George Howe, for such was the name of the speaker, was no coward; but he realized that this was not the time for a quarrel among themselves, when trouble and death threatened from outside. So he only said, “Put up your knife, Barnes; if we kill each other, there will be one man less, if not two, to guard the women and children. I am sure you would be sorry to see this brave fellow killed. If Wanchese should come, and you find all he tells us is true, Governor White would be very angry if we should hurt an Indian without good cause.”
“I care much about his anger, or what he wishes,” grumbled Barnes; while Hopeful Kent muttered, “I’m mighty sure the governor will never be bothered with our doings; there will be none left to tell him. We’ll all be in Kingdom Come long before he or any one else comes back. It’s a lot any of them trouble themselves about us.” Once more Howe tried to thwart the evil councils of the lawless men among whom he stood.
“Let’s put it to vote what we shall do,” Barnes said, coming up to the group, after he had interviewed a number of the men, who still stood in little knots talking anxiously. Howe and the present governor, Gage, were standing together a little apart. Howe had made a suggestion, and had almost succeeded in persuading his companion to adopt it, when Barnes cried out in triumphant tones, “Let’s put it to vote, we are free men.”
“If you let them,” muttered Howe, “it will be the ruin of us all, sir; something, it must be the Evil One, I think, gives Barnes a strange power over the men. Don’t put it to vote, sir, I beg; make them feel your authority.”
“No doubt you are right, Howe,” replied Gage, as he stepped nearer to Barnes and said, “Barnes, you have the interest of us all at heart, and while I feel it is right to observe caution, in this case we have no choice but to trust Manteo. Were we alone we might run risks, which we have no right to do with the women and children depending on us. I know you will trust my decision, which I am sorry to say differs from your opinion.” He stopped, for Barnes had turned and walked away. He only went a few steps, however; then turning with a gleam of triumph in his eyes, as he saw the disturbed look he had caused in the face of the man whom he ought to have obeyed, he cried furiously, “Don’t be too sure of your good judgment; we came to this country free men, and as a free man I am going to act now. I am not going to Croatoan. You may if you choose. Who’ll fight the savages, and win lands and homes with me? or run away like a baby to its mother when the first sound of fight comes.”
Nearly all the men had gathered round, seeing their leader standing in a weak, undecided way, looking helplessly and distractedly at Barnes, whose strong, magnetic face they all felt; and they cried, almost with one voice, “I, Barnes, I! I am no coward.” “I am an English lad,” or “Here’s your man, Barnes.” Seeing that he held the men, he stepped before the tall figure of Anthony Gage, who had authority and power at that moment had he only had the strength to exert it, and began, “If we are agreed to stay here and fight like men, the first thing we can do to prove the strength of our resolution is to act upon it; to put to death this lying Indian who has come among us to be a spy, to make trouble, to get possession of us and our women and children, to torture us, to put us to death. Do you not say with me that he should be punished, to show those red dogs we mean real work, and no more fooling? What do you say, fellows?”
Only a few voices replied; even they assented feebly. Howe walked away in disgust. Barnes, feeling a little uncertain as to the wisdom of his last suggestion, determined to excite his followers a little more before Ranteo should be spoken of again. So he continued, “The red villains will be on our track by morning, as soon as they find their comrade doesn’t come back, so we must get to work and build a palisade. If they once get hold of us they will show no mercy, though some of you are foolish enough to be afraid of hurting this precious copper-colored heathen. I confess I am not womanish enough for that.”
More than a score of voices cried out, “Nor I, nor I.” “They are an ungodly lot.” “Clear them off the face of the earth; it’s a Christian man’s duty.” Gage stood with bowed head, the very personification of disgust, yet with not moral courage enough to right the wrong he was so horrified at. He had tried to be a good man, and yet please his fellow-men among whom he was thrown; strange to say, an aim which is seldom realized, even when a whole life is given to its accomplishment. The most truly popular lives are apart from, and without thought of, self; lived for one’s fellow-men, with a brighter and more perfect mainspring than mere humanitarianism. Such lives become more than good, and without either knowing or realizing it, the busy, flippant world stops in its rush to admire, if not to bow down in adoration.
When Howe left the little company, he walked carelessly away, but only while in sight did he go with slow steps and bowed head. Once out of sight, and sure he was not watched, he ran as fast as he could under the shadow of the trees. Going behind each hut, he looked inquiringly at the inmates, but he reached the very end before he felt satisfied.
It was indeed a pretty sight he saw there; the rude room with its few articles of rough furniture, and a few little decorations which gave the place a refined, home-like air; at one side swung a cradle, in which lay the baby Virginia. By the cradle stood the beautiful young mother, looking proudly and lovingly down on her child. The rush torch which she held threw a bright light on the little creature, on the mother herself, and on a tall figure that knelt by, watching the child with almost reverent awe, only venturing to touch the tiny hand with the tip of his long finger. The baby watched him with her pretty blue eyes, cooing as the long feathers waved back and forth as he moved his head.