CHAPTER XV THE SEARCH FOR THE LOST COLONY
All day long, at the head of my little band of fifteen men, I had pushed through the deep virgin forests. Rough, steady men they were, well armed, with their musketoons upon their shoulders and their flint and steel in their doublets, ready at a moment's notice to fire upon the Indians. For the natives around the coast had proved sullen and hostile, and not only had refused to give us any information of the lost colony, but had fired a shower of arrows at their questioners.
Some of our men had been left on the island as a garrison, and White, with a strong party under the guidance of a friendly Indian, had started in one direction, and I, with my little band under the guidance of Manteo, had plunged into the forest in another. The two other vessels would cast anchor in a few hours, and as soon as they did so, several more parties would be organized, and the whole country near the coast would be given, as far as possible, a thorough search.
So now, with the Indian by my side, I strode steadily on; behind us, on a pole, two of my men carried a buck that Manteo had brought down with his bow only a little while before, and upon which we were to sup. The last rays of the setting sun were falling through the trees, and in a few minutes they would disappear, leaving us in darkness among the silent forest, with its gloomy trees and painted men. There was something oppressive in the thought; the men behind me had ceased their chatter and jest, and like shadows softly strode after us.
We finally reached a little grassy hillock, and here the Indian paused. With a wave of his hand he said:
"Will the Eagle rest here to-night?"
"Yes, my brother," I answered. "It is a fair spot, and here we will stop until the morrow," and turning to the waiting men, I bade them throw aside their baggage and rest.
Posting two sentries, I cast myself beside the Indian upon the grass. It had been long since I had taken such a jaunt as this, and my limbs ached from the unaccustomed exertion. The scent of the roasting venison floated up to my nostrils from where the men had lighted a little fire, which, by the direction of the Indian, they had kindled in a low depression, so that it could not be seen by any prowling wanderer. The firelight played upon the rough, bronzed faces of the men, and flashed from their swords and breastplates, flickering upon the fierce features of Manteo as he lay in his paint and feathers by my side, and upon my face as I watched the men.
Suddenly the Indian raised his hand and pointed to the west.
"Look, my brother," he said.
I followed his outstretched finger; there, far away from the depths of the forest, twinkled a tiny light like a star, one moment it might be seen, and then it would be lost for an instant—then lo! as we looked it would rise again.
"What is it, Manteo?" I asked in surprise.
"'Tis the signal fire of some scout," he answered. "It may be that the natives have discovered that we are advancing into their country, and even now they send the news to their friends."
Only the cry of some wild beast of prey echoed from the forest, and anon the mournful call of some strange bird. We were alone, cut off from all civilization and the world. I looked around me; of how many bloody struggles could not these dark glades tell, could they but speak; how many black and gloomy secrets of war and massacre. They had looked down for countless ages upon the roaming red man, and the wild animals of the forest, but never until now had they been trodden by the foot of civilized man.
The cheery shout of the men floated up to where we lay. They called us to our evening meal, and descending the little hillock, we joined them in their fierce attack upon the smoking venison. After we had eaten our fill, Manteo and myself, lighting our pipes, strode out in the moonlight; below us trickled a little spring, its waters clear as crystal, and I followed the Indian down to drink of its pure waters. He was bending over the moist earth in front of the spring, looking down at the ground intently.
"What is it, Manteo?" I asked, noticing his strange conduct.
"It is the foot of some white squaw," he answered arising. "Let my brother look."
I bent down—there, in the soft earth, was the impression of a little shoe, dainty and small, as though its wearer had touched earth for a moment here, as she bent to quaff the waters of the spring. It was plainly the shoe of a patrician, a lady from its size. No Indian ever wore such a shoe as that; it could have been made by no one but a white woman, unless it was the track of a small child.
The Indian straightened himself up with a grunt.
"It is the beautiful one," he said gravely; "let my brother look."
I eyed him in wonder and astonishment. Was he daft that he should make such a statement as this, and expect me to believe it? I had received his declaration that this was the print of the shoe of a white woman without question, but that he should go further, and say that it was the shoe of one maid, and she the "beautiful one," as the Indian with the poetry of his race called Margaret Carroll—impossible!—I had left her safe in England, and we had seen no vessel pass us.
So with fast-beating heart and bewildered brain, I turned to Manteo.
"How knowest thou that it is the beautiful one?" I asked. "'Tis but a track, and might be that of any one of a thousand ladies."
"How canst thou know that the summer draweth nigh?" replied the chief, his arms folded upon his brawny chest. "By the flowers. So know I that the beautiful one has passed."
"It may be so," I answered incredulously. "We will follow the trail on the morrow, be it who it may."
Manteo, his head bent near the earth, had traced what might have been to him a trail, but, as I followed behind him, search as I would, I could perceive nothing. 'Twas true that here a twig was bent, a tuft of grass might have been stepped upon, but that could have been the work of some deer or other wild animal as they trod by. The Indian would turn here and there, now zigzagging from left to right, now retracing his steps and starting afresh, his head ever bent near the ground, scanning with his dark eye the earth.
Finally, after we had followed the faint track for some one hundred yards he stopped, and with a guttural "Ugh!" pointed to the ground again.
"Two white men passed this way four suns ago with the beautiful one," he said. "And after them only on last eve, the pale one with a red man hurried to overtake them." He straightened himself up in the moonlight and looked at me.
"It is well, Manteo," I answered. "Shall we follow after them to-night?"
"No, my brother," he replied. "The hearts of the men are faint within them; to-morrow we will follow them." And with that he retraced his steps to the camp, I by his side.
I dreamed that night that the Lady Margaret struggled with Dunraven, and stretching out her hands, cried out for me to save her. As I sprang forward to her aid, lo! with a start I awoke.
Something was struggling through the undergrowth near us; I could hear the faint sound of the bushes as someone passed through them—a stick crunched. An instant thus I lay, and listened to the faint rustling sound, and then turning over, I touched the slumbering Manteo, who lay next me, upon the shoulder. He started, and cautiously peered around at me.
"What is it, my brother?" he whispered.
"Listen," I answered in the same low voice, "something is approaching the camp."
The sentry upon this side of the camp now raised his musketoon. "Halt!" he shouted loudly. "Halt, or I fire." And I could see him as, flint and steel in hand, he stood ready to discharge his weapon.
There was a grunt from the bushes, and out of them strode a single Indian brave. Manteo sprang up from the ground and rushed forward toward him. "Do not hurt the warrior," he shouted to the astonished sentry, who stood amazed at this red man, who had come out so willingly from his concealment.
The strange warrior was holding something white in his upraised hand. "'Tis for the Eagle," he grunted, and ignoring the others, he stalked forward to where I lay and held out the paper to me. Wonderingly I took the note from his hands and opened it. It was from White and ran thus:
"My dear Sir Thomas:
"A friendly native informs me that a week ago a great white ship cast anchor near the mainland, and from it there were put on shore two pale men and a white squaw. From the description which he gives me of them, I have no doubt that these people were Lord Dunraven, the fat priest, whom thou hast described to me, and Lady Margaret Carroll. They took the direction in which thou art now exploring, and the ship sailed away again. Perhaps thou mayest discover them, and so rescue the lady. Trusting that thou mayest do so, I remain ever,
"Thy friend,
"White."
Lifting my eyes, I looked for the Indian runner who had brought the message.
"Where is the messenger?" I cried.
"He is gone," said Manteo, who stood near me. "Does the Eagle wish him brought back?" and he turned as though to go in pursuit.
"No," I answered, "'tis of no use. Manteo, thou wert right, 'twas the track of the beautiful one that thou didst see to-night. But how knewest thou 'twas she? Art thou gifted with magic?" and I laughed uncertainly; for in truth I did not understand how he knew that this print of a shoe was made by Margaret Carroll.
"My brother is curious," grunted the chief. "Listen, and he shall know. When I dwelt with the great chief in the crowded village of the pale faces, there I saw the beautiful one, who outshone the other pale squaws, as the sun outshines the dim stars. One morning I beheld the beautiful one walking in her garden, and after she had gone, I clambered over the wall, and moved by some mysterious impulse, I know not what, I bent over the print of her little moccasin in the soft earth. In the heel of the left shoe there were six tacks, arranged in the shape of a star. To-night I saw not only the shape of the same small footprint, but lo! in the heel of the left shoe I find the star—and then Manteo knew that the beautiful one had passed by."
I stood amazed at such marvelous wood-craft, for although I knew that the Indians were trained in the lore of field and wood from their youth up, I had not thought that they were so expert as this.
The chief had turned his face from me.
"Look!" he said, pointing to the eastern sky, where the first faint rays of the sun were beginning to be visible. "'Tis day, and the men are ready to resume their journey." And so saying he glided swiftly forward to where they were gathered, busy fastening belt and buckle, preparing for the march.
Two long weeks we followed hot upon their trail; we had passed now far into the interior. Twice had we caught sight of a lordly river, broad and wide, as with foaming yellow water it rushed on to join the sea. Over hill and dale, across grassy savannahs we pursued our unwavering march behind the tireless Manteo. Often we started a herd of deer from their hiding places, and with a rush they would dash out of sight among the trees, and sometimes savage beasts of prey were frightened from their lairs by our approach.
Once a great black bear had not been quick enough, and the Indian had wounded him with an arrow; growling surlily, he had turned with a cry of anger, and made for us with foaming muzzle and upraised paw. But as he came down upon our little band, I had snatched a musketoon with lighted fuse from one of the men, and let fly at him. The ball had struck the beast in the throat, and as he reeled from the shock, a dozen men were upon him with upraised blades, and had sheathed their swords in his body.
One night as we rested from our day's trail, we had seen a bright light gleaming a few miles ahead of us; but when after an all night's march we reached the spot, there were only the charred ashes of the camp fire—they had gone.
"'Twas the beautiful one," Manteo had grunted, as he gazed at the trodden ground. With a sigh I had resumed the march; so near to her and yet so far. 'Twas like the will-o'-wisp; one moment thou couldst see the magic fire in front of thine eyes, but lo! when thou hadst reached it, it had flitted on ahead, to taunt thee to further pursuit.
And now on the fifteenth day of our departure from Roanoke Island we still followed after them. Manteo, who glided in front, was striding along, his eyes as usual upon the ground. I following him, was wondering for the one hundreth time whether it was possible that this could be Margaret, and if so how she came there, and who were her companions; Dunraven of course, and the pale one, as the Indian called Marsden. Who was the third white man? It might be DeNortier, and so musing I bumped suddenly into the Indian, who had halted, and almost threw him sprawling upon the ground.
"Hush!" he whispered, his finger upraised.
I stopped, as did the man behind me, and listened. Far away I could hear the deep regular strokes of an ax; plainly someone was chopping, but who in this wilderness??
"Wait here," muttered Manteo. "I will see who it is that cuts so loudly," and with that he glided silently away, across the little open glade in front of us, and into the trees upon the other side.
A few minutes passed, and then he came back again as silently as he had left.
"Come," he said, and he turned and retraced his steps whence he had come.
We followed him for perhaps ten minutes, and then emerging from the trees, we came full upon a strange Indian. Bow in hand, he sat quietly by the side of a charred tree, which he had been fashioning into a canoe with a stone tomahawk, after burning out the heart of the tree. He arose gravely as I approached, and stood looking at me, his fierce eyes scanning my face searchingly.
"This is the great white chief, the Eagle," said Manteo to the other brave. "Tell him what thou hast seen."
The Indian answered, speaking in what appeared to be a dialect of the same tongue that Manteo spoke, and though it differed in some respects, I could yet manage to understand what he said.
"The sun has stood still twice, since Occom beheld a strange sight, for as he sat in this same spot, he heard the sound of feet approaching, and hiding himself, there passed by three pale men, and a squaw more lovely than the harvest moon. They had with them Tetto, one of the Tuscaroras, and as Occom looked they disappeared on down the trail, and I saw them no more."
"What manner of men were they, my brother?" I asked.
"The chief was tall, with dark hair, and his face was as the stone; the look upon it was like the hawk when he wheels to strike his prey."
It was Dunraven without a doubt, the Indian had described him well. But who were his companions?
"And what of the others?" I continued. "Did the eye of Occom behold the others?"
"Occom saw them," he answered. "The one who walked behind the chief was as the pale moon, when afraid it shrinks behind the clouds, and when the chief spoke to him harshly, he drew back in fear; he is a squaw and should till the soil with them."
"And what of the third?—what of him, Occom?"
"He was round and fat as the bear," he answered, as though in scorn at my excitement. "His face was big and red as the blood of the deer, but he wore the dress of the squaw, and his head was white with the snows of many winters."
"'Tis the priest!" I cried. "Ah, a precious crew!
"Show the Eagle what thou didst pick up from the trail when they had passed," said Manteo to the Indian Occom.
"It was this," answered the other, and from his deerskin robe he plucked out a little shining trinket, and held it out to me.
I took it with a cry of wonder. It was a little gold locket that I had often seen around Margaret's neck; pressing the spring the face flew open, and there, I beheld a little miniature of her, painted several years ago when she was a merry, laughing girl. I gazed at it long, wrapped in my own thoughts. Ah, my lady! the same light brown hair, the same deep azure eyes and pink cheeks; time had brought little to thee, only the ripening of the lovely fruit, only the bloom of a yet more perfect beauty.
As I toyed with the little bauble, a spring snapped, and the back of the locket flew open. I must have touched a secret spring in some way. There in the recess was a paper. Hardly knowing what I did I took it in my hand, and read the few lines that it contained. So Dunraven had struck his last blow—by the grace of God I would wring his neck for this, though I should follow him across the whole vast country that stretched before me to accomplish it. The blackest perfidy of his dark life lay before me as I read that note, and my very blood boiled in my veins with rage.
"Margaret:—I lie sick and wounded in this place to which I have escaped from the prison. To-morrow I must sail for Virginia, and I may never see thy bright face again. I would make one last request in the name of the love I bear thee; for the love of God, Margaret, have pity upon me as I lie here sick unto death, and longing for one more glimpse of thee. Come, though it be only for a moment—thou art a woman, and wilt pity me in this last hour. If thou wilt come, but accompany this holy priest who bears this note to thee.
"Farewell,
"Thomas Winchester."
I laughed bitterly as I replaced the paper in its hiding place. It had done its work well, and I now knew why Margaret was here. That imp of Satan, Father Francis, had carried this message, and she, in the pity of her woman's heart, had accompanied him to some house where Dunraven awaited her. Then they hurried her aboard his vessel and set sail, thinking to be safe in this wild country. But fate, weary with the smiles which she had bestowed upon him, had at last turned her frown, and I, like a sleuth hound, was on their trail.
"Wilt sell the bauble?" I asked Occom.
"I would that my brother would give me one of the bright steel tomahawks," he answered. "Then shall Occom be rewarded for his story, and the Eagle shall keep the trinket."
"It is well," I replied, and I commanded one of the men to give the Indian his hatchet, promising him another when we reached the ship.
The Indian's face lighted up with pleasure as he took it in his hands.
"Occom thanks the Eagle," he said, "and shall not forget him."
Manteo now spoke: "The Eagle shall have the canoe too," pointing to the unfinished boat. "Many leagues he has to go, and his heart will sing within him, if Occom will but give him the canoe."
"'Tis the Eagle's," Occom replied.
"We shall follow them by water," Manteo said to me. "In this way we can take two steps to their one."
The men had gathered around me, and now one of them spoke respectfully:
"Dost thou still follow the trail, captain?"
"Yes," I answered, looking at the group about me. "Why askest thou?"
He cleared his throat hesitatingly.
"The men are fearful, sir. Fifteen days have we followed thee, but it is plain that the colonists are not to be found, and while we still go deeper into these woods, the Governor might sail away and leave us."
I turned to the others. "Are ye all of this mind?" I asked.
It was plain that they feared to go on, though they cared not to say so.
"If there were any hopes of finding them," said one, "but the deeper we go, the fainter are our chances to ever get out alive, and we do but endanger ourselves without helping them. As this is a private enterprise of thine, captain, we have made so bold as to mention this matter," and a chorus of approval went up from his comrades.
"So be it," I replied. "As thou sayest, this is a private enterprise of mine, and you can all go back; but I would ask that you first help me with the finishing of the canoe."
"Aye! aye!" they answered, and with their axes and hatchets they fell to upon the half finished boat. In an hour it was finished, and putting it on their shoulders, they carried it the few feet that separated us from the river.
I made ready to separate from the men. They had put a musketoon with some ammunition and provisions in the canoe, and all was in readiness. I think at the last they felt some remorse of conscience, as I prepared to set out alone far into the unexplored regions that lay in front of us. I shook them all one by one by the hand, as I stepped into the boat, and bade them tell Governor White that they left me sound and well. Then, picking up my paddle, I prepared to push off. Occom had promised to guide the men back to Roanoke Island, and now stood silent and apart, waiting the moment to start.
A light foot sounded upon the boat. Manteo had stepped aboard, and picking up one of the paddles was about to dip it into the water.
"Manteo," I said, "go back with the others. I go far into the country, and may not come back again."
"Manteo will go with his brother," he interrupted me. "What would the Eagle do alone? He could not follow the flight of the beautiful one," and thrusting the paddle against the bank, he gave a shove that sent us far out into the stream.
The men raised a great cheer as we left them; a few more strokes and we were out of sight, alone in the little canoe upon the breast of the great river.
We still paddled upon the stream, the Roanoke Manteo called it. Three days had we passed on its breast; only once had we seen a human being besides ourselves, and that a lone Indian, who seeing us approach had made for the shore in haste, and leaving his canoe had plunged into the trees, so that as we passed we only saw the empty canoe as it rocked idly to and fro upon the water. Manteo had grounded our boat upon the beach a few yards from the Indian, and we stepped ashore.
"We near the beautiful one," he said. "It is best that the canoe be concealed here, and we should follow them upon the land."
Hiding the light canoe under some bushes, so cunningly that when I looked for it a moment later I could discover no trace of it, he made off through the trees, I following, a musketoon upon my shoulder. We trod on in silence, Manteo looking ever for the trail. Evening was beginning to fall, as though some black mantle dropped by the hands of the gods upon the quiet earth. There came to my ears the cawing of a crow, and it seemed to me that the bird was very near us.
Manteo in an instant had fallen, without a sound, flat upon his face. "Down," he whispered. "Quick!"
I followed his example as quickly as I could, and just in time. For, from the trees in front of me, there stole silently a painted figure; tall, fierce, savage, he strode from the dusk, and after him another, and another, until I had counted fifty warriors, walking in single file, their glaring eyes seemingly fixed upon me, as with bated breath I watched them. They were naked, save for the breech cloth about their loins, their bodies hideously daubed with the juice of wild berries and clay; from their coarse black hair there dangled the feathers of an eagle or hawk. I had seen nothing like this before in all my wanderings. Noiselessly, like a shadow, they faded one by one into the gloom opposite.
Long it seemed to me we lay there quietly; finally Manteo arose to his feet. "A party of Cherokees on the war path," he whispered, and we resumed our journey. Searching the ground about us for many minutes the Indian moved, now peering under some stone or leaf, now turning some tuft of grass aside to look beneath it. At last with a low grunt he led off again, striding along at his rapid gait.
"How knewest thou that thou wouldst find their trail here?" I asked.
The Indian grunted. "Had the Eagle looked closer, he would have seen the mark upon the bank where a canoe had landed," he said.
"But how knewest thou that it contained the party whom we seek?"
"Their canoe had been broken and the prow had been mended; I saw that it had landed here, for the mark of it was upon the bank."
I trod in silence behind him, and wondered at this almost superhuman knowledge of the forest that could observe such things as these, which to me were as a closed book. My musketoon in my right hand, I had hurried on after him, but now I halted in an instant, for again I heard the cawing of the crow in the woods, seemingly in front of us. The Indian too had stopped suddenly, and we stood motionless. As we stood there from every bush and tree there seemed to rise a hideous, painted figure. With a yell, so horrible and ferocious that my blood almost congealed in my veins at the sound, they were upon us with brandished tomahawks and clubs.
Like a flash I struck flint and steel, and ignited the fuse of my gun; at least one of these demons would be silenced forever. Leveling my gun at the foremost one as he leaped at me, I pulled down, but even as I did so, Manteo with one quick blow of his arm struck the gun upwards, so that it harmlessly exploded in the air.
Before I could draw my sword, a score had caught me by the arms and shoulders, and hurled me headlong to the ground. My companion made no defense, and a dozen grasped and in the twinkle of an eye disarmed him, and secured his arms with thongs of deerskin. Several had bound my hands behind me, and they now jerked me to my feet—I stood disarmed, a prisoner among the Cherokees.
Without a word they placed us in the midst of the band, and at a long swinging trot began a journey to the north-west. My heart was bitter within me as I hurried along. I had been betrayed by one whom I thought was my friend and as true as steel; he had doubtless decoyed me here so that he could deliver me into the hands of these Indians, probably allies of Dunraven, and they were now most likely carrying me away to deliver me into his hands. There was one melancholy consolation in it—I would see Margaret once more, though it be under such circumstances as these.
All day long they kept up this swift pace, stopping only a few moments for dinner, and the evening was beginning to deepen into twilight, but still they kept on their steady way. Manteo trotted by my side, but I said no word to him, and he had said naught to me. I had begun to despair of ever resting again, when the loud shouts of our captors and the answering yells in reply informed me that we were about to enter their encampment.
Emerging from the forest, many smoking torches could be seen approaching, and the beating of drums and the shouts of the advancing crowd produced a noise that was almost deafening. The embers of several camp fires lit up the thirty or forty rough bark huts which were grouped before us into a semicircle. At our heels there tagged a crowd of men, women, and children, who shouted and danced with glee, as surrounded by our guards we entered the village. Fierce savage faces peered at us from the doorways; little half-naked boys and girls shouted to each other in wonder at my white skin; the wrinkled squaws hissed and grunted. I only saw hatred, curiosity, surprise; nowhere pity or sympathy for a friendless stranger.
Yes, in one face I saw pity, sympathy, or was it admiration? It seemed to me, that as I saw the face for an instant I could discern something akin to that in the dark eyes. It was a young Indian maid of perhaps nineteen or twenty summers, who stood in the doorway of one of the largest huts. Slender, shapely, graceful as a young fawn, with black eyes, large and liquid, and straight black hair, she might have stood as a model for some picture, representing savage beauty. She was clad in a mantle of soft deerskin, with leggins of the same material fringed with bear claws, and upon her small feet were moccasins of the same soft skin.
I took all this in at a glance, as I stood motionless among my guards, for they had halted here. A few words were spoken to the girl. She stood aside, and the brave dragged Manteo and myself to the entrance and thrust us inside, leaving several warriors at the open door, while the babble of tongues wrangled and argued upon the outside, as they craned and twisted to get a glimpse of me.
For several minutes we lay there; then a wrinkled old warrior pushed by the braves who stood at the door and bending down he cut the thongs that bound Manteo, and motioned for him to follow; they strode out of the place, leaving me alone. An old hag came in to bring me a pot of some kind of meat, and with her came the pretty maid whom I had seen outside, who brought me a skin to lie upon.
I thanked her in the native tongue, at which she looked at me with wide open eyes.
"How knowest thou our tongue?" she asked, while the old crone stood peering at me as though I were a ghost.
"It matters not," I answered. "And who art thou, my pretty maid, who dost remember a poor prisoner?"
The rich color surged up into her dark face as she answered shyly, "I am Winona, daughter of the chief Windango."
At that moment there entered the same wrinkled old chief.
"What dost thou here, Winona?" he said sternly. "This is no place for thee."
"I came but with Occoma, father," she answered. "She brought the pale man some venison."
"Begone!" he said, and turning his back upon her, he bent over and cut the thongs that bound me. "Come," he said.
I followed him, escorted by the two guards who had each taken an arm and were holding to me with an iron grasp. Passing down the street of the encampment, we halted in front of a long, low building, which stood in the center of the place. Drawing aside the curtain of deer skin, Windango, for such was my guide, motioned for me to enter. I did so, and dropping the curtain he followed.
I found myself in a long, low room, its walls made of rude, unfinished logs, with a thatched roof. A large fire burned in the center of the room, and around it there squatted upon the hard mud floor the whole band of warriors, their fierce faces scowling at me through the smoke; for there was no opening in the roof, and the smoke from the fire was so dense that it was almost impossible to see. Almost blinded, my eyes stinging and watering from the thick haze which hung over the room, I staggered to a place in the front rank to which Windango motioned me.
A deep silence reigned. From hand to hand a great long-stemmed red pipe, decorated with feathers, was being passed, each warrior as it reached him taking a puff, and then solemnly passing it on to his neighbor. It was handed to me by Windango, and taking a puff, I passed it on. A full hour it was in going the rounds, and when the last warrior had been reached, the old chief by my side arose.
"The ears of the Cherokees are open to hear the words of my brother Manteo. Let him speak."
On the other side of the fire Manteo stood erect. Extending one hand, he spoke. The fitful firelight lit up the bronze faces of his listeners, and played strange pranks with their fierce, motionless features, as now in light, now in shadow, it came and went upon the walls, and threw into strong relief the face of the speaker. He began in a low voice which penetrated to every corner of the wigwam.
"My brothers," he said, "many moons have passed since Manteo has seen his neighbors, the Cherokees. His heart warms within his breast as he looks upon them, for was not the father of Manteo a friend of the Cherokees?"
He looked around, while a chorus of grunts went up from the circle.
"He has journeyed far to see his red brothers, but he comes not alone, he brings with him a great chief of the pale men, who live far beyond the wide waters. He floated back with Manteo upon a great wigwam with white wings to see these warriors of whom he has heard so much. He has brought for his red brothers six shining tomahawks, like the one that was taken from Manteo, and two long knives, together with many blue beads, which are now on board the wigwam ready for the Cherokees."
"Ugh," said Windango at this amazing lie, and his fellow braves all followed suit with a resounding "Ugh." I could feel that they were covertly glancing at me to see whether he told the truth.
"But the Eagle has come also to ask the help of his red brothers," continued the speaker. "A wolf has crept into the lodge of the pale chief, and even as he slept, has carried away the favorite squaw of the Eagle, and fled with her into the country of the Cherokees. The Eagle, to show that there is no cloud between him and the face of his red brothers, has come alone into their land, to tell them of the presents that he has brought for them, and to ask their aid to regain his squaw and to punish the wolf. Have my brothers seen aught of the pale one with the squaw?" and he looked around inquiringly.
Windango answered: "It is but two suns since down the stream there floated a canoe with three of the pale men, even like the Eagle, and with them a red dog, a Tuscarora, and a pale squaw, who gleamed as fair as the winter snow and whose hair shone like copper. We had no canoes and could not follow them, so they passed on down the river.
"Let the Eagle follow them," said Manteo, "and he will send a speaking paper back to the wigwam with my brother, that they may have their presents. So shall my brothers be the friends of the Eagle, and their corn shall flourish and be green. If the Eagle frowns upon them, then shall famine and pestilence sit in the cabins of the Cherokees; the Tuscaroras will slay their braves, and their hearts will quake within their breasts, for the Eagle is a great chief, and wields a magic tube that thunders death from it. Listen, and the Eagle will speak to the Cherokees in their own tongue," and he motioned to me.
Arising to my feet, I spoke with as much majesty as I could command at such short notice:
"Manteo speaks true; if my red brothers will free me so that I may pursue my squaw, then six shining tomahawks, together with two long knives, and much beads are theirs. If you seek to detain me, death and destruction shall stalk among the wigwams of the Cherokees," and I seated myself.
Windango arose. "The hearts of the Cherokees sing within them that the great Eagle has soared down to them. Let it be as he says; let the Eagle but fold his pinions for a brief season to rest among his red brothers. They will send some of their braves back with Manteo to the great wigwam, that they may receive the gifts the Eagle has brought them. Then upon Manteo's return, their braves will accompany the great chief, so that he may take his squaw."
"Let Manteo stay with his red brothers, while the Eagle journeys on to regain his squaw," said Manteo. "Then shall the Eagle be glad, for the wolf may have carried the squaw far, while he feasts with the Cherokees."
I chimed in with the same request, but plainly the cunning old fellow had no idea of releasing me till he got the hatchets. He was too afraid I would give him the slip.
"Would the Eagle fly from among his brothers," he answered reproachfully, "after he has journeyed so far to see them? The Cherokees would moan, and their hearts would be as lead within their breasts, did my brother do this. No, let the Eagle feast with us a little season, then he shall fly again."
And with this I was fain to be content. But my lips parted that night in a faint smile as I thought of what my lady would say, could she but know that the pet and belle of London was to the Indians only a squaw—of less value than their bows, only useful to till the ground and carry the burden, the plaything of an idle hour.