CHAPTER XV THE SEARCH FOR THE LOST COLONY
All day long, at the head of my little band of fifteen men, I had pushed through the deep virgin forests. Rough, steady men they were, well armed, with their musketoons upon their shoulders and their flint and steel in their doublets, ready at a moment's notice to fire upon the Indians. For the natives around the coast had proved sullen and hostile, and not only had refused to give us any information of the lost colony, but had fired a shower of arrows at their questioners.
Some of our men had been left on the island as a garrison, and White, with a strong party under the guidance of a friendly Indian, had started in one direction, and I, with my little band under the guidance of Manteo, had plunged into the forest in another. The two other vessels would cast anchor in a few hours, and as soon as they did so, several more parties would be organized, and the whole country near the coast would be given, as far as possible, a thorough search.
So now, with the Indian by my side, I strode steadily on; behind us, on a pole, two of my men carried a buck that Manteo had brought down with his bow only a little while before, and upon which we were to sup. The last rays of the setting sun were falling through the trees, and in a few minutes they would disappear, leaving us in darkness among the silent forest, with its gloomy trees and painted men. There was something oppressive in the thought; the men behind me had ceased their chatter and jest, and like shadows softly strode after us.
We finally reached a little grassy hillock, and here the Indian paused. With a wave of his hand he said:
"Will the Eagle rest here to-night?"
"Yes, my brother," I answered. "It is a fair spot, and here we will stop until the morrow," and turning to the waiting men, I bade them throw aside their baggage and rest.
Posting two sentries, I cast myself beside the Indian upon the grass. It had been long since I had taken such a jaunt as this, and my limbs ached from the unaccustomed exertion. The scent of the roasting venison floated up to my nostrils from where the men had lighted a little fire, which, by the direction of the Indian, they had kindled in a low depression, so that it could not be seen by any prowling wanderer. The firelight played upon the rough, bronzed faces of the men, and flashed from their swords and breastplates, flickering upon the fierce features of Manteo as he lay in his paint and feathers by my side, and upon my face as I watched the men.
Suddenly the Indian raised his hand and pointed to the west.
"Look, my brother," he said.