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Show Page 212 Not waiting to hear what Captain Pierce had to say, I crept away to the shed that adjoined Harwood's house. There I found a pile of sacks tossed into a corner. I lay down upon them and curled myself into a tight ball, caring not if I ever rose again. John found me there as dusk was lowering its shadows over the rubble that had once been Wolstenholme Towne. He settled himself beside me and for a time we were silent. At last I spoke, fierce words that burst from within my sorrowing heart. "I hate them all!" I snarled. "The Paspaheghs, the Chickahominies, the Kecoughtans, the Weyanokes, the Arrowhatocks. All the Indians of Virginia. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them!" On and on I ranted against the natives of Virginia who had risen up and killed those I loved. When I had exhausted myself, John said nothing for a time. Then he put one hand under my chin and raised my face to his. "And how do you think the natives of Virginia feel toward the white man?" he asked. "Surely they must hold great hatred for us also, to have committed so great a treachery," I cried. "And why might that be so?" John asked quietly. I did not answer. At last I spoke. "I do not know. I tried to be a friend to those I knew. I respected their ways and learned from them. I tried to follow your example, you who were a true friend to the Indians. |