CHAPTER V.

Howe had hardly finished speaking when the light of another torch flashed through the doorway, and with it appeared Barnes’s ugly face, with his red hair standing straight up, literally on end, as it always was, giving him the appearance of being in a chronic state of fright; but unless his own hideous nature frightened him, which I am afraid he had not grace enough to see as it really was, his appearance must have been merely a reflection of the contorted, misshapen soul within.

Eleanor Dare was one of a fine old English family who nearly all had served their country with their swords, on land or sea. She had all the elements of a soldier; was a brave, noble woman. Her figure, which was slight and graceful, to Barnes looked strangely tall and commanding as she rose and came to meet him, still holding her baby.

“What do you want? and who are you that you make yourself a ruler?”

Though Barnes boasted of fearing neither God nor man, there was something very cowardly in his nature: it made him shrink back now before the eyes of this brave woman, who dared to stand alone and accuse him of what he had done.

“You have not heard the truth, madam,” he said, almost civilly: “some one has been telling you lies; it is the men who have said what we shall do.”

In a gentler tone she said, “If that is really the case, I will apologize. Without doubt you have sent some little gift to Manteo as a token of our gratitude?”

“Sent! why we hoped to find the messenger here. We were just about to prepare a gift for the chief. The men think it better not to go to Croatoan; we are going to make all quite safe here. But,” he added, “the Indian is not here, is he?”

“Here? oh, no. Mistress Wilkins is sleeping in the back, and Howe was talking to me here. Was it Ranteo who brought the message?”

And Barnes, seeing her great blue eyes, and knowing little of a woman’s power to act a part perfectly when something great is involved, never guessed she was deceiving him, as he replied, “Yes, it was Ranteo, I think.”

“Did you tell him to wait, that you wanted to send a present to Manteo?” she asked.

“No; I didn’t think of it,” Barnes muttered as he turned away. When he had reached his men, who stood a little way off, he continued, “I am afraid if I had told him what the present was to be, he wouldn’t have been any more anxious to wait. But I’ll tell you what it is, fellows, they haven’t seen him, they don’t know anything about him. Folks can’t fool me. The red scoundrel must have heard something we said, and skipped; like enough he’ll bring his whole tribe back here to scalp us all by morning.”

It was well for the little stars that their cloud nurses carried them off to bed early; for I am sure they would have felt very sad had they watched the changes fast appearing in the quiet little village of Roanoke, through the long hours of that September night. The night heron saw it all, and sent forth its mournful wail of sorrow. But at last there was a lurid line of red along the eastern horizon, the dark sky was shot with streaks of crimson, and the day broke softly. The sun peeped down on the English colony, and found it wholly different from the place she had left twelve hours before. The row of log huts stood empty and deserted, many of them had lost their roofs or sides, wherever there were strong logs they had been removed; there were no signs of waking life about the place; everything was desolate. A few things were strewn around, showing the haste of the departure. At the lower end of the island some trees were hewn down, and just beyond rose a palisade made of large timbers; behind it, all the settlers were gathered in a confused crowd. The children were crying or fretful; the women worn out and weary; most of the men thoroughly out of temper, many of them swearing against Manteo for having, as they said, disturbed their peaceful lives, or against Queen Elizabeth for having sent them away to die alone, like the children of Israel in the wilderness.

The day wore on as it had first dawned, clear and bright, but with a decided chill in the air, which by night threatened almost a frost. The women and children who were exposed felt it keenly; and the little ones joined Elizabeth Harvey’s sad wail, all but Virginia, who lay peacefully looking up at the blue sky and the fleecy clouds; her great blue eyes seemed to understand what all the confusion meant, and she uttered not a murmur.

When darkness crept over the land once more, bringing with it a penetrating coldness, the men threw themselves on the ground with whatever covering they could find, and went to sleep. Many of the children cried themselves to sleep, and most of the tired women soon followed them. Only in one corner a little group was still awake; on the ground where the bushes formed a rude shelter lay Mrs. Harvey. She had been about very little since the baby came. The exertion and excitement of the move had proved too much for her. Mistress Wilkins was caring for her as best she could, without the aid of medicine, or even comforts, while Mrs. Dare tried to soothe poor little Elizabeth. Harvey sat by, looking sadly at his wife, and with each weary breath she drew his heart grew more heavy, and a greater sense of desolation crept over him. The watchers watched on in silence; all was still save the cry of the heron or the screech of the owl in the forest, when a low whistle sounded from the northern end of the palisade, followed by a flash of light from a torch which was held one moment high in the air. This was to be Howe’s signal of danger, for he was stationed that night. Harvey sprang to his feet and began waking the sleeping men. Barnes had only half opened his eyes, when a hideous war-cry sounded through the forest. In an instant every man was on his feet, with his hand on his rifle, ready for the fight. Then came the arrows thick and fast; from the inside of the palisade the guns boomed, or a sword clashed against the Indian who tried to mount the palisade. The redman’s war-whoop sounded on every side, now and then a flash of lightning, for a storm was gathering, showed the hideous paint on their copper-colored faces. The noise woke the birds from their sleep, and drawing their little heads from under their wings they sent forth doleful cries to add to the horror of the scene. Even the leaves seemed to sigh with grief at the awful sight.

Patience had crouched close to Mrs. Dare, and was helping her to soothe the babies, when she asked, “If the Indians get us all, what will they do with us?”

Mrs. Dare held her baby more tightly as she replied, “Patience, even if they are savages, they are under the power of our God whom they do not know, and he can take care of us if the Indians do break through the palisade; they can do nothing without his knowing it. You and I cannot fight, dear, but we can pray.”

Patience sat a few moments silent before she spoke again. “Do you know,” she said, “I don’t feel afraid, that is, very much afraid, for the stars have just come through the clouds; though there are only two or three, they are watching us, and they are so sorry; they are blinking very hard to keep their tears back. See how they blink and twinkle. I know they are angels’ eyes.”

A sudden wild yell in the forest sent terror to every heart. The men had all they could do to keep back Wanchese and his braves. Several of the settlers had been already wounded, and one killed. They could not hold out much longer against their present enemy, and if help had come to Wanchese they were surely lost. Only one moment did this thought depress them, for the instant the savages heard the cry, they sent up one fierce and wild answer, and turned to meet the new foe, now rushing upon them, headed by Manteo.

Then the Englishmen fired a fresh volley, helping Manteo to drive Wanchese rapidly back to the shore. The fight was over for the time, just as morning dawned. Ranteo, with three other Indians, all in paint and war toggery, were standing without the palisade. Howe went to see what they wanted. All expected only a command to surrender, and become Manteo’s prisoners. But no, Ranteo only handed Howe a soft, well-cured deerskin, saying, “Manteo sends Ranteo to take the skin to the Blue-eyes, and will the Blue-eyes and the beautiful lady go with Ranteo to Manteo’s wigwam?”

He would not come inside the palisade, and Howe was not very anxious to have him, as he felt he could not trust Barnes. But he took the skin and message to Mrs. Dare.

As she listened, her eyes filled with tears, and she said, “How noble and good of Manteo! But I will not leave the others. Can we not all go now? Surely this dreadful night is enough.”

Howe shook his head. “Those Indian bodies outside craze the men. Nothing will satisfy them now. Many of them would go through anything in the world to shoot an Indian again. But go with your baby; you will be safer there than here,” he said.

“No,” she replied firmly; “I will stay with my people to the last. Thank him for me, Howe, and tell him what I say.”Howe gave the message, and Ranteo went away disappointed.

Hopeful Kent took very good care to keep in as safe a place as possible during the fight, yet he had an arrow wound in his left arm. Mrs. Dare had bathed it, and was binding it up for him, when Patience ran up and said, “Mistress Wilkins wanted her in a hurry, please.” She went quickly to the elder-bush which sheltered the place where Mrs. Harvey lay. She had roused enough to take her poor baby. Mistress Wilkins was bending over her; just as Eleanor Dare came up, she opened her eyes and looked around as if to find some one. Then her lips moved, and they could just hear her say, “Martin!” He heard her, and was by her side in a second. But the lips had closed forever.

The baby stirred and began its mournful wail, as Eleanor lifted it gently out of the mother’s arms, where it would never lie again. The morning sun sent down a long golden ray, which forced its way through the trees, and lighted the pale face that was at rest forever. The whole forest, birds and animals, seemed to wake to life together, and began their hymn of praise and thanksgiving just as Mistress Wilkins crossed the hands on the still breast, saying, “Grant her eternal rest, O Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon her!”

Mrs. Harvey’s death was one more horror added to that awful night. All seemed too much stunned by what they had been through, to be shocked, or even much surprised, at anything. Howe helped poor Martin Harvey to make a rude coffin, in which they laid the body of Elizabeth’s mother. Patience gathered vines and flowers, and laid them about the peaceful face. At sunset the deposed Governor Gage read the service, and they carried the coffin away. The twins, poor little things, cried bitterly, as did the little rosy boy, and the big girl, who tried hard to take her mother’s place to the other three. And the poor baby, Elizabeth, wailed more sadly than ever.

Another night crept on, and the summer seemed to have come back for a little while. Though it was warm, not one star came out, and Patience was afraid. Once more the dreadful yell, once more the forest was alive with Wanchese’s men. Fierce and wild was the fight between the red and the white men. Here and there the palisade began to yield; a blazing arrow had set more than one place on fire. Cries and yells again made the night hideous. The owls and herons once more joined in with their weird, screeching cry.

Mrs. Dare sat holding the two babies, the women and children were huddled about her, when Howe called her away out of their hearing.

“An hour more and the palisade must fall, you must not be here then. You had better go to Manteo quickly.”

“How can we?” she asked simply.

“I have a plan,” he said. “It is dangerous, but it is more dangerous for you to stay here; every moment makes the place less safe.”