Chapter Fourteen.
Some years passed away. Powhattan was dead; the Indians appeared as friendly as ever, but the tie which had bound them to the palefaces was broken.
Several towns and villages had sprung up in various directions; some on the banks of the river below James Town; others some way above it, in the interior. Among these was Williamsburg, which had been founded on the spot where Rolfe and his party had been attacked by the Indians, when by Canochet’s timely warning they had been so providentially saved from being cut off. The whole face of this part of the country was now completely changed; comfortable dwellings, orchards, gardens, and fields covered the ground before occupied by the dark forest, while a bridge was thrown over the stream, which was usefully employed in turning a mill to grind the corn of the settlers. Among the principal people in the neighbourhood was Vaughan Audley, who resided on an estate about three miles from the town, while Gilbert and his young wife had been for some time established in a cottage close to Williamsburg. Their old friend Fenton never failed to pay them a visit when the Rainbow came to James Town to bring them news of their relatives at home, as also the various necessaries they required from the old country. They were, as has been said, on the best of terms with the Indians, who came frequently into the town, mixing freely with the settlers, often bringing presents of deer and wild turkeys which they had shot, and fish which they had caught in their streams, and those fruits which abounded in their forests. Even those who at one time had been looked upon as enemies now took much pains to show the settlers that they wished to live in amity with them. Thus were lulled any suspicions the English might have entertained of the natives, and they fondly hoped that they were to retain peaceful possession of the country.
Virginia was seated with her husband one evening, when a dark form appeared at the open door. “Manita,” said a voice, “one who held you to his bosom when you were still a helpless infant comes to warn you and him whom you love of a sudden and fearful danger. Escape with me, and I will protect you—remain, and your doom is sealed.”
“Who are you, that we should thus trust you?” asked Gilbert.
“Oncagua,” answered the Indian; “she once knew me; does she forget me now?”
“Oh, no, no!” exclaimed Virginia, starting up and grasping the Indian’s hands, which she placed on her head; “my ever kind protector; I should indeed be ungrateful could I have forgotten you. What my husband desires, I will do.”
“We thank you, chief,” said Gilbert, “but we have friends here whom we cannot desert; whatever may be the danger, we must remain and share it with them.”
The chief stood lost in thought. “I understand you,” he said, “you are right. I came to save her alone, but her friends must be my friends. Tell them to be prepared for a sudden attack from the surrounding tribes, or ere another sun has set not a paleface in the country will be left alive. I know no one I would entrust my message to, but have journeyed night and day, across streams, and through forests, and over hills to utter the warning. Swear that you will follow my advice, or I will stay and perish with you.”
Virginia, knowing that Oncagua spoke the truth, entreated Gilbert to do as he wished. He no longer hesitated; and the old chief, taking another fond look at Virginia, disappeared from the door-way.