The Settlers: A Tale of Virginia

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Oliver and the young girl were, in the mean time, eagerly endeavouring to understand each other. They had left the group and were seated together on the bank of the stream. Some new ideas had evidently come into her mind; it seemed to flash upon her that she was of the same race as the young paleface by her side. She had never known a father, she said, or mother, and the squaw who had more especially tended on her in her childhood had as tawny a skin as the rest of her tribe. Now and then she talked with Oliver, but oftener sat with her finger on her brow, lost in thought. After some time she began to understand his questions better than at first. She replied that she would try to find out what he wanted to know and tell him. Oliver felt himself every instant becoming more and more interested; he could not help thinking, as he watched her varying countenance, that she must be of his own race. Perhaps her name would assist him to discover the truth. He asked, looking up in her face, what she was called. “Manita,” she answered, “does it sound pleasant in your ears?”

“Very pleasant indeed,” he replied, repeating it, “I shall remember it as long as I live.”

The old chief received the adventurers in a friendly manner, and to prove his good intentions, said that he would direct his people to build wigwams for them on any spot they might choose. Roger replied that as he and his people were fond of water, they should prefer encamping on the bank of the river, where the rivulet ran into it; his true motive being that they should thus have only two sides to defend should they by any chance be attacked; while they might also, by building rafts, descend the stream into the main river and thus regain their ship.

The whole of the population at once set to work to supply the wants of the white strangers, the men even being condescending enough to assist, though the women were chiefly employed in bringing the materials for the huts and putting them up. The Englishmen, however, as soon as they saw their mode of proceeding, greatly lightened their labours. The rest of the men went out hunting, and before evening returned with a plentiful supply of game. In a wonderfully short time a village had sprung up, affording ample accommodation in fine summer weather.

After the Indians had left them, the young girl came fearlessly into their midst, bringing the fish she had caught as her present to Oliver and the two officers, for she at once distinguished them from the rest of the men. She had then a further talk with Oliver; she inquired whether he would be willing to accompany her in her canoe up the stream, and as they would have a long way to go, he must assist in paddling, but no one else must accompany them, nor must the Indians or his own friends know where they had gone. There might be some danger, she confessed, though it was not such as to make her hesitate if she could serve her new friends.

Oliver, who liked the notion of the danger, replied that he would willingly go.

She advised him to sleep soundly and to be awake two hours before dawn, when he would find her with the canoe at the mouth of the stream, beneath a high bank, from which he could easily step on board without being seen. “I will tell you more when we are away,” she added, “but if any one is awake and asks where you are going, you can let them understand that you are about to fish in the stream, and my people will not be surprised, as it is my chief occupation. I have no pleasure in working with the squaws, who have little love for me, because I am the favourite of my grandfather, who allows me to do what I like.”

Such, in substance, was what the young girl said to Oliver. He promised faithfully to obey her injunctions, and to be ready to accompany her at the time she had fixed on. He had some difficulty in going to sleep for thinking of the expedition he was to make on the morrow, but he at length succeeded in dropping off. After sleeping for some time he opened his eyes, and feeling broad awake, crept out of the hut, thinking that it was time to set out; but as he could see the sentries at their posts—for Roger judged it wise to place men on the watch lest the Indians might play them false—he waited till the one next him had moved to the end of his beat, and then keeping under the shade of the huts, stole down towards the river’s bank. Moving on cautiously, he soon reached the spot at which the girl had told him to wait for her. Sitting down, he gazed at the stream which rippled by in front of him, ere it joined the broad river on his right. The murmuring of the water as it sounded in his ears soon had the not unusual effect of sending him off again to sleep. He awoke with a start on hearing a gentle voice calling to him. Rubbing his eyes as he looked round, he saw the shadowy form of the maiden standing up in her canoe, just below his feet. Forgetting its frail structure, he was about to leap into it, when she, observing his intention, exclaimed in a louder voice than she would otherwise have used—

“Stay, stay, or you will break through the canoe, and put a stop to our expedition.”

Oliver, taking her hand, which she extended to him, stepped carefully into the canoe, and seated himself at her bidding. As he did so, she turned the canoe away from the bank, and the next instant they were in the broader river.