From Kingdom to Colony
"I cannot but think," she said, "on Sir Walter's face, as we saw it
fade away while we stood on the ship's deck that morn, with the tears
streaming down his cheeks like I never saw them come from a man's eyes
before."
"Aye," her husband added, "he was a dear, good father, and a friend as
well. God grant that we and them that come after us do naught to bring
reproach or sorrow to the name he hath worn, as have so many before
him, with pride, and right good dignity."
The sun was sinking fast, and the odor of the forest growths was
beginning to mingle with the tang of the sea.
The voices of men and women busy about the cattle and milking were
making a cheerful sound of life and bustle from the sheds and
outhouses; and on the low-roofed porch in front of the house door,
overhung with drooping vines, John Devereux's three sons, Humphrey,
John, and Robert, were busy at play.
But they were not too busy to pause now and then to send searching
glances into the forest in quest of their father, whom they all united
in adoring as the wisest and greatest of created beings.
Humphrey, the eldest, was looking forward proudly to his ninth
birthday, now almost at hand, when he was to have the promise fulfilled
of being permitted to go along with his father to hunt in the forest,
or out on the sea, to fish.
Near them sat their mother, stouter and more matronly than the slender
Anne of ten years ago. The aforetime dainty hands were not guiltless
of toil stains, and the dark hair was now gathered beneath a snowy
mobcap, with only here and there a short, wayward curl stealing out to
trail across her brow or touch her pretty ears.
A sudden shout from the boys announced their father's appearance, as he
came out of the woods and across the clearing, and with him Noah, the
darkey servant, well loaded with game.
"Thou hast had a most successful hunt!" exclaimed Anne, smiling a
bright welcome into her husband's fond eyes, while the children's small
hands clung to him, and tiny brown fingers were poked into the mouths
of dead rabbits, or tweaked their whiskers to see if they were really
dead, or tried to pull open the beaks and eyes of slain birds.
"Aye," was his laughing reply, as he gently freed himself from the
little clinging hands; "and I have found more in the forest than game
alone, in that I have a most ferocious appetite,--one I trust thou wilt
have a plenty to satisfy."
"Give the game to David," said Anne, as a younger and smaller edition
of Noah approached, "and come thou within and see, for the supper hath
been ready this half hour."
An hour later the children were all safely in Nodland, and husband and
wife were sitting either side the fireplace, where the burning wood was
pleasant to feel, for a chill had crept into the air. But the outer
door was open, and through it came the hoarse notes of the frogs down
in the swampy lands, mingled with the roar of the surf along the
near-by shore.
They sat in silence, each content with the other's nearness, as they
watched the leaping flames, which made the only light in the room. And
this was reflected in a thousand scintillating sparks from the brass
fire-dogs that upheld the logs, and in the handles of the shovels and
tongs, scrubbed and polished with all the power of arm possessed by
Shubar, the Indian wife of old Noah.
Suddenly a lithe, girlish form slipped through the half-open door,
coming with a tread as noiseless as the leaping shadows about the far
corners of the room, and Joane, the Squaw Sachem's granddaughter,
glided to the hearth and stood between John Devereux and his wife.
So accustomed were they to such things that neither of them was
startled, but kindly bade her welcome.
Crouching on the hearth, she turned her dusky face and glittering eyes
toward John Devereux, and said quietly and in a low voice, "Strange
boat--big boat in harbor, English Chief."
He looked troubled, and Anne glanced at him apprehensively, while Joane
continued, now speaking more rapidly, "Gran'mudder sent me tell better
keep door shut--better get gun."
"Thou dost mean that the Squaw Sachem sent thee to tell there be
danger?" John Devereux asked, half rising from his chair, and looking
toward the door. "She thinks they mean evil?"
"Don't know how answer. English Chief talk too fast--ask too many
questions all same time. Go slow--then Joane hear right--tell him
right." And she smiled up into his face while she touched the slender
forefinger of her left hand with the fingers of the right, as if
waiting to enumerate his questions.
"Thy grandmother sent thee?"
The girl nodded, and touched a second finger.
"She thinks the men on the ship may do us harm?"
"Say don't like looks--got bad black faces," replied Joane, scowling as
though to illustrate her meaning.
"Have any of them come ashore yet?" he asked anxiously.
"Yes--so many," holding up seven brown fingers, "come 'shore. Get
water to drink--then go back to ship when sun shines. But no go 'way
yet--no mean to go. Tell gran'mudder want somethin' eat. Take our
corn, and pay no money."
"Pirates!" John Devereux exclaimed, now starting to his feet, while he
looked at his wife, whose face paled.
He hurried across the room, bolted and barred the stout door, and
examined the window fastenings, the Indian girl still crouching by the
hearth and watching him placidly, as if a pirate raid were a matter of
small moment.
But her sparkling eyes, and the heaving bosom agitating the many bead
necklaces hanging from throat to waist, betrayed her.
"See thou to the children, sweetheart, and warn the maids," John
Devereux said to his wife, as he took down his gun and examined it
carefully, "while I go to the men and see that the cattle be safe, and
the back of the house made secure."
"Good!" exclaimed Joane, with quick approval. "English Chief no
sleep--heap good. Give Joane gun, too."
"Had thou not best return to the wigwam, Joane, and to the Squaw
Sachem?" inquired Anne, pausing as she was about to leave the room.
"What go for?" the girl demanded, while her eyes flashed with fierce
intensity. "No good go--can fight here--fight good, too. Joane stay
and fight by English Chief and his 'Singing Bird,'"--this being the
name given by the Naumkegs to Anne, on account of her musical voice.
Knowing that nothing would turn Joane when once her ideas were fixed,
and knowing too that her skill with the bow and gun was equal to that
of any warrior, Anne was silent,--grateful indeed for any addition to
the slender force at hand for defence.
There were in all but nine men, servants and laborers,--two of them
white, and the others either Africans or Indians; but they were all,
saving old Noah, young, stalwart, and fearless.
John Devereux posted these men in the outbuildings and sheds, as cattle
were generally the spoil sought by the marauders when they visited the
coast. And when assigning them their positions, he warned them, should
they find themselves in danger of being overpowered, to give a signal
and retreat to the house, where a side-door would be opened for their
entrance. Then, having left with them a plentiful supply of
ammunition, he went within to mount guard over his wife and babies.
He had five guns wherewith to arm his household, without counting his
own piece, and every woman in his service was acquainted with their
use. Even Anne herself had, under his own tuition, become no mean
markswoman.
Within doors he found the women greatly excited, and fluttering about
aimlessly; but a few quiet words soon brought order amongst them, and
with it a return of their courage. Then, having accomplished this, he
went once more through the house, from the rooms downstairs to the
low-ceilinged sleeping apartments above, and satisfied himself that all
was secure.
In the nursery he found his wife looking at the little boys, who were
lying on two great bags of ticking, stuffed with the feathers of wild
geese, and placed on the floor, in lieu of bedsteads.
They were sleeping soundly, oblivious of the alarm about the house; and
standing beside his wife, his arm around her waist, John Devereux
looked down at them.
On one of the pallets lay Humphrey, his strong young arms outstretched,
and his chest--broad for his years, and finely developed---showing
white as alabaster where the simple linen garment was rarely buttoned
by his impatient fingers.
On the other were the two younger boys; and Robert, the gentlest of the
three, with his father's own winsome nature, lay with his head half
pillowed against his brother John's shoulder.
"What a blessed thing is childhood, and ignorance of danger!" murmured
Anne, looking at her husband.
"Aye," he said softly, as they turned away. "So may we know no fear of
dangers that threaten, sweet wife, while we trust to Him who watcheth
us,--who 'slumbers not, nor sleeps.'"
And as she had answered him ten years before, so she said to him now,
"So long as we be together, I have no fear."
A long and shrill sound now broke the silence. It was the blowing of
the conch shell suspended in front of the outer door; and it announced
a visitor seeking admission.
Surprised at this, and alarmed as well, husband and wife hurried to the
front room below stairs, where they found Joane still crouched upon the
hearth. Her bow, now unslung, lay close at hand, and she was examining
with pleased curiosity the clumsy blunderbuss resting across her
knees,--one that John, at her earnest request, had intrusted to her.
"No enemy--make heap too much noise," was her sententious remark, as
she looked up from her inspection of the weapon.
"Mayhap they but do that to disarm us," John replied, as he went
cautiously toward the door.
He knew there was no way, except from the beach, for any one to
approach the house unseen by his faithful outposts. And he had
reckoned upon no attack coming from that quarter, as there was no
sailing breeze. Then, again, the pirates would be more likely to come
from the direction of the forest, hoping to effect a greater surprise
than if they came from the water.
The wailing cry of the conch shell pierced the air for the second time,
to echo again in falling cadences that died away in the woods and over
the sea.
Placing his lips to the loophole near the door, John Devereux now
demanded to know who was outside.
A nasal, whining voice replied; and although the words were
indistinguishable, their sound caused the Indian girl to laugh
scornfully.
She said nothing, however, but springing quickly to her feet, sped to
the small opening. Then, before her purpose could be understood, she
thrust the muzzle of the blunderbuss through the aperture.
"Hold, Joane!" commanded John, as he caught her arm. "What is't thou
wouldst do,--kill, perchance, an innocent man? Put the gun down,
child, until I challenge again, and know for a surety who it be.
Methinks the voice hath a familiar sound."
Joane obeyed him, still smiling maliciously as she said: "Only want
give him heap big scare. Him big 'fraid--him coward."
"'T is Parson Legg!" exclaimed Anne, now recalling the piping voice,
and enlightened by Joane's contemptuous words.
Her husband opened the door, and a slim, weazen-faced, bandy-legged
little man stepped hastily within, his eyes, small and keen as those of
a ferret, blinking from the sudden passing out of darkness into light.
"Good e'en to thee, Parson Legg; thou art late abroad," said Anne,
coming forward. She did not smile, nor was there aught of welcome in
her voice or manner.
But this lack of cordiality was not felt by the unexpected visitor, for
he doffed his steeple-crowned hat, which, like the rest of his apparel,
was much the worse for wear, and responded briskly, "Good e'en,