“If you live for revenge,” said Bernard, “we live for nearly the same object. You may trust me—I will be your friend. Do you know me?” “No!” said Manteo, shaking his head. “Well, I know you,” said Bernard. “Now, what if I help you to the sweet morsel of revenge you speak of?” “I tank you den.” “Do you know your worst enemy?” “Manteo!” “How—why so?” “I make all my oder enemy.” “Nay, but I know an enemy who is even worse than yourself, because he has made you your own enemy. One who oppresses your race, and is even now making war upon your people. I mean Thomas Hansford.” “Ugh!” said Manteo, with more surprise than he had yet manifested; and for once, leaving his broken English, he cried in his own tongue, “Ahoaleu Virginia.” (He loves Virginia Temple.) “And do you?” said Bernard, guessing at his meaning, and marking with surprise the more than ordinary feeling with which Manteo had uttered these words. “See dere,” replied Manteo, holding up an arrow, which he had already taken from his quiver, as if with the intention of fixing it to his bow-string. “De white crenepo,[23] de maiden, blunt Manteo's arrow when it would fly to her father's heart.” At the same time he pointed towards the road along which the carriage had lately passed. “By the holy Virgin,” muttered Bernard, “methinks the whole colony, Indians, negroes, and all, are going stark mad after this girl. And so you hate Hansford, then?” he said aloud. “No, I can't hate what she loves,” replied Manteo, feelingly. “Why did you aid in attacking her father's house then, yesterday?” “Long-knives strike only when dey hate; Pamunkey fight from duty. If Manteo drop de tomahawk because he love, he is squaw, not a brave.” “But this Hansford,” said Bernard, “is in arms against your people, whom the government would protect.” “Ugh!” grunted the young warrior. “Pamunkey want not long-knives' protect. De grand werowance of long-knives has cut down de peace tree and broke de pipe, and de tomahawk is now dug up. De grand werowance protect red man like eagle protect young hare.” “Nay, but we would be friends with the Indians,” urged Bernard. “We would share this great country with them, and Berkeley would be the great father of the Pamunkeys.” The Indian looked with ineffable disdain on his companion, and then turning towards the river, he pointed to a large fish-hawk, who, with a rapid swoop, had caught in his talons a fish that had just bubbled above the water for breath, and borne him far away in the air. “See dere,” said Manteo; “water belong to fish—hawk is fish's friend.”