On this little island this quiet Sunday, there was a strange sight to be seen as the drum-beat called the people to service in the little log chapel; and an odd-looking lot they were. First came two Puritan maidens, walking demurely together; then an English gentleman, whose clothes looked shabby, as did he himself; then a little company from the shore, where some canoes showed that they had just landed. Among them was a tall figure with straight black hair hanging around his shoulders: he wore a topknot of feathers, a bright blanket, an English ruff about his neck, which had been given him while he was in England; for this was Manteo, the chief who had been made a Christian only the Sunday before in this same little chapel. He had a fine figure, tall and graceful. With him came a little group of his own braves: they went straight up the hill towards the low building. Then came some slouching sailors, who looked as if they did not often go to the chapel, and were a little uncomfortable now. Then there were some men in smock-frocks. Then behind a whole family, just as you might have seen at home in England, going to any church. They were evidently people of the middle class. The father had undoubtedly been a miller before he left home, if one might judge from his funny springing step and broad miller’s thumb. He looked very proud and happy as he walked along by his sturdy wife. Before them were their four children, a little rosy boy and a big girl, hand in hand, and the twins, yellow-haired English lassies. A strange mixture they all were; a little piece of civilization in the heart of a great wilderness; commonplace English people, living and worshipping in the primeval forest of the new land.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER II.
“Yet in sharp hours of trial
The mighty seal must needs be prov’d: