,--statues come to life,--while others
had first oiled their bodies, then plastered them over with small
bright-colored feathers. The tall headdresses made giants of them all;
as they leaped and danced in the glare of the fire they had a fiendish
look. They sang, too, but the air was rude, and broken by dreadful
cries. Out of a hut behind us burst two or three priests, the conjurer,
and a score or more of old men. They had Indian drums upon which
they beat furiously, and long pipes made of reeds which gave forth no
uncertain sound. Fixed upon a pole and borne high above them was the
image of their Okee, a hideous thing of stuffed skins and rattling
chains of copper. When they had joined themselves to the throng in the
firelight the clamor became deafening. Some one piled on more logs,
and the place grew light as day. Opechancanough was not there, nor
Nantauquas.

Diccon and I watched that uncouth spectacle, that Virginian masque, as
we had watched many another one, with disgust and weariness. It would
last, we knew, for the better part of the night. It was in our honor,
and for a while we must stay and testify our pleasure; but after a time,
when they had sung and danced themselves into oblivion of our presence,
we might retire, and leave the very old men, the women, and the children
sole spectators. We waited for that relief with impatience, though we
showed it not to those who pressed about us.

Time passed, and the noise deepened and the dancing became more frantic.
The dancers struck at one another as they leaped and whirled, the sweat
rolled from their bodies, and from their lips came hoarse, animal-like
cries. The fire, ever freshly fed, roared and crackled, mocking the
silent stars. The pines were bronze-red, the woods beyond a dead black.
All noises of marsh and forest were lost in the scream of the pipes, the
wild yelling, and the beating of the drums.

From the ranks of the women beneath the reddened pines rose shrill
laughter and applause as they sat or knelt, bent forward, watching the
dancers. One girl alone watched not them, but us. She stood somewhat
back of her companions, one slim brown hand touching the trunk of a
tree, one brown foot advanced, her attitude that of one who waits but
for a signal to be gone. Now and then she glanced impatiently at the
wheeling figures, or at the old men and the few warriors who took no
part in the masque, but her eyes always came back to us. She had been
among the ma