“You have not heard the truth, madam,” he said, almost civilly: “some one has been telling you lies; it is the men who have said what we shall do.”
In a gentler tone she said, “If that is really the case, I will apologize. Without doubt you have sent some little gift to Manteo as a token of our gratitude?”
“Sent! why we hoped to find the messenger here. We were just about to prepare a gift for the chief. The men think it better not to go to Croatoan; we are going to make all quite safe here. But,” he added, “the Indian is not here, is he?”
“Here? oh, no. Mistress Wilkins is sleeping in the back, and Howe was talking to me here. Was it Ranteo who brought the message?”
And Barnes, seeing her great blue eyes, and knowing little of a woman’s power to act a part perfectly when something great is involved, never guessed she was deceiving him, as he replied, “Yes, it was Ranteo, I think.”
“Did you tell him to wait, that you wanted to send a present to Manteo?” she asked.
“No; I didn’t think of it,” Barnes muttered as he turned away. When he had reached his men, who stood a little way off, he continued, “I am afraid if I had told him what the present was to be, he wouldn’t have been any more anxious to wait. But I’ll tell you what it is, fellows, they haven’t seen him, they don’t know anything about him. Folks can’t fool me. The red scoundrel must have heard something we said, and skipped; like enough he’ll bring his whole tribe back here to scalp us all by morning.”
It was well for the little stars that their cloud nurses carried them off to bed early; for I am sure they would have felt very sad had they watched the changes fast appearing in the quiet little village of Roanoke, through the long hours of that September night. The night heron saw it all, and sent forth its mournful wail of sorrow. But at last there was a lurid line of red along the eastern horizon, the dark sky was shot with streaks of crimson, and the day broke softly. The sun peeped down on the English colony, and found it wholly different from the place she had left twelve hours before. The row of log huts stood empty and deserted, many of them had lost their roofs or sides, wherever there were strong logs they had been removed; there were no signs of waking life about the place; everything was desolate. A few things were strewn around, showing the haste of the departure. At the lower end of the island some trees were hewn down, and just beyond rose a palisade made of large timbers; behind it, all the settlers were gathered in a confused crowd. The children were crying or fretful; the women worn out and weary; most of the men thoroughly out of temper, many of them swearing against Manteo for having, as they said, disturbed their peaceful lives, or against Queen Elizabeth for having sent them away to die alone, like the children of Israel in the wilderness.
The day wore on as it had first dawned, clear and bright, but with a decided chill in the air, which by night threatened almost a frost. The women and children who were exposed felt it keenly; and the little ones joined Elizabeth Harvey’s sad wail, all but Virginia, who lay peacefully looking up at the blue sky and the fleecy clouds; her great blue eyes seemed to understand what all the confusion meant, and she uttered not a murmur.
When darkness crept over the land once more, bringing with it a penetrating coldness, the men threw themselves on the ground with whatever covering they could find, and went to sleep. Many of the children cried themselves to sleep, and most of the tired women soon followed them. Only in one corner a little group was still awake; on the ground where the bushes formed a rude shelter lay Mrs. Harvey. She had been about very little since the baby came. The exertion and excitement of the move had proved too much for her. Mistress Wilkins was caring for her as best she could, without the aid of medicine, or even comforts, while Mrs. Dare tried to soothe poor little Elizabeth. Harvey sat by, looking sadly at his wife, and with each weary breath she drew his heart grew more heavy, and a greater sense of desolation crept over him. The watchers watched on in silence; all was still save the cry of the heron or the screech of the owl in the forest, when a low whistle sounded from the northern end of the palisade, followed by a flash of light from a torch which was held one moment high in the air. This was to be Howe’s signal of danger, for he was stationed that night. Harvey sprang to his feet and began waking the sleeping men. Barnes had only half opened his eyes, when a hideous war-cry sounded through the forest. In an instant every man was on his feet, with his hand on his rifle, ready for the fight. Then came the arrows thick and fast; from the inside of the palisade the guns boomed, or a sword clashed against the Indian who tried to mount the palisade. The redman’s war-whoop sounded on every side, now and then a flash of lightning, for a storm was gathering, showed the hideous paint on their copper-colored faces. The noise woke the birds from their sleep, and drawing their little heads from under their wings they sent forth doleful cries to add to the horror of the scene. Even the leaves seemed to sigh with grief at the awful sight.