, weaving the former curiously with the long willow
twigs which grew along the banks of the neighbouring York river, and
forming the latter with dressed deer skin, ornamented with flowers made
of beads and shells, or with the various coloured feathers of the birds.
Her little manufactures met with a ready sale at the hall, being
exchanged for sugar and coffee, and other such comforts as civilization
provides; and for the sale of the excess of these simple articles over
the home demand, she found a willing agent in the Colonel, who, in his
frequent visits to Jamestown, disposed of them to advantage.
Despite these associations, however, Manteo retained much of the
original character of his race, and the wild forest life which he led,
bringing him into communication with the less civilized members of his
tribe, helped to cherish the native-fierceness of his temper. Clinging
with tenacity to the superstitions and pursuits of his fathers, his mind
was of that sterile soil, in which the seeds of civilization take but
little root. His sister, without having herself lost all the peculiar
features of her natural character, was still formed in a different
mould, and her softer nature had already received some slight impress
from Virginia's teachings, which led her by slow but certain degrees
towards the truth. His was of that fierce, tiger nature, which Horace
has so finely painted in his nervous description of Achilles,
"Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer!"
While her's can be best understood by her name, Mamalis, which,
signifying in her own language a young fawn, at once expressed the grace
of her person and the gentleness of her nature.
Such is a brief but sufficient description of the characters and
condition of these two young Indians, who play an important part in this
narrative. The description, we may well suppose, derived additional
interest to Bernard, from its association with the recent exciting
scene, and from the interest which his heart began already to entertain
for the fair narrator.
But probably the most amusing, if not the most instructive portion of
the morning's conversation, was that in which Mrs. Temple bore a
conspicuous part. The danger being past, the good woman adverted with
much pride to the calmness and fortitude which she had displayed during
the latter part of the trying scene. She never suspected that her
conduct had been at all open to criticism, for in the excess of her
agitation, she had not been aware, either of her manner or her language.
"The fact is, gentlemen," she said, "that while you all displayed great
coolness and resolution, it was well that you were not surrounded by
timid women to embarrass you with their fears. I was determined that
none of you should see my alarm, and I have no doubt you were surprised
at my calmness."
"It was very natural for ladies to feel alarm," said Hansford, scarcely
able to repress the rising smile, "under circumstances, which inspired
even strong men with fear. I only wonder that you bore it so well."
"Ah, it is easy to see you are apologizing for Virginia, and I must
confess that once or twice she did almost shake my self-possession a
little by her agitation. But poor thing! we should make allowance for
her. She is unaccustomed to such scenes. I, who was, you may say,
cradled in a revolution, and brought up in civil war, am not so easily
frightened."
"No, indeed, Bessy," said old Temple, smiling good humouredly, "so
entirely were you free from the prevailing fears, that I believe you
were unconscious half the time of what was going on."
"Well, really, Colonel Temple," said the old lady, bristling up at this
insinuation, "I think it ill becomes you to be exposing me as a jest
before an entire stranger. However, it makes but little difference. It
won't last always."
This prediction of his good wife, that "It," which always referred to
her husband's conduct immediately before, was doomed like all other
earthly things to terminate, was generally a precursor to hysterics. And
so she shook her head and patted her foot hysterically, while the
Colonel wholly unconscious of any reasonable cause for the offence he
had given, rolled up his eyes and shrugged his shoulders in silence.
Leaving the good couple to settle at their leisure those little disputes
which never lasted on an average more than five minutes, let us follow
Virginia as she goes down stairs to make some preparation for dinner. As
she passed through the hall on her way to the store-room, she saw the
graceful form of Mamalis just leaving the house. In the conversation
which ensued we must beg the reader to imagine the broken English in
which the young Indian expressed herself, while we endeavor to give it a
free and more polite translation.
"Mamalis, you are not going home already, are you," said Virginia, in a
gentle voice.
"Yes," replied the girl, with a sigh.
"Why do you sigh, Mamalis? Are you unhappy, my poor girl?"
"It is very sad to be alone in my poor wigwam," she replied.
"Then stay with us, Manteo is away, and will probably not be back for
some days."
"He would be angry if he came home and found me away."
"Oh, my poor girl," said Virginia, taking her tenderly by the hand, "I
wish you could stay with me, and let me teach you as I used to about God
and heaven. Oh, think of these things, Mamalis, and they will make you
happy even when alone. Wouldn't you like to have a friend always near
you when Manteo is away?"
"Oh yes," said the girl earnestly.
"Well, there is just such a Friend who will never desert you; who is
ever near to protect you in danger, and to comfort you in distress.
Whose eye is never closed in sleep, and whose thoughts are never
wandering from his charge."
"That cannot be," said the young Indian, incredulously.
"Yes, it both can be and is so," returned her friend. "One who has
promised, that if we trust in him he will never leave us nor forsake us.
That friend is the powerful Son of God, and the loving Brother of simple
man. One who died to show his love, and who lives to show his power to
protect. It is Jesus Christ."
"You told me about him long ago," said Mamalis, shaking her head, "but I
never saw him. He never comes to Manteo's wigwam."
"Nay, but He is still your friend," urged Virginia earnestly. "When you
left the room this morning on that work of mercy to save us all, I did
not see you, and yet I told my father that I knew you would do us good.
Were you less my friend because I didn't see you?
"No."
"No," continued Virginia, "you were more my friend, for if you had
remained with me, we might all have been lost. And so Jesus has but
withdrawn Himself from our eyes that He may intercede with his offended
father, as you did with Manteo."
"Does he tell lies for us?" said the girl with artless simplicity, and
still remembering her interview with her brother. Virginia felt a thrill
of horror pass through her heart as she heard such language, but
remembering the ignorance of her poor blinded pupil, she proceeded.
"Oh! Mamalis, do not talk thus. He of whom I speak is not as we are, and
cannot commit a sin. But while He cannot commit sin Himself, He can die
for the sins of others."
"Well," said the poor girl, seeing that she had unwittingly hurt the
feelings of her friend, "I don't understand all that. Your God is so
high, mine I can see and understand. But you love your God, I only fear
mine."
"And do you not believe that God is good, my poor friend?" said
Virginia, with a sigh.
"From Manitou all good proceeds," replied Mamalis, as with beautiful
simplicity she thus detailed her simple creed, which she had been taught
by her fathers. "From him is life, and joy, and love. The blue sky is
his home, and the green earth he has made for his pleasure. The fresh
smelling flowers and the pure air are his breath, and the sweet music of
the wind through the woods is his voice. The stars that he has sown
through heaven, are the pure shells which he has picked up by the rivers
which flow through the spirit land; and the sun is his chariot, with
which he drives through heaven, while he smiles upon the world. Such is
Manitou, whose very life is the good giving; the bliss-bestowing."
"My sweet Mamalis," said Virginia, "you have, indeed, in your ignorance,
painted a beautiful picture of the beneficence of God. And can you
not--do you not thank this Giver of every good and perfect gift for all
his mercies?"
"I cannot thank him for that which he must bestow," said the girl. "We
do not thank the flower because its scent is sweet; nor the birds that
fill the woods with their songs, because their music is grateful to the
ear. Manitou is made to be adored, not to be thanked, for his very
essence is good, and his very breath is love."
"But remember, my friend, that the voice of this Great Spirit is heard
in the thunder, as well as in the breeze, and his face is revealed in
the lightning as well as in the flower. He is the author of evil as well
as of good, and should we not pray that He would avert the first, even
if He heed not our prayer to bestow the last."
If Virginia was shocked by the sentiments of her pupil before, Mamalis
was now as much so. Such an idea as ascribing evil to the great Spirit
of the Universe, never entered the mind of the young savage, and now
that she first heard it, she looked upon it as little less than open
profanity.
"Manitou is not heard in the thunder nor seen in the lightning," she
replied. "It is Okee whose fury against us is aroused, and who thus
turns blessings into curses, and good into evil. To him we pray that he
look not upon us with a frown, nor withhold the mercies that flow from
Manitou; that the rains may fall upon our maize, and the sun may ripen
it in the full ear; that he send the fat wild deer across my brother's
path, and ride on his arrow until it reach its heart; that he direct the
grand council in wisdom, and guide the tomahawk in its aim in battle.
But I have tarried too long, my brother may await my coming."
"Nay, but you shall not go--at least," said Virginia, "without something
for your trouble. You have nearly lost a day, already. And come often
and see me, Mamalis, and we will speak of these things again. I will
teach you that your Manitou is good, as well as the author of good; and
that he is love, as well as the fountain of love in others; that it is
to him we should pray and in whom we should trust, and he will lead us
safely through all our trials in this life, and take us to a purer
spirit land than that of which you dream."
Mamalis shook her head, but promised she would come. Then loading her
with such things as she thought she stood in need of, and which the poor
girl but seldom met with, except from the same kind hand, Virginia bid
her God speed, and they parted; Mamalis to her desolate wigwam, and
Virginia to her labours in the household affairs, which had devolved
upon her.[18]
FOOTNOTES:
[16] Fact.
[17] This was also the name of the only son of the great Powhatan, as
appears by John Smith's letter to the Queen, introducing the Princess
Pocahontas.
[18] In the foregoing scene the language of Mamalis has been purposely
rendered more pure than as it fell from her lips, because thus it was
better suited to the dignity of her theme. As for the creed itself, it
is taken from so many sources, that it would be impossible, even if
desirable, to quote any authorities. The statements of Smith and
Beverley, are, however, chiefly relied upon.