CHAPTER XIX THE JOURNEY'S END
"Get up, lazy bones!" cried a merry voice in my ear, and arousing myself, I looked up into the arch face of my lady as, dimpled and smiling, she stood before me.
The sun was high in the heavens, and Margaret, an apron of deerskin about her slender waist, was getting breakfast. I had never seen her do this before. Either Manteo or myself always prepared the meals, but now with flushed face she tripped back to where a great haunch of venison browned over the fire on a spit, and with a look of anxiety, beautiful to see, turned it over to brown upon the other side.
"See how industrious I am this morning," she cried laughingly. "I am getting thy breakfast while thou dost sleep. 'Go to the ant, thou sluggard'!"
"'Tis the first time that thou hast ever done such a thing," I said lightly, as I bent over her, and catching both white hands, stick and all in mine, despite her laughing resistance, kissed her rosy lips.
"'Twas because thou wouldst not let me, sir," she answered saucily. "Now seat thyself and behold me cook."
I threw myself upon the ground opposite, and watched her as she ran to and fro, now putting a stick upon the fire, now turning the venison again. Finally she stated with an air of wisdom, that breakfast was done. And so we sat down together. Manteo had gone out for a little scout before breakfast, she told me.
"Venison from such a hand were thrice as sweet," I said, as she helped me to a generous slice.
"'Tis not sweet at all," she answered with a laugh. "So now, gallant sir, thy compliment is shattered."
"Say, then, is thrice more palatable," I replied, "and thou hast a compliment, perhaps less flowery, but more delicate and flattering," and I bowed to her mockingly.
"Oh, Thomas," she cried, as she watched me eat, "that is the third great slice of venison that thou hast helped thyself to; never have I seen thee eat so much."
"Never had I such a cook," I answered. "I could eat forever with so dainty a maid to sit beside me. In truth this venison is to me as the nectar of the gods." And so feasting my eyes upon her, I sat looking into her face.
"The Eagle gazes at the beautiful one as a famished wolf at a fat, slick buck," said Manteo, who had strode noiselessly up and who now stood behind me. "He looks as a man who had not tasted food for days would look, if he sat down to a great feast."
I flushed guiltily at his words, and then I translated them to my lady, who had looked up at the sound of Manteo's voice. She blushed a deep pink to the tips of her little ears, and her blue eyes fell beneath the admiring gaze I bent upon them. Laughing at her pretty confusion, I arose and made ready our light baggage to take the trail.
In a few moments we had resumed our journey. Pleasant and sweet were those last two days to me, as I walked by Margaret and whispered soft words of love to her. The very woods seemed transformed to me; from every tree there trilled some sweet-voiced songster; beautiful flowers lined our path and mingled with the many-tinted autumn leaves; while the sun shone brightly down on us, as though in pleasure at our happiness.
Hand in hand we trod after the Indian, as with tireless step he led us on. Sometimes we would come upon a little babbling brook and then, picking up Margaret in my arms, I would wade through, and put her gently down upon the other side. And so, laughing and happy as two children, we came in sight of Roanoke Island. I gave a great shout as we emerged from the forest, for there, a few rods away, lay the ship of White, riding calmly at anchor, her consorts nowhere to be seen; probably they had sailed again for England.
At the sound of my voice, a dozen men who were on the deck turned towards me, and as I waved my hands they lowered a boat and came toward us. In the bow of the approaching boat sat Governor White, and he shouted at me all the way to the shore.
"Safe back again, at last!" he cried in joy, as the boat grated upon the beach, and springing ashore, he wrung my hand as though he would never loose it. "We feared thou hadst been slain by the savages, but I had determined to wait until thou didst appear or we had news of thee."
"This is the Lady Margaret Carroll of London," I said, turning to my lady as she stood beside me, stately and grand as any queen. "This is Governor White, of whom thou hast frequently heard me speak."
"This is indeed an unexpected pleasure," cried the Governor, as with a deep bow he bent over her white hand. "'Tis but poor accommodation we can offer to one so lovely and well-bred, but to such as we have thou art welcome."
"I thank thee, sir," she answered, "and am sure that the company of Governor White will recompense for much else."
With another bow he took her hand and led her to the boat.
The men had gathered around me, shaking my hand as though I were a long-lost brother. I was overcome by the warmth of their greeting, I, whom they had previously shunned as though I had the plague. With shouts and exclamations of pleasure they hovered about me, and followed even the Indian, who met them with the same cold reserve as of yore.
We stepped into the boat, and rowed toward the ship. As we drew near, I saw that the whole company had gathered upon deck, and as we touched the side, they raised a ringing shout.
"Three cheers for Sir Thomas Winchester!" cried one, and with a will they roared them out.
And so amid cheering shouts of welcome, I, who had moved among them in the past with sneers and scorn, came back amidst the plaudits of the throng. Of such are made the fickle crowd; one moment ready to cut a man's throat—the next moment ready to crown him.
My lady's face was flushed with delight, as with starry eyes she looked up at me.
"See," she whispered proudly, "this is how thy fellows would honor thee."
"What does it mean, Governor?" I asked.
"The 'Dart' touched here a few days ago, on its way to harry the Spanish towns upon the coast, and she brought for thee an open letter of pardon; 'tis under the hand of Elizabeth and sealed with the great seal. It seems that DeNortier himself had sent a letter to the Queen, a few months ago, before he sailed away, swearing upon his oath that the charge of the priest and the other men was false, and sworn to by the command of Lord Dunraven. This coincided with the tale of Oliver Gates, and so thy friends secured a pardon for thee; there is another bulky letter here, brought by the same vessel, which I have not opened."
A great lump came into my throat and choked my speech, a mist dimmed my sight, and I could only shake the hand that White held out to me, and murmur a few words in answer to his hearty congratulations.
This had been the favor that DeNortier tried to tell me of as he lay dying in those dark woods. I thought of how often I had abused him, and of the great hate I bore him; then too how he had stood like a bulwark between Margaret and Dunraven. There was something noble after all in a man who would do this for an enemy, and I wished I could shake his hand and thank him—but it was too late.
I have never been able to solve the problem of why he wrote this letter to the Queen. Whether in a fit of remorse of conscience for all the evil he had done me, or to injure Dunraven who was his strongest rival, I know not; and the only lips which could solve this unexplained riddle lay cold, silenced forever, in that vast unknown land behind me.
And so we boarded the vessel. My lady had gone to the great cabin which the Governor had given up to her, and I stood near the mast looking at the shore. White approached me, a long bulky package in his hand.
"'Tis the Queen's pardon," he said. "And this is the other letter of which I spoke," and he placed them in my hand.
Seating myself, I broke the seal and opened the letter. It was from Bobby—a long, rambling epistle, telling me of the disappearance of Lady Margaret and begging me to watch for her as he feared that Lord Dunraven, who he was sure had abducted her, would fly to this country. But it was the last part—I stared long, and read once, twice; it ran thus:
"I have at last given up all hope of winning Lady Margaret, for I know that she loves thee, and so I am to be wedded in a few weeks to my lady's friend and sometime schoolmate, Lady Jane Porter. So if thou dost discover Margaret, I give thee my advice to capture her without more words. The Queen has pardoned thee. But there is another piece of good fortune which I would acquaint thee with.
"Thy brother Richard died but one week ago, here in London. He died without a will or issue, unexpectedly in the night. The leech was summoned, but when he arrived thy brother was speechless. They say he made frantic efforts to speak, but in vain—death had sealed his lips. It is probably fortunate that he was dumb, as he no doubt wished to disinherit thee, whom he hated. And so the title and estates are thine. With these and the Queen's pardon in thy pocket, thy old place in London awaits thee. So come back—we stand with wide open arms to receive thee. No more at present, from
"Bobby."
I looked up, the breeze had begun to freshen; already the sailors were running to and fro, making preparations to hoist anchor and set sail for home. My lady had come up again and stood beside me.
"What is it?" she asked with a smile, as she saw the letter in my hand.
"'Tis from Sir Robert Vane," I answered. "He tells me that he is about to wed Lady Jane Porter; so thou seest, fair one, thou hast lost a lover," I said teasingly.
"I care not," she replied. "I have also gained one, and I am glad he is to wed, for I feared he would take the news of my betrothal to heart.".
"He also says my brother Richard is dead, and the title and estates are now mine." And I placed the letter in her hand.
"'Tis too good to be true," she replied calmly, as she clapped her hands. "See, sir, I am thy good fairy; the minute I came to thee, fortune opened wide her lap and poured her treasure at thy feet."
"Had she brought me naught but thee, I had been content," I answered.
I looked cautiously around. There was no one in sight, so catching her in my arms I stole a kiss. I was still looking down at her pink cheeks, when a step sounded, and Governor White came around the corner. One glance at my lady was enough for the wily captain, and with a twinkle in his eye, he looked at me.
"I think I may congratulate thee again, upon something of more importance than even thy pardon," he said.
"And what may that be, Governor?" I asked innocently, for I had no mind to give Margaret away.
"Upon thy approaching wedding," he answered, a broad smile upon his face. "Of a truth, Sir Thomas, thou art the most fortunate of men, and thou shouldst thank thy lucky star that thou hast won so lovely a bride."
"I am indeed most fortunate," I answered, "for I would not to-day exchange places with a king. And this letter from a dear friend, tells me my father's estates and title are now mine."
"This has of a truth been a day for thee long to be remembered," said the Governor, "and I rejoice with thee, for I grew to know and esteem thee for thy worth and valor, whilst thou wert with me upon the ship."
"Not more than I did thee," I replied. "But hast thou heard aught of thy little grandchild and the lost colony since I left thee?"
His old face saddened, and a look of grief came into his eyes.
"No," he replied, "I have heard no word of them; they were probably captured by the savages and carried far into the interior, never to be seen again. Poor little Virginia!—so innocent, so bright and happy, 'tis a hard fate for her. Rather would I have seen her in her grave; then would I have known she was beyond all harm and sorrow, and I could have come sometimes to drop a tear or lay a flower upon the mound. But this is worse than death," and he wrung his hands in grief, his haggard, care-worn face working with emotion.
Margaret bent towards him, a tear in her blue eyes.
"God will watch over her, Governor," she said softly. "Safe in His protecting care, she is secure from harm."
"I thank thee, Lady Margaret," he said huskily. "'Tis a beautiful thought, and one that I shall treasure," and he strode rapidly away.
Coming towards us now I saw Manteo; silently he made his way, until he stood in front of us.
"The Eagle and the beautiful one will in a few moments be upon the breast of the great water," he said. "Manteo would say farewell to them before they go. He is glad that the beautiful one will be with the Eagle in his tepee, to cheer him when Manteo is gone."
"Surely thou too wilt not leave us, Manteo?" I cried. "Winona has gone back into the forest. Wilt thou desert us too? I had planned many pleasant things for the future, when thou too shouldst walk with us the smooth sod of my own green country."
"Manteo thanks the Eagle," he replied. "Manteo loves him, and would wish him well, but the fish cannot live out of the water, nor the bird when it beats its wings against the cage; neither can Manteo in that crowded land to which thou goest. His heart would yearn for the great, free forest; for the call of the wild bird to its mate; for the flowing river and the scent of the wild flowers—no, the Eagle and the beautiful one will return again to their own land, and Manteo will remain here."
"But, Manteo," cried Margaret, "'twill cloud our happiness to leave thee behind—thou who hast done so much for us," and she cast a coaxing look toward him.
"The beautiful one is kind to Manteo," he answered, "still he cannot go to that far land. Manteo first saw the light in this wild land, and here he has lived; his heart loves its shadowy depths and waving trees; here came into being his father, and their bones molder away among its sighing pines." And folding his robe about him he stood silent, as some old Roman wrapped in his toga, his motionless eyes fixed upon me.
The great ship came around in the breeze; the shouts of the men reached us, as they hoisted sail and prepared for the homeward journey. The little canoe of the Indian had been placed upon the water, and now danced and eddied on the waves, as some impatient steed awaiting its rider.
White came forward to where we stood; I with my heart full to overflowing, and my lady with wet eyes. I was about to part from a noble soul, who had stood by me, undaunted and unafraid, when all others had shrunk from me, and I was torn with sorrow.
"If the Indian would leave, it is high time, Sir Thomas," he said; "for in an instant we will make out for the open sea, and his little canoe could not safely float upon the ocean."
Margaret had taken a little gold pin from her dress, and held it out to the Indian. "Keep it, Manteo," she said. "Do not forget me. And shouldst thou ever come to England, I shall be proud to entertain thee."
I unbuckled my gold-hilted sword from my side, and stepping forward, I fastened it around his waist.
"Take this sword," I said in a husky voice, "and when thou drawest it, Manteo, remember to whom it once belonged. Draw it not in an unworthy cause, nor sheath it in a just one; of all who have worn this blade, there has been none nobler and truer than thyself."
The chief's bronze face worked with emotion.
"Manteo must go," he cried, "or he will forget that he is a warrior, and weep even as a woman. Farewell! May the Great Spirit, who dost watch alike over all, both pale and red skin, guide your footsteps and keep you safe from harm," and with a steady step, he glided over to his canoe and dropped into it.
His knife gleamed for an instant upon the line that bound the canoe to the vessel. Released, the little boat fell back, and the great ship rose upon the water and began her outward trip.
We stood at the rail, Margaret and I, and watched the boat with the motionless figure in it, until a turn in the island hid him from our view. And so we parted from that true soul forever, bearing with the stoicism of his race his grief at the separation.
A nobler type has there never been of a savage and barbarous race, whom its enemies have defamed and maligned. Hospitable, generous, warm-hearted and true, quick to anger, and when aroused never forgetting nor forgiving a foe, but at the same time never betraying a friend, nor forgetting a favor. Many foes of the race would do well to imitate its virtues, while with that knowledge that comes with superior advantages and opportunities they reject its failings. And of that untutored people, none there were who could boast of more of those qualities that go to make up a soldier and a gentleman, than he whom we left behind us that day—Manteo, a chieftain of Roanoke.
* * * * * * *
We were coming into London. After being long upon the brine, we had at last reached England. And now this bright December morning we sailed up the sparkling Thames, passing swiftly the craft that, bent on business or pleasure, thronged its waters. Rapidly we sailed by them one by one, and kept on our steady way to the harbor. Each familiar spot I saw seemed to greet me as an old friend, and with Margaret at my side, we laughed and jested, as we drew nearer and nearer to London and home.
Home—that gray old castle, where my forefathers had lived and died, was to be our home, for we had determined to stay in London only a few days. I had prevailed on Margaret not to put me off any longer, and to-morrow morning, with only a few near friends to witness it, we were to be married quietly in a little chapel, and then would journey on to Richmond Castle, where, with her dear presence to cheer me, I was to take up the duties and responsibilities of my position.
I would have much to do, for we had made many plans for the improvement of my estate, and for the well-being and advancement of the tenants. There together we would pass our days in peace and happiness. I had suffered much, sorrowed much in the past, and longed for the rest and quiet of the calm green country, where, surrounded by my friends, and far from the noise and turmoil of London, I could forget all, happy in the sweet sunshine of my lady's smiles.
We had turned the last bend of the river, and a great roar went up from the men, as like little children they shouted and cried. Many strong men, who had faced death unafraid, fell upon their knees, tears streaming from their bronzed faces, and thanked God that they had been spared to set foot on old England again. The culverins of our vessel screamed out a greeting, and from the shore the guns roared back a reply.
My lady had given a little cry of joy as we looked, for there in front of us lay the great city, the docks dotted with the crowd which had gathered to greet the vessel. Margaret laid her hand gently upon my arm. "Look!" she cried, and following her outstretched finger, I saw, at the very edge of the water, a little group shouting and screaming to us.
Could it be possible? Yes, there was Oliver Gates, dancing for joy, as he waved his hat and yelled like a savage; he had grown handsomer than ever, and looked stout and robust. Behind him stood Steele, his broad face wreathed in smiles, and leaning on his arm, his wife, stouter and more matronly than of yore, but still beautiful, a look of joy and welcome in her eyes. And Bobby, dear old fellow, yelling at me as though he would split his throat.
A little behind them there stood a larger group, old Sir Henry DeGray, Francis Drake, Bacon, Walter Raleigh, Sir William Stone, the little Doctor Robbins, and a score of other whilom friends, who cried out a hearty welcome as we neared them, and with wide open arms stood awaiting us.
I turned to Margaret with a joyful face, and met her azure eyes smiling into mine. Stretching out one of my tanned hands, I laid it upon her little white one, which rested lightly upon my arm. It fluttered for an instant like a little bird, and then lay quietly and trustfully in mine.
Behind me lay the river, its dark water rippling like the dead and forgotten past, with its pain and sorrow; before me stretched the bright sunshine and the greeting of my friends, like a prophecy of the joy to come. It seemed to reach out its welcoming hands, to draw us from the dim yesterday of travail and woe into the sunny to-day of happiness and light.
All the dark gloom was behind us, and naught but sunshine lay before. So, with her hand in mine, we passed together out of the shadow and into the light.
FINIS