Hansford: A Tale of Bacon's Rebellion Part 35

"By your hand he can be avenged," said Bernard, seeing her pause. "It has not yet been done. That stupid knave, in a moment of vanity, claimed for himself the praise of having murdered a chieftain, but the brave Manteo fell by more n.o.ble hands than his."

"In G.o.d's name, who do you mean?" asked Mamalis.

"I can only tell you that it is now in your power to surrender his murderer to justice, and to his deserved fate."

Mamalis was silent. She guessed that it was Hansford to whom Bernard had thus vaguely alluded. The struggle seemed to be a desperate one. There in the clear starlight, with none to help, save Him, in whom she had learned to trust, she wrestled with the tempter. But that dark scene of her life, which still threw its shadow on her redeemed heart, again rose up before her memory. The lesson was a blessed one. How often thus does the recollection of a former sin guard the soul from error in the future. Surely, in this, too, G.o.d has made the wrath of man to praise him. With the aid thus given from on high, the trusting soul of Mamalis triumphed over temptation.

"I know not why you tempt me thus, Mr. Bernard," she said, more calmly, "nor why you have brought me here to-night. But this I know, that I have learned that vengeance belongs to G.o.d. It were a crime for mortal man, frail at best, to usurp the right of G.o.d. My brother is already fearfully avenged."

Twice beaten in his attempt to besiege the strong heart of the poor Indian, by stratagem, the wily Bernard determined to pursue a more determined course, and to take the resisting citadel by a coup d'etat.

He argued, and argued rightly, that a sudden charge would surprise her into betraying a knowledge of Hansford's movements. No sooner, therefore, had the last words fallen from her lips, than he seized her roughly by the arm, and exclaimed,

"So you, then, with all your religious cant, are the murderess of Thomas Hansford!"

"The murderess! Of Hansford! Is he then dead," cried the girl, bewildered by the sudden charge, "How did they find him?"

"Find him!" cried Bernard, triumphantly, "It is easy finding what we hide ourselves. We have proven that you alone are aware of his hiding place, and you alone, therefore, are responsible for his safety. It was for this confession that I brought you here to-night."

"So help me Heaven," said the trembling girl, terrified by the web thus woven around her, "If he be dead, I am innocent of his death."

"The a.s.sa.s.sin of Berkenhead may well be the murderess of Hansford," said Bernard. "It is easier to deny than to prove. Come, my mistress, tell me when you saw him."

"Oh, but this morning, safe and well," said Mamalis. "Indeed, my hand is guiltless of his blood."

"Prove it, then, if you can," returned Bernard. "You must know our English law presumes him guilty, who is last with the murdered person, unless he can prove his innocence. Show me Hansford alive, and you are safe. If I do not see him by sunrise, you go with me to answer for his death, and to learn that your accursed race is not the only people who demand blood for blood."

Overawed by his threats, and his stern manner, so different from the mild and respectful tone in which he had hitherto addressed her, Mamalis sank upon the ground in an agony of alarm. Bernard disregarded her meek and silent appeal for mercy, and sternly menaced her when she attempted to scream for a.s.sistance.

"Hush your savage shrieking, you b.i.t.c.h, or you'll wake the house; and then, by G.o.d, I'll choke you before your time. I tell you, if the man is alive, you need fear no danger; and if he be dead, you have only saved the sheriff a piece of dirty work, or may be have given him another victim."

"For G.o.d's sake, do me no harm," cried Mamalis, imploringly. "I am innocent-indeed I am. Think you that I would hurt a hair of the head of that man whom Virginia Temple loves?"

This last remark was by no means calculated to make her peace with Bernard; but his only reply was by the shrill whistle which had been agreed upon as a signal between Holliday and himself. True to his promise, and obedient to the command of his superior, the soldier made his appearance on the scene of action with a prompt.i.tude that could only be explained by the fact that he had concealed himself behind a corner of the house, and had heard every word of the conversation. Too much excited to be suspicious, Bernard did not remark on his punctuality, but said, in a low voice:

"Go wake Thompson, saddle the horses, and let's be off. We have work before us. Go!" And Holliday, with habitual obedience, retired to execute the order.

"And now," said Bernard, in an encouraging tone, to Mamalis, "you must go with me. But you have nothing to fear, if Hansford be alive. If, however, my suspicions be true, and he has been murdered by your hand, I will still be your friend, if you be but faithful."

The horses were quickly brought, and Bernard, half leading, half carrying the poor, weeping, trembling maiden, mounted his own powerful charger, and placed her behind him. The order of march was soon given, and the heavy sound of the horses' feet was heard upon the hard, crisp, frozen ground. Mamalis, seeing her fate inevitable, whatever it might be, awaited it patiently and without a murmur. Never suspecting the true motive of Bernard, and fully believing that he was _bona fide_ engaged in searching for the perpetrators of some foul deed, she readily consented, for her own defence, to conduct the party to the hiding place of the hapless Hansford. Surprised and shocked beyond measure at the intelligence of his fate, she almost forgot her own situation in her concern for him, and was happy in aiding to bring to justice those who, as she feared, had murdered him. She was surprised, indeed, that she had heard nothing of the circ.u.mstance from Virginia, as she would surely have done, had Bernard mentioned it to the family. But in her ignorance of the rules of civilized life, she attributed this to the forms of procedure, to the necessity for secrecy-to anything rather than the true cause. Nor could she help hoping that there might be still some mistake, and that Hansford would be found alive and well, thus establishing her own innocence, and ending the pursuit.

Arrived nearly at the wigwam, she mentioned the fact to Bernard, who in a low voice commanded a halt, and dismounting with his men, he directed Mamalis to guide them the remaining distance on foot. Leaving Thompson in charge of the horses, until he might be called to their a.s.sistance, Bernard and Holliday silently followed the unsuspecting Indian girl along the narrow path. A short distance ahead, they could discern the faint smoke, as it curled through the opening at the top of the wigwam and floated towards the sky. This indication rendered it probable that the object of their search was still watching, and thus warned them to greater caution in their approach. Bernard's heart beat thick and loud, and his cheek blanched with excitement, as he thus drew near the lurking place of his enemy. He shook Holliday by the arm with impatient anger, as the heavy-footed soldier jarred the silence by the crackling of fallen leaves and branches. And now they are almost there, and Mamalis, whose excitement was also intense, still in advance, saw through a crevice in the door the kneeling form of the n.o.ble insurgent, as he bowed himself by that lonely fire, and committed his weary soul to G.o.d.

"He is here! he lives!" she shouted. "I knew that he was safe!" and the startled forest rang with the echoes of her voice.

"The murder is out," cried Bernard, as followed by Holliday, he rushed forward to the door, which had been thrown open by their guide; but ere he gained his entrance, the sharp report of a pistol was heard, and the beautiful, the trusting Mamalis fell prostrate on the floor, a bleeding martyr to her constancy and faith. Hansford, roused by the sudden sound of her voice, had seized the pistol which, sleeping and waking, was by his side, and hearing the voice of Bernard, he had fired. Had the ball taken effect upon either of the men, he might yet have been saved, for in an encounter with a single man he would have proved a formidable adversary. But inscrutable are His ways, whose thoughts are not as our thoughts, and all that the puzzled soul can do, is humbly to rely on the hope that

"G.o.d is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain."

And she, the last of her dispersed and ruined lineage, is gone. In the lone forest, where the wintry blast swept un.o.bstructed, the giant trees moaned sadly and fitfully over their bleeding child; and the bright stars, that saw the heavy deed, wept from their place in heaven, and bathed her lovely form in night's pure dews. She did not long remain unburied in that forest, for when Virginia heard the story of her faith and loyalty from the rude lips of Holliday, the pure form of the Indian girl, still fresh and free from the polluting touch of the destroyer, was borne to her own home, and followed with due rites and fervent grief to the quiet tomb. In after days, when her sad heart loved to dwell upon these early scenes, Virginia placed above the sacred ashes of her friend a simple marble tablet, long since itself a ruin; and there, engraven with the record of her faith, her loyalty and her love, was the sweet a.s.surance, that in her almost latest words, the trusting Indian girl had indeed become one of "the children of her Father which is in Heaven."

CHAPTER XLIII.

"Let some of the guard be ready there.

For me?

Must I go like a traitor thither?"

_Henry VIII._

The reader need not be told that Hansford, surprised and unarmed, for his remaining pistol was not at hand, and his sword had been laid aside for the night, was no match for the two powerful men who now rushed upon him. To pinion his arms closely behind him, was the work of a moment, and further resistance was impossible. Seeing that all hope of successful defence was gone, Hansford maintained in his bearing the resolute fort.i.tude and firmness which can support a brave man in misfortune, when active courage is no longer of avail.

"I suppose, I need not ask Mr. Bernard," he said, "by what authority he acts-and yet I would be glad to learn for what offence I am arrested."

"The memory of your former acts should teach you," returned Bernard, coa.r.s.ely, "that your offence is reckoned among the best commentators of the law as high treason."

"A grievous crime, truly," replied Hansford, "but one of which I am happily innocent, unless, indeed, a skirmish with the hostile Indians should be reckoned as such, or Sir William Berkeley should be presumptuous enough to claim to be a king; in which latter case, he himself would be the traitor."

"He is at least the deputy of the king," said Bernard, haughtily, "and in his person the majesty of the king has been a.s.sailed."

"Unfortunately, for your reasoning," replied Hansford, "the term for which Berkeley was appointed governor has expired some years since."

"That miserable subterfuge will scarcely avail, since you tacitly acknowledged his authority by acting under his commission. But I have no time to be discussing with you on the nature of your offence, of which, at least, I am not the judge. I will only add, that conscious innocence is not found skulking in dark forests, and obscure hiding places. Call Thompson, with the horses, Holliday. It is time we were off."

"One word, before we leave," said Hansford, sadly. "My pistol ball took effect, I know; who is its victim?"

"A poor Indian girl, who conducted us to your fastness," said Bernard.

"I had forgotten her myself, till now. Look, Holliday, does she still live?"

"Dead as a herring, your honour," said the man, as he bent over the body, with deep feeling, for, though accustomed to the flow of blood, he had taken a lively interest in the poor girl, from what he had seen and overheard. "And by G.o.d, Cap'n, begging your honour's pardon, a brave girl she was, too, although she was an Injin."

"Poor Mamalis," said Hansford, tenderly, "you have met with an early and a sad fate. I little thought that she would betray me."

"Nay, wrong not the dead," interposed Bernard, "I a.s.sure you, she knew nothing of the object of our coming. But all's fair in war, Major, and a little intrigue was necessary to track you to this obscure hold."

"Well, farewell, poor luckless maiden! And so I've killed my friend,"

said Hansford, sorrowfully. "Alas! Mr. Bernard, my arm has been felt in battle, and has sent death to many a foe. But, G.o.d forgive me! this is the first blood I have ever spilt, except in battle, and this, too, flows from a woman."

"Think not of it thus," said Bernard, whose hard nature could not but be touched by this display of unselfish grief on the part of his prisoner.

"It was but an accident, and should not rest heavily on your soul. Stay, Holliday, I would not have the poor girl rot here, either. Suppose you take the body to Windsor Hall, where it will be treated with due respect. Thompson and myself can, meantime, attend the prisoner."

"Look ye, Cap'n," said Holliday, with the superst.i.tion peculiar to vulgar minds; "'taint that I'm afeard exactly neither, but its a mighty dissolute feeling being alone in a dark night with a corp. I'd rather kill fifty men, than to stay by myself five minutes, with the smallest of the fifty after he was killed."

"Well, then, you foolish fellow, go to the hall to-night and inform them of her death, and excuse me to Colonel Temple for my abrupt departure, and meet me with the rest of the men at Tindal's Point as soon as possible. I will bide there for you. But first help me to take the poor girl's body into the wigwam. I suppose she will rest quietly enough here till morning. Major Hansford," he added, courteously, "our horses are ready I perceive. You can take Holliday's there. He can provide himself with another at the hall. Shall we ride, sir?"

With a sad heart the captive-bound Hansford mounted with difficulty the horse prepared for him, which was led by Thompson, while Bernard rode by his side, and with more of courtesy than could be expected from him, endeavoured to beguile the way with conversation with his prisoner.

Meanwhile Holliday, whistling for company, and ever and anon looking behind him warily, to see whether the disembodied Mamalis was following him, bent his steps towards the hall, to communicate to the unsuspecting Virginia the heavy tidings of her lover's capture. The rough soldier, although his nature had been blunted by long service and familiarity with scenes of distress, was not without some feelings, and showed even in his rude, uncultivated manners, the sympathy and tenderness which was wanting in the more polished but harder heart of Alfred Bernard.