Longfellow.
Manteo was a wise and brave chief, as well as a good and thoughtful one, and was much loved by his people. The dozen Englishmen who yet remained as the remnant of the Roanoke settlers could not understand the reverence with which the savages treated their leader. His word was law. His decisions were just, without regard to whom he was judging.
One autumn the twelve white men sat at their work of hollowing wooden bowls. As they worked, they talked about their future, and the prospect of seeing England again, which all confessed was very small.
“I tell you,” said one, who looked strangely like Jack Barnes, and was, in fact, his brother, “I tell you what it is, fellows, we’ll never see England if we wait for those lazy cowards to come over for us. We must go over ourselves if we are ever to get there.”
The men all laughed; and one, Bill Smith, said, “Why don’t you tell us to swim over the big pond? We’re nothing but slaves here, anyway, and I’m sick of it. Having to obey a red savage, an old heathen dog!”
A third one, who really had the best face in the crowd, replied, “I tell ye, lads, it’s a bad business, and that’s true enough. But ye’re not bettering it by muttering about it. Manteo is not a bad one, and ye forget he is not a heathen; was he not christened by Master Bradford?”
“That’s all quite as you say; but it takes more’n a few drops of water to make his ugly, copper-colored skin clean, and a heap more to make him a Christian, I’m thinking. I tell you, Gray, you’re easily taken in,” Barnes said, laughing. “I tell you what it is, lads,” he continued, “if we’re ever to go to England, we must take the bull by the horns in the shape of Manteo, and get rid of him. These red fellows will not know what to do if he’s gone, and we can make ’em obey us. And we’ll set ’em to work at building a craft to carry us home.”
As the men sat at work, their evil imaginations and plans were making mischief faster than their hands were making bowls. At the same time, not a great distance off, Virginia sat under the old willow-tree, working at the rude spinning that Mistress Wilkins had taught her. The day was beautiful, and she felt a strange sense of joy even in living. The world all about was so beautiful; as she spun, she sang, first one of the wild Indian songs, then an old English hymn that she remembered, though imperfectly. She sang and worked, as the sun played with her yellow hair and turned it into gold.
Her thoughts went far across the water. That great longing for her mother, then for her father, crept into her heart. Her hands rested idly. She must look out on the water. What if those great canoes should be coming in sight even now! There seemed to be an odd stillness, as if something were going to happen. She wandered along a little wood-path to a hill, beyond which she could see the clear water. There was the great blue sea, sparkling and dancing in the sunlight. Iosco had chanced to see the slight figure climbing the hill; he now stood watching her as the breeze played with her golden hair, and the clear blue sky formed a background. He knew what she was looking for, and he was pained. Could she never be happy with his people in their simple lives? How could he expect it? But what was wrong? The color suddenly died out of Owaissa’s cheeks; she clasped her hands as if in pain, and sprang forward, out of his sight.
Hurrying up the hill, Iosco could see nothing but Virginia’s waving hair. She turned her head, and even far away as he was, he could see that her face was as white as the dove’s down in her mantle. Iosco caught only one glimpse of it, then she was out of sight. He was an Indian; one sight was enough. He knew Owaissa was in trouble, and bending his body slightly, he went swiftly across the little knoll. Surely it must be the canoes with the pinions, that he so much dreaded. There was the sea, clear and blue, no sight of anything good or bad on it; but a strange and awful sight was before him, one which he never forgot.