CHAPTER XII.

News came from Ranteo, just as Iosco was starting on his return to Croatoan, that the whole tribe had risen up against him for helping his father’s murderers to escape, and they would not have him for their chief. This was the doing of the medicine-men, who had lost much of their former power since Manteo’s visit to England, for he had given up many of the old superstitions. Ranteo strongly urged Iosco to go on to Powhatan, and if he were received kindly, to stay there for a while; if his people needed him, Ranteo would let him know. He felt certain they would soon want him, for Meninosia, Manteo’s brother, who was now to be chief, was hard and cruel. So it came about that Iosco reached the camp of the great Powhatan on the Youghianund flu at Werowocomoca, in company with the miserable remnant of the English Roanoke Colony. It was at dusk when he made known who he was, and they were admitted into the camp, and told that the great Werowance would see the son of the brave warrior, Manteo, when the sun next stood over the tall pine-tree. The next day was rainy, so the medicine-men said the sun was not there, as they could not see it, and Iosco was obliged to wait till the following day, when the sun came out bright and clear, and the whole world seemed shining with unusual lustre. The fugitives would know their fate soon. At noon Iosco would be summoned to the great Werowance.

The sun had just come above the horizon as Virginia stepped out of the wigwam, the birds were singing their morning hymn, the little squirrels were scampering to and fro getting food for their young; a few of the women were beginning to work at skins, others were preparing food. They looked curiously at Virginia as she passed them, but did not speak, for she looked sad, and they were sorry for her. She must be the wife of the young chief, they thought. But where did he find a squaw with eyes like the sky, and hair like the sun? She passed under the shadow of the great pines alone. All the world seemed to be in families, or at least to belong to some one, while she was all alone. She had never known a relation but her mother. Oh, for that mother! why could she not have gone with her?

Virginia had lived long enough among the Indians to learn to restrain any display of feeling. And yet the thought of her mother in that sad, lonely hour was too much. She did not cry out, or even sob, as another English girl would have done. She only sank down at the foot of the great pine, covering her face. A little moan of “mother,” seemed to shake her whole frame. Then she lay there so motionless that the little birds flew about her and never noticed her. Hundreds of miles across the water her thoughts travelled to her father. What could he be like, and where must he be? Would he ever come for his poor child? Oh, how she longed for him, that father whom she had never seen! Must she die alone here? And if she should die, would she go to her mother? She hardly knew the great God to whom her mother had gone. Would he know her? Or was it really as Mistress Wilkins had said, that he would not listen to the prayers of his children in a heathen land? Did it not really belong to him? Then she fancied she was sitting on her mother’s lap, and listening to the wonderful story of the creation, and her mother saying, “After sin had come, God’s sorrow was so great that he promised to send a Redeemer, which would be his own dear Son, and he would come to save us all.” If he was, then, such a loving Father, he could not forget one of his children, and if he made the whole world, it must all belong to him. All these people must belong to him too, and they did not even know him. Perhaps she had been sent to teach them. Why hadn’t her mother been spared a little longer to teach her? Oh, for some one to tell her over again what she had heard from her mother when she was too young to remember or understand it!

An earnest prayer for guidance rose to her lips. There were no special words, only the cry of the child to the Father whom she felt was listening. She had clasped her hands, and was looking up so earnestly that she did not see the bushes drawn aside and a young Indian maid, a mere child of nine or ten, step out and then draw back and look at her curiously. Hearing a sound among the leaves, Virginia turned, and saw the child also looking up to see what was there to gaze at so earnestly.

She was a strangely beautiful little figure as she stood there, one foot raised as if to step forward, but resting still on the root of a great tree that rose some distance out of the ground. She wore a robe or mantle of fur, for it was only May, and the Indians are never in a hurry to change their few articles of clothing; besides, it had been the gift of her brother, whom she had loved dearly. The mantle was loosely girded, and fell low on her shoulders, over which masses of dark hair fell in dusky profusion. Her dark eyes were full of wonder at seeing Virginia, and at her strange position. Both looked at each other for a moment, wondering who the other could be. Then the Indian child sprang forward like a young deer, and threw herself on the ground by Virginia, and looked tenderly in her face, her great eyes full of pity, as she held out a garland of red flowers which she had been holding.

Virginia took it with a smile; but the child snatched it back, and bound it about Virginia’s head. Then she drew back, pointed to the wavy golden hair and blue eyes with a strange look of awe, and clasped her hands, and bowed very low. Virginia caught one of the brown hands. She said laughingly, “I am not a goddess or a spirit, I am only a girl. Who are you?”The child did not now draw her hand away. She said in a pretty way, putting her head on one side, “It is Cleopatra, the daughter of Werowance Powhatan, the sister of Nantiquas, the bravest, strongest Indian who ever shot an arrow.” As she spoke, a bird-call sounded through the forest. She answered it almost exactly. There was a crackling and breaking among the bushes, and a young warrior stood before them.

“Does not the fairest little maid go to the Great Father, when all are gathered to see the mighty wonder which is like a linnet with a finch’s bill, the captive from Croatoan, with eyes from the sky and”— But seeing Virginia, he stopped.

The sunlight peeping through the trees fell on Virginia’s hair till it shone like gold. They stood looking at each other for several moments. Then the Indian maid took Virginia’s hand and pressed it to her breast. Nantiquas at once did likewise, and then said, “The one with eyes from the sky belongs to the Spirit. Means it evil or good to the camp of the mighty Powhatan? He is a brave Werowance.” And he took his sister’s hand as she stood beside him.

“I do not belong to any spirit,” Virginia said, smiling; “I came with the white people whom Iosco, the son of Manteo, is seeking shelter for, and my forest name is Owaissa.”

“Owaissa looks more like her namesake than like the white tribe whom the great Werowance is now to hear of,” replied Nantiquas.

“Is the sun at the top of the tall pine? Oh, I must go to Iosco; where is he, can you tell me?” Virginia asked, almost passing them in her eagerness.

“Nantiquas will take the Owaissa maid to the wigwam of the Werowance Powhatan; the brave Iosco sits before the door.” As he spoke, he turned and led the way, and the maidens followed him. Virginia could not help noticing how tall and handsome he was, his long black hair pushed back from his high forehead. He wore a skin girded about his waist with a belt of wampum. Over his shoulder hung a quiver of arrows, and on his left arm he carried a bow. In his belt he wore a tomahawk, and across his forehead was bound the skin of a green serpent, its bright eyes gleaming over his left temple. From his right ear to his waist was fastened a long string of pearls.

A strange sight was the wigwam or bower in which Powhatan held his court. He sat on a couch, which looked not unlike one of our modern bedsteads. It was made of fine wood, rudely carved with strange devices. He wore a robe of raccoon-skin, with a belt of the rarest wampum. His powerful arms were decorated with metal bracelets. The ground around him was strewn with dried sweet grasses and crushed pine-needles that made the air fragrant. At his head and feet sat two beautiful maidens. A hundred bowmen formed, as it were, the wall or outside of the court-chamber. In front of them were a hundred women with bare necks and arms, which were dyed with paccoon and decorated with white coral. Beside the great Werowance sat a beautiful girl about twelve or fourteen. (She looked like Cleopatra, and was, in fact, her sister Pocahontas, known to her people as Mataoka.) She gazed wonderingly at Virginia as Nantiquas and Cleopatra led her in, and she took her place among the wives and daughters that sat at the head of Powhatan’s couch, on the right side of which, on mats, were seated the priests, or medicine-men, singing a queer dirge, keeping time to the melody with their grotesquely painted bodies. The curious song continued while Iosco entered. He was in the dress of a prince, wearing a white skin girded with his father’s rare and beautiful wampum belt, in which was supposed to rest a great charm. On his feet he wore moccasins made of skins and beautifully wrought with queer patterns. Across his forehead were bound some rare and beautiful feathers, which rose high above his tall figure and nodded gracefully as he moved. He was attended only by one of his braves and three of the whites, who were dressed as Indians, and carried the presents he had brought from Croatoan, which they had now laid before him. An odd medley enough they were—a coil of deer sinews, a small belt of wampum, a string of noughmass, and last, but not least in the eyes of the chief, an old rusty English sword.

The chief did not deign to notice the things till the sword was put down, then he extended his great hand, and picked it up with a gleam of delight in his small, dark eyes as he held it. He took from his mouth his long pipe, passed it to Iosco, who smoked for some moments in silence. Then Powhatan nodded to Iosco, who returned the pipe and began his tale, not as if he were making a petition, but as if he were chanting or reciting a story. He told first of Manteo’s going to England, then of the white men coming to Croatoan; of the years that had passed since, when they had lived in peace together; then of his father’s death, and the anger of his people, and his wish to remain or leave the two dozen pale-faces that were yet alive at Werowocomoca. He spoke of their skill in many things not known to the Indian people.

He told it in a sing-song drawl, as if he did not care in the least. But when the medicine-men began to mutter, “They are ghosts; have none of them; they kill,” Powhatan looked at the three white attendants, who certainly were weird looking, with their yellow, grisly faces, their colorless eyes, and white skins, and shook his head unfavorably.

Iosco looked anxiously over at Virginia. It was evident she was his chief anxiety; but she, mistaking his look, thought he wanted her, and sprang to him, saying, “Must we go, and where?”

Powhatan half raised himself to look at her, as she clung to the tall figure, fixing upon him her great blue eyes, her wavy golden hair falling loosely about her. Even the medicine-men stopped their muttering, and the beautiful princess Mataoka bent over her father and whispered something in his ear. He could not but admire her beauty, old savage as he was, and he nodded to his daughter, who led Virginia away to her own wigwam. Then he ordered food to be brought to Iosco, which was his way of showing his welcome. And Iosco knew that he and his party were safe for the present.