Hansford: A Tale of Bacon's Rebellion Part 6

"Mr. Hansford," said Virginia, "give me a gun-there is one left-and you shall see that a young girl, in an hour of peril like this, knows how to aid brave men in her own defence."

Hansford bent an admiring glance upon the heroic girl, as he placed the weapon in her hands, while her father said, with rapture, "G.o.d bless you, my daughter. If your arm were strong as your heart is brave, you had been a hero. I retract what I said on yesterday," he added in a whisper, with a sad smile, "for you have this day proved yourself worthy to be a brave man's wife."

The suggestion of Hansford was readily agreed upon, and the little party were soon at their posts, shielded by the windows from the attack of the Indians, and yet in a position from which they could annoy the enemy considerably by their own fire. From his shelter there, Bernard, to whom the sight was entirely new, could see rushing towards the hall, a party of about twenty savages, painted in the horrible manner which they adopt to inspire terror in a foe, and attired in that strange wild costume, which is now familiar to every school-boy. Their leader, a tall, athletic young Indian, surpa.s.sed them all in the hideousness of his appearance. His closely shaven hair was adorned with a tall eagle's feather, and pendant from his ears were the rattles of the rattlesnake.

The only garment which concealed his nakedness was a short smock, or ap.r.o.n, reaching from his waist nearly to his knees, and made of dressed deer skin, adorned with beads and sh.e.l.ls. Around his neck and wrists were strings of peake and roanoke. His face was painted in the most horrible manner, with a ground of deep red, formed from the dye of the pocone root, and variegated with streaks of blue, yellow and green.

Around his eyes were large circles of green paint. But to make his appearance still more hideous, feathers and hair were stuck all over his body, upon the fresh paint, which made the warrior look far more like some wild beast of the forest than a human being.

Brandishing a tomahawk in one hand, and holding a carbine in the other, Manteo, thus disguised, led on his braves with loud yells towards the mansion of Colonel Temple. How different from the respectful demeanour, and more modest attire, in which he was accustomed to appear before the family of Windsor Hall.

To the great comfort of the inmates, his carbine was the only one in the party, thanks to the wise precaution of the a.s.sembly, in restricting the sale of such deadly weapons to the Indians. His followers, arrayed in like horrible costume with himself, followed on with their tomahawks and bows; their arrows were secured in a quiver slung over the shoulder, which was formed of the skins of foxes and racc.o.o.ns, rendered more terrible by the head of the animal being left unsevered from the skin.

To the loud shrieks and yells of their voices, was added the unearthly sound of their drums and rattles-the whole together forming a discordant medley, which, as brave old John Smith has well and quaintly observed, "would rather affright than delight any man."

All this the besieged inmates of the hall saw with mingled feelings of astonishment and dread, awaiting with intense anxiety the result.

"Now be perfectly quiet," said Hansford, in a low tone, for, by tacit consent, he was looked upon as the leader of the defence. "The house being closed, they may conclude that the family are absent, and so, after their first burst of vengeance, retire. Their bark is always worse than their bite."

Such indeed seemed likely to be the case, for the Indians, arrived at the porch, looked around with some surprise at the barred doors and windows, and began to confer together. Whatever might have been the event of their conference, their actions, however, were materially affected by an incident which, though intended for the best, was well nigh resulting in destruction to the whole family.

FOOTNOTES:

[7] This fact, which I find mentioned by several historians, is explained by Kercheval, in his history of the Valley of Virginia, by the supposition that the Indians for a long time entertained the hope of reconquering the country, and saved property from destruction which might be of use to them in the future. See page 90 of Valley of Va.

CHAPTER IX.

"Like gun when aimed at duck or plover, Kicks back and knocks the shooter over."

There was at Windsor Hall, an old family servant, known alike to the negroes and the "white folks," by the familiar appellation of Uncle Giles. He was one of those old-fashioned negroes, who having borne the heat and burden of the day, are turned out to live in comparative freedom, and supplied with everything that can make their declining years comfortable and happy. Uncle Giles, according to his own account, was sixty-four last Whitsuntide, and was consequently born in Africa. It is a singular fact connected with this race, that whenever consulted about their age, they invariably date the anniversary of their birth at Christmas, Easter or Whitsuntide, the triennial holydays to which they are ent.i.tled. Whether this arises from the fact that a life which is devoted to the service of others should commence with a holyday, or whether these three are the only epochs known to the negro, is a question of some interest, but of little importance to our narrative. So it was, that old uncle Giles, in his own expressive phrase was, "after wiking all his born days, done turn out to graze hisself to def." The only business of the old man was to keep himself comfortable in winter by the kitchen fire, and in summer to smoke his old corn-cob pipe on the three legged bench that stood at the kitchen door. Added to this, was the self-a.s.sumed duty of "strapping" the young darkies, and lecturing the old ones on the importance of working hard, and obeying "old ma.s.sa,"

cheerfully in everything. And so old uncle Giles, with white and black, with old and young, but especially with old uncle Giles himself, was a great character. Among other things that increased his inordinate self-esteem, was the possession of a rusty old blunderbuss, which, long since discarded as useless by his master, had fallen into his hands, and was regarded by him and his sable admirers as a pearl of great price.

Now it so happened, that on the morning to which our story refers, uncle Giles was quietly smoking his pipe, and muttering solemnly to himself in that grumbling tone so peculiar to old negroes. When he learned, however, of the intended attack of the Indians, the old man, who well remembered the earlier skirmishes with the savages, took his old blunderbuss from its resting-place above the door of the kitchen, and prepared himself for action. The old gun, which owing to the growing infirmities of its possessor, had not been called into use for years, was now rusted from disuse and neglect; and a bold spider had even dared to seek, not the bubble reputation, but his more substantial gossamer palace, at the very mouth of the barrel. Notwithstanding all this, the gun had all the time remained loaded, for Giles was too rigid an economist to waste a charge without some good reason. Armed with this formidable weapon, Giles succeeded in climbing up the side of the low cabin kitchen, by the logs which protruded from either end of the wall.

Arrived at the top and screening himself behind the rude log and mud chimney, he awaited with a patience and immobility which Wellington might have envied, the arrival of the foe. Here then he was quietly seated when the conference to which we have alluded took place between the Indian warriors.

"Bird flown," said Manteo, the leader of the party. "Nest empty."

Two or three of the braves stooped down and began to examine the soft sandy soil to discover if there were any tracks or signs of the family having left. Fortunately the search seemed satisfactory, for the foot-prints of Bernard's and Hansford's horses, as they were led from the house towards the stable on the previous evening, were still quite visible.

This little circ.u.mstance seemed to determine the party, and they had turned away, probably to seek their vengeance elsewhere, or to return at a more propitious moment, when the discharge of a gun was heard, so loud, so crashing, and so alarming, that it seemed like the sudden rattling of thunder in a storm.

Luckily, perhaps for all parties, while the shot fell through the poplar trees like the first big drops of rain in summer, the only damage which was done was in clipping off the feather which was worn by Manteo as a badge of his position. When we say this, however, we mean to refer only to the effect of the _charge_, not of the _discharge_ of the gun, for the breech rebounding violently against old Giles shoulder, the poor fellow lost his balance and came tumbling to the ground. The cabin was fortunately not more than ten feet high, and our African hero escaped into the kitchen with a few bruises-a happy compromise for the fate which would have inevitably been his had he remained in his former position. The smoke of his fusil mingling with the smoke from the chimney, averted suspicion, and with the simple-minded creatures who heard the report and witnessed its effects the whole matter remained a mystery.

"Tunder," said one, looking round in vain for the source from which an attack could be made.

"Call dat tunder," growled Manteo, pointing significantly to his moulted plume that lay on the ground.

"Okees[8] mad. Shoot Pawcussacks[9] from osies,"[10] said one of the older and more experienced of the party, endeavouring to give some rational explanation of so inexplicable a mystery.

A violent dispute here arose between the different warriors as to the cause of this sudden anger of the G.o.ds; some contending that it was because they were attacking a Netoppew or friend, and others with equal zeal contending that it was to reprove the slowness of their vengeance.

From their position above, all these proceedings could be seen, and these contentions heard by the besieged party. The mixed language in which the men spoke, for they had even thus early appropriated many English words to supply the deficiencies in their own barren tongue, was explained by Mamalis, where it was unintelligible to the whites. This young girl felt a divided interest in the fate of the besieging and besieged parties; for all of her devotion to Virginia Temple could not make her entirely forget the fortunes of her brave brother.

In a few moments, she saw that it was necessary to take some decisive step, for the faction which was of harsher mood, and urged immediate vengeance, was seen to prevail in the conference. The fatal word "fire"

was several times heard, and Manteo was already starting towards the kitchen to procure the means of carrying into effect their deadly purpose.

"I see nothing left, but to defend ourselves as we may," said Hansford in a low voice, at the same time raising his musket, and advancing a step towards the window, with a view of throwing it open and commencing the attack.

"Oh, don't shoot," said Mamalis, imploringly, "I will go and save all."

"Do you think, my poor girl, that they will hearken to mercy at your intercession," said Colonel Temple, shaking his head, sorrowfully.

"No!" replied Mamalis, "the heart of a brave knows not mercy. If he gave his ear to the cry of mercy, he would be a squaw and not a brave. But fear not, I can yet save you," she added confidently, "only do not be seen."

The men looked from one to the other to decide.

"Trust her, father," said Virginia, "if you are discovered blood must be shed. She says she can save us all. Trust her, Hansford. Trust her, Mr.

Bernard."

"We could lose little by being betrayed at this stage of the game," said Temple, "so go, my good girl, and Heaven will bless you!"

Quick as thought the young Indian left the room, and descended the stairs. Drawing the bolt of the back door so softly, that she scarcely heard it move, herself, she went to the kitchen, where old Giles, a prey to a thousand fears, was seated trembling over the fire, his face of that peculiar ashy hue, which the negro complexion sometimes a.s.sumes as an humble apology for pallor. As she touched the old man on the shoulder, he groaned in despair and looked up, showing scarcely anything but the whites of his eyes, while his woolly head, thinned and white with age, resembled ashes sprinkled over a bed of extinguished charcoal.

Seeing the face of an Indian, and too terrified to recognize Mamalis, he fell on his knees at her feet, and cried,

"Oh, for de Lord sake, ma.s.sa, pity de poor old n.i.g.g.e.r! My lod a messy, ma.s.sa, I neber shoot anudder gun in all my born days."

"Hush," said Mamalis, "and listen to me. I tell lie, you say it is truth; I say whites in Jamestown; you say so too-went yesterday."

"But bress your soul, missis," said Giles, "sposen dey ax me ef I shot dat cussed gun, me say dat truf too?"

"No, say it was thunder."

At this moment the tall dark form of Manteo entered the room. He started with surprise, as he saw his sister there, and in such company. His dark eye darted a fierce glance at Giles, who quailed beneath its glare.

Then turning again to his sister, he said in the Indian tongue, which we freely translate:

"Mamalis with the white man! where is he that I may drown my vengeance in his blood."

"He is gone; he is not within the power of Manteo. Manitou[11] has saved Manteo from the crime of killing his best friend."

"His people have killed my people for the offence of the few, I will kill him for the cruelty of many. For this is the calumet[12] broken.

For this is the tree of peace[13] cut down by the tomahawk of war."

"Say not so," replied Mamalis. "Temple is the netoppew[14] of Manteo. He is even now gone to the grand sachem of the long knives, to make Manteo the Werowance[15] of the Pamunkeys."

"Ha! is this true?" asked Manteo, anxiously.