CONTENTS.
| Chapter | Page | |
| I | A Long Time Ago | [1] |
| II | Brother and Sister | [14] |
| III | Father and Daughter | [27] |
| IV | A Call of State | [40] |
| V | A Timely Arrival | [52] |
| VI | At Jamestown | [64] |
| VII | Up the Chickamohiny | [76] |
| VIII | Parting Company | [89] |
| IX | Hard Pressed | [101] |
| X | A Prisoner | [113] |
| XI | The Friend in Need | [125] |
| XII | Conclusion | [137] |
A PRINCESS OF THE WOODS
CHAPTER I.
A LONG TIME AGO
Now, will my readers be good enough to turn to their map of the United States and look at the state of Virginia, one of the most important members of the Union? You will notice the large inlet called Chesapeake Bay, which reaches far to the northward and divides Maryland into two sections, known as the Eastern and the Western shore. Down near the mouth of this bay you will observe the broad outlet of a large river, the James, named from James I., who succeeded Queen Elizabeth in 1603, and ruled England until his death in 1625. Make a careful study of the lower fifty or hundred miles of the James River, for the incidents I am about to tell you occurred in that section of the country.
At the time I have in mind-the beginning of 1607-there was not a white man in Virginia, nor in any of the present States to the northward. The Spanish had gained a foothold farther to the south, and St. Augustine, Florida, the first permanent white settlement in the United States, had had a feeble existence for more than forty years. Of course, the mountains, lakes, and rivers were the same as they are today; but there were no cities, towns, or villages, only vast stretches of forest and wilderness, where roamed wild animals and wild men or Indians. These people had no horses or cattle. The large herds of wild horses which had already begun to roam over the prairies and plains of the southwest, were the descendants of the droves of the early Spanish explorers, but not an animal of that kind was to be found in Virginia or to the northward.
When the Indians wished to go from one place to another, they did so by means of their canoes, or small birchen boats, if a stream was near; if not, they tramped through the forest. They knew nothing of firearms, but used bows and arrows, spears, tomahawks, and knives, with which they killed bears, deer, buffaloes, and large game. Since they did not know how to forge iron, they made their knives, tomahawks, and spearheads of bone or stone. These wild men were divided into large tribes or families, whose head or ruler was called chief, and whom all the others had to obey. His men were called warriors, the women were squaws, and the babies were papooses. The tribes were jealous of one another, and often fought. Generally their captives were put to cruel deaths. Some of the tribes numbered several thousand warriors, and in more than one instance a number of tribes formed a confederacy. The Iroquois, or Six Nations, whose headquarters were in the present State of New York, was the most powerful union of this kind that ever existed among the American Indians.
Although, as I have said there was not an English settlement in America at the opening of 1607, you must not think no attempts had been made to form such colonies. Away up in New England parties of men had landed and tried to makes homes for themselves, but the climate was so rugged, and the hardships they had to face so trying, that they gave up, and those who did not die made haste to get back to Old England again.
The strangest fate of all attended the efforts of Sir Walter Raleigh to plant settlements in America. He sent out several expeditions, the last in 1587. It numbered one hundred and fifty men and women, who, landing on Roanoke Island, off the coast of North Carolina, began building new homes. There the first child of English parentage was born, her name being Virginia Dare. I am sorry to say these people did not get on well together, but seemed to be quarrelling all the time. Finally, Governor White, who was the head of the colony, sailed for England to bring back help.
When he arrived home a war with Spain was threatened, and he was unable to return to Roanoke until after three years. He was very anxious to rejoin the people, for he had left his daughter among the colonists; but, strange to say, when he landed he was unable to find a single member of the company. He came upon many signs, but not a living man or woman. Sir Walter Raleigh did everything he could to learn their fate, but was never able to gain any certain knowledge. Today one of the strangest and most romantic incidents in the colonial history of the United States is that of the "Lost Colony of Roanoke." The mystery has never been explained how so many men and women could disappear and leave no trace behind them. But here is a theory which has always seemed reasonable to me:
Among the Indians of that section you will find at the present time quite a number who have light hair and blue eyes. What more probable than that the surviving members of the Lost Colony married among the natives, and that the odd-looking Indians of whom I have spoken are their descendants?
It seems remarkable that more than a hundred years had passed since the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus, without seeing the planting of a single permanent English colony on this side of the Atlantic. All this time, too, England laid claim to the whole continent, because of the discoveries of John Cabot and his son Sebastian. Finally, however, in 1606, two great companies were formed for the colonization of America, one in Plymouth and the other in London. The efforts of the Plymouth Company ended in failure, but the other corporation was successful. In the depth of the winter of 1606, three vessels-the Sarah Constant, of one hundred tons burden; the Godspeed and the Discovery, each of forty tons, started across the Atlantic, under the command of Captain Christopher Newport. They carried one hundred and five men, but no women, and intended to settle at Roanoke Island, where the "lost colony" had disappeared some twenty years before; but they were driven farther north by a storm, and, with no idea of where they were, began hunting for a suitable place for settlement. They sailed into the broad opening of Chesapeake Bay, and were still roving northward when they were pleased with the appearance of a wide river, which flowed into the bay from the mainland on the west. They turned the prows of their little vessels into this stream, carefully studying the shores in their quest for an inviting spot.
It was the radiant month of May, with mild skies and soft breezes, which kept the craft steadily making their way against the gentle current. These hardy men, standing on the decks of their little vessels, and gazing at the shores, after being tossed about for months on the stormy Atlantic, were sure they had never gazed upon anything so beautiful. The banks were exuberant with brilliant wild flowers, whose sweet fragrance was wafted across the smooth waters, while the green hills and mountains in the distance were softened to the most delicate tints against the blue sky. The craft moved so slowly that the calm current made only the faintest rippling against the bows, and the bellying sails being once set, remained as smooth and unruffled as if they were so much painted canvas. All the attention needed was for the man at the helm to hold it steady, so as to keep the boat near the middle of the great stream.
Rich, emerald vegetation and gorgeous flowers were not all that caught the attention of the charmed Englishmen. There were men and women in this new country, descendants of those who had lived there for unknown ages. They were standing motionless on the shores, studying the approaching vessels with much the same emotions that must have come to the natives of San Salvador when they first caught sight of the caravels of Columbus. One party, among whom several women could be seen, stood on a slight eminence, a hundred or more yards back from the stream, as if afraid to come any nearer. The warrior in the middle was fully a head taller than his companions, and was observed to point one hand towards the vessels, as if calling the attention of the others to some peculiar features of the strange craft, the like of which none had ever looked upon before.
On the margin of the river, where there was a natural clearing of an acre or so, another party gathered, including also several women. They were talking and gesticulating, and it would be interesting could we know what they said to one another. When the Sarah Constant, which was leading, and a hundred yards in advance of the smaller boats, came opposite this group, two of the warriors were seen to fit arrows to their bowstrings, aim carefully, and let them fly. The feathered missiles could be easily traced as they curved upward in a beautiful parabola, and then darted, head downward, into the clear current, not having traversed half the distance between the land and the ship. The men crowding the decks could well afford to smile at such efforts. Captain Newport suggested that it would be a good thing to fire a volley into the party, as they had done some days before near the mouth of the river when greeted by a shower of arrows.
"No; we should cultivate their good will; we shall have need of their friendship, and must not use our firearms so long as our lives can be saved without doing so."
This remark, in crisp, decisive tones, was made by a man standing at the prow, with a spy-glass in his hand, which he turned now and then towards the different groups. He was of sturdy build, dressed in the civilian dress of the well-to-do citizen of those times, with a full, sandy beard and a huge military mustache. His face was deeply tanned, he wore a sword at his side, and his countenance showed resolution and firmness. He was not yet thirty years of age, and no one could look at his figure without seeing he possessed unusual strength and hardihood. It was plain that mentally and physically he was above the officers and crew about him.
This man was one of the most remarkable persons connected with the early history of the United States, and the foremost individual in the colonial period of the chief State. He was Captain John Smith, whose great services won him the name of the "Father of Virginia," and there can be no question that he deserved the honor. That he was a great boaster cannot be denied. Some of the stories he told of his adventures in France, Egypt, Hungary, Turkey, and other countries were true only in his imagination, recent researches having proved this to be the fact. None the less, he was one of the bravest of men, unselfish, enterprising, frank, and far-seeing; and it may as well be said at this point, that the first English colony in America would have perished from the earth but for the wisdom, energy, and self-sacrificing labors of this famous native of Lincolnshire.
The Indians who had launched the useless arrows must have done so as an indication of their feelings towards the white men who had dared to invade their country. Now and then several of the warriors, bolder than their companions, skirted the shore in their canoes, keeping abreast of the vessels, and occasionally venturing for a little way towards them; but they hurriedly withdrew again, as if they had heard something of the terrible weapons which spouted fire and killed without anyone understanding how, since no eye could ever detect the fatal missile. The Indians in their boats, as a rule, kept close to land, so as to be ready to take to flight the instant it became necessary. The result more than once was amusing.
A canoe containing four warriors, after several timid ventures, headed out in the river, as if they intended to board the strange craft. They paddled slower and slower, until when twenty rods or so from land their courage oozed away, and they dared advance no farther. They paused with their long ashen paddles still, ready to dip them into the current at the first sign of danger.
Without any command, the man at the helm pushed the rudder around, so that the bow of the largest ship slowly swung about, and it headed towards the canoe. The moment the occupants of the latter saw the fearful thing bearing down upon them they bent to their work with desperate energy, the craft skimming over the surface like a swallow. Captain Smith, smiling grimly, made a tunnel of one hand, and emitted a roar like that of an angry bull. The noise rolled over the smooth surface with terrifying power. Two of the Indians, in a wild panic, leaped overboard, and dived and swam in a frenzy of panic, while the others outsped them in the headlong haste of their paddling. Then as the panting fellows scrambled out on land, the Constant began laboriously swinging about again, and continued her course steadily up stream, most of the men on board who had witnessed the incident breaking into laughter, which had a strange sound at that time and in that place.
The three vessels had begun their voyage up the James the previous day, so that now, while it was early in the afternoon, they were fully two score mile from the mouth of the noble river.
They were approaching the peninsula where they were to make their final pause, when the attention of all was turned up stream. Captain Smith, in his interest brought his old-fashioned glass to his eye, and scanned the object that had suddenly taken on such interest for all. Around a sweeping bend in the broad river a single canoe shot into sight. The strange fact about it was that the two persons in it who must have discovered the ships the moment they came into their field of vision, did not turn to the right or left, but came straight on, as if heading for the largest boat, which kept in advance of its companions.
Only one of the Indians was swaying his paddle. He dipped the blade first on one side and then on the other, and the sparkling of the water was plainly seen in the bright sunlight, as the graceful craft remained in the middle of the current.
Captain Newport, who also has a glass, came to within a few paces of where Smith was standing, closely studying the object. Although he was jealous of the plain spoken Smith, and had been, indeed, a party to his arrest on an absurd charge, he used a certain friendliness of manner which did not deceive the bluff fellow.
"Those two warriors have more courage than their friend," remarked Newport.
"There is only one warrior in the canoe," replied Smith, still keeping the telescope to his eye; "the other is a woman, and--"
He hesitated as if waiting to feel sure before saying anything further.
When Newport had spent another minute or two in studying the boat he said:
"You are right, and the woman is not an old one."
"She is not a woman, but a girl."
"Probably the daughter of the warrior."
"That cannot be, for he is not much more than a boy-at most, he is only a young man."
"As young as you?"
There was sarcasm in the question, and it was marked by a grin, which Smith did not see.
"He is younger in years than I, but not so young in wisdom as Captain Newport."
This remark was natural to Captain Smith, who had little respect for those in authority when they deserved none. Moreover, the words were spoken in such loud tones that twenty others heard them, and, while they wondered at the boldness of Smith, they admired him the more. Still further, their feeling were the same as his, for Christopher Newport was much less a man in the true meaning of the word than John Smith.
CHAPTER II.
BROTHER AND SISTER
Captain John Smith was right as to the persons in the canoe which was coming down the James River and heading for the Sarah Constant. Seated a little in front of the middle of the craft, swinging the paddle, first on one side and then on the other, was a pleasing-looking Indian youth, who certainly was not twenty years of age. While propelling the boat he faced the vessels down the river. He had the usual long, coarse black hair of his people, which dangled about his shoulders, and his face was stained with the juice of the puccoon, or blood root. His chest was bare, but his waist was clasped with a girdle of deerskin, a shirt falling below to his knees, while leggings reached to his neat fitting moccasins, which were ornamented with beads. He was finely formed and must have been fleet of foot and a fine warrior, despite his few years.
The most interesting one in the canoe, however, was the sister of this youth. She was not more than a dozen years old, and showed a regularity of feature and beauty of countenance rarely seen among her race. You will often hear Indian men and women spoken of as very handsome, but, in truth, there are very few worthy of the compliment. I have traveled among many tribes, and seen hundreds of the leading warriors and young women, and among them all were not ten who could be truly called attractive. I refer to their countenances, for their grace of form and movement is striking. But the high cheek-bones give their faces a lumpy appearance, their mouths are generally broad, and the features irregular. Now and then, however, we meet one whose beauty is striking because of its contrast with those around. Such was the fact in the present case.
The best that could be said of the young man was that he was pleasing in appearance. He had fine black eyes-as have all his race of pure blood-regular, even teeth, and an expression of brightness and good nature, but he could not compare with his young sister. Her features were of almost classical beauty, and had she been a Caucasian she would have been admired among any people.
Moreover, her dress was different from any that had caught the eyes of the observant Englishmen. Sitting at the bow, with enough space between her and her brother for their two long bows and quivers of arrows, she had thrown back her outer clothing, which was a robe of doeskin, lined with down from the breast of the wood-pigeon. She wore coral bracelets on her wrists and ankles, and a white plume in her abundant hair.
Her skirt and leggings were similar to her brother's, but the upper part of her body was clothed in a close-fitting jacket of doeskin, which covered her pretty, plump arms to the elbow. The comeliness of her face was not marred by the crimson juice that her brother used, and which was a favorite with most of her sex. This girl, who was growing fast, was a natural athlete, who could speed like a deer through the woods, launch an arrow with the accuracy of a veteran warrior, swim with the grace and swiftness of a fish, and read the faint signs of the woods as we read the pages of a printed book.
By and by I shall mention the name of this famous miss; until then I shall let you see whether you can guess it. I am sure every one of you has heard it many times in the course of your reading of the history of my country.
Nantaquas, as the young man was named, and his favorite sister had left their home a long way up the river, meaning to paddle down stream, and probably call upon some of their friends, when, in rounding a bend in the stream, they were startled by the sight of the three vessels, slowly coming up the river with their white sails spread, and their decks crowded by strangely-dressed men, studying the shores between which they were gliding in their immense "canoes."
The sight, as well may be supposed, filled the two with amazement. Nantaquas stopped paddling for a minute or two, while both gazed at the sight. To them, in their forest home on the banks of the James, had come vague rumors of a people who lived far beyond the Great Water, whose skins were of a much lighter color than their own, and whose canoes were like giant birds, which were able to sail in safety when the storms drove the craft of the red men to shelter. Runners from the tribes to the far south had brought most of these stories. It is on record that Captain John Smith once met a party of Iroquois who were exploring this region. In their distant homes in Central New York they had heard the same strange accounts of white men and their ships, and the Iroquois brought the tidings to the tribes in Virginia.
So, as I have said, when Nantaquas and his sister saw the three vessels coming up the James River they had a fair idea of their nature, and of the meaning of this visit to the region which never before had known the tread of the pale-faced race. The girl was lively, curious, and full of faith in human nature-far more so than most of her people.
When she had looked for several minutes in silent amazement at the craft, and noted the forms of men on the decks, she said:
"Why are they coming to the country of Powhatan?"
"I know not," replied her brother, resuming the sway of his paddle, but more gently than before, and turning his head as he spoke, that she might hear him more plainly; "it may be they mean to take away our hunting grounds."
The other laughed.
"How can that be, when the warriors of Powhatan are like the leaves on the trees, and they are eager to do his will? There is but a handful of the pale-faces; surely we have nothing to fear from them; Nantaquas, let us visit the big canoes."
The proposal struck the youth so favorably that he increased the speed of his craft, and, as has already been shown, drew rapidly near the Sarah Constant, whose passengers and crew watched the approach of the graceful birchen structure with keen curiosity. As Nantaquas sped down stream, however, he was thinking hard, and he began to ask himself questions, which showed a doubt of the wisdom of carrying out the wishes of his sister. He believed that any people who were treated kindly, and in whom confidence was shown, would give the same treatment to those that were good to them. She would not have feared to climb the side of the big canoe and welcome the white men. She knew they had much greater knowledge than her own people; and, though she and her brother had no food or presents to offer the visitors, they could show their friendship towards them.
But Nantaquas was wise beyond his years. He recalled that the stories which he had heard of the white men were not to their credit. Some of them had slain Indians as though they were wild animals; they had treated them with great cruelty, and repaid kindness with brutality. The reason that such reports came to Nantaquas was that they were brought by visitors from the south, where the Spanish had made settlements. The story of their colonization of the United States and Mexico was stained by many dreadful crimes, which might well make the youth hesitate to trust himself or his sister in their power. They were likely, he thought, to carry one or both off as prisoners or demand a large price for their ransom. So it was, that as Nantaquas drew near the Sarah Constant, he gradually slackened his speed, until he finally held his paddle motionless, and allowed the canoe to come to rest with much space still between the two crafts.
By this time everyone on the three vessels was intently watching the little canoe and its occupants. Sails were still hoisted, and the vessels kept moving slowly up stream, the tide being at its turn. On either shore were gathered staring groups of Indians, men, women, and even children, whose emotions were as stirring as those of the white men on the larger craft. The face of the pretty young girl in the canoe glowed, for never had she gazed upon so wonderful a picture. Scores of men in their peaked hats, several of which were adorned with flowing plumes, their short coats clasped about the waist with broad girdles, with a huge buckle in front, the short breeches ending at the knees, with the heavy stockings below, and, more than all, the tanned countenances, some of which were covered with shaggy beards, made up a picture that might well hold the two wondering spectators almost breathless.
Nantaquas checked his boat when a hundred yards from the largest vessel. Inasmuch as that kept moving, he dallied with his paddle just enough to hold his graceful craft abreast. Captain John Smith, the famous navigator, Bartholomew Gosnold, Wingfield, Newport, Ratcliffe, Martin and Kendall-all of whom had been named as Councillors by King James-were at the rail of the Sarah Constant, looking off and down at the visitors, who, although they had come so close, hesitated to draw nearer to the vessel.
Captain Smith called in his bass, resonant welcome:
"Welcome! Welcome! Will you not come that we may shake hands with you and break bread together?"
Of course, not a word of this was understood by Nantaquas and his sister, but the beckoning gestures of more than one man formed a language whose meaning was plain. The girl asked her brother impatiently:
"Why do you hesitate? They wish to greet us; you are ungrateful."
There was decision in the tones of the youth: "They are strangers; we have heard evil things of many of them; we shall go no nearer."
She knew it was useless to argue with him when he was in such a mood. She pouted, but said no more. Since the gestures gave a clue to the meaning of the words of invitation, Nantaquas raised one hand, palm outward, and waved it towards the ship. He meant it as a courteous refusal to accept the invitation, and, that there might be no mistake as to his meaning, he suddenly dipped his paddle deep in the water, and sent the canoe skimming up stream. His companion continued in displeased silence, and the men on the ship repeated their gestures of welcome, though they knew they would remain unheeded.
Only one of the Englishmen noticed a peculiar thing at this moment. Nothing seemed to escape the keen eyes of Captain Smith. Shifting his glance from the little boat speeding up stream, he looked to the left, or south. The shore was a long distance away, for the river is very wide at this point, and he saw a thin column of smoke filtering upwards from among the trees on a wooded elevation, a little way inland. It was not an ordinary column of vapor, such as burning brushwood makes, but it had a wavy motion from side to side. The same clear vision which noted this, noted also that the column of smoke was broken so as to show two distinct gaps between the base and the top, where it melted into the clear atmosphere against the blue sky beyond.
There could be no question that a signal fire had been kindled on the slight elevation, and that the peculiar look of the vapor was a message sent by someone to someone else, who, probably, was far in the depths of the wilderness. Who should read its meaning? No white man certainly, though he for whose eyes it was meant would have no trouble in understanding it.
Captain Smith glanced from face to face around him, and saw that none had noticed the proceedings. He said nothing, for no one could instruct him; but the shrewd fellow was certain in his own mind that, whatever the message might be, it had to do with the white men who were sailing up the great river, hunting for a spot upon which to find the first real settlement in the New World.
Nantaquas plied the paddle like one who could never tire. He had been trained in the ways of the woods from the time he was able to walk. He had come a long distance down stream on this glowing day in May, and the exercise of propelling the canoe might be kept up for hours without weariness on his part. The same may be said of his companion, for she had proved it many a time, and would have proved it in the present instance, had her brother permitted; but he showed no such wish, and, after passing above the bend which shut the strange picture from sight, he kept up the same machine-like swaying of the arms, until they had traversed a goodly number of miles, and the beauteous spring afternoon was drawing to a close.
And, throughout this long interval, neither he nor his sister spoke. She was displeased because of his refusal to take her aboard the big canoe, and, though she loved him too dearly to feel anything in the nature of real anger, she meant he should know that, in her opinion, he had acted the churl. He understood her feeling, and wisely gave her time to rally from it. Indian though he was, he shared with her a certain waggish disposition which often showed itself. He did several things that may seem strange in one of his race. The bow and stern of the canoe were similar, so that it could go in one direction as well as the other. He was seated just beyond the middle, facing the course it was following, while the girl, having gathered her robe about her shoulders as the chill of the coming evening made itself felt, was at the stern. As she looked at her brother she saw his back, and noted the action of the coppery arms as they swung the paddle with perfect skill.
She was gazing absently at the mass of black hair dangling about his shoulders, thinking, no doubt, how "horrid" he had been, when he abruptly paused, turned, looked straight into her face, and made a comical grimace. He did not speak, and immediately resumed his paddling. She pouted more than before, turned up her pretty nose, and stared to the left at the wooded shore. Ten or fifteen minutes later he repeated his action, except that he continued grimacing and chuckling, as if determined to make her smile. She flushed and strove hard to keep her cross countenance, but could not. She laughed, in spite of herself, but, as he resumed paddling, she reached forward, caught hold of a strand of his hair, and pulled it, taking pains to jerk upwards, so as to make sure it hurt. It was a vigorous pull, but Nantaquas acted as if unaware that anything of the kind had taken place, and the girl, as if sorry for her petty outburst, sat back again and looked in a more kindly way at the big brother whom she loved so dearly.
None the less she was planning how she could punish him for his disregard of her wishes. By and by the sparkle of her black eyes told that she had hit upon a scheme. She was impatient for the moment to come, though, in the nature of things, it was already at hand.
Within the following half-hour Nantaquas turned the prow of the canoe towards the northern shore, gradually slackening his work as it sped to land. Just before touching the bank he made a long sweep with the paddle, which turned the craft around, and then reversed the propulsion, so as to land the girl first. Instead of stepping out before her, he gave that honor, as was befitting to the imperious young woman.
And as he did so the same young woman, with a thrill of pleasure, saw that her moment of revenge had come!
CHAPTER III.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER
The canoe had not yet touched the land, when the girl leaped out as lightly as a fawn, not pausing to pick up her bow and quiver, lying in the bottom of the boat beside those of her brother. Facing about, she grasped the front of the craft with both hands, as if to draw it up the bank beyond reach of the action of the tide.
Almost at the same moment Nantaquas laid his dripping paddle beside the implements, and rose partly to his feet, bending over to gather up the bows and arrows. In the act of doing so, and while his body was in a stooping posture, the girl gave a lightning-like, sideways jerk to the boat, snapping it forward like a flash, for a distance of fully two feet. The youth had no thought of anything of the kind, and yet, knowing his sister as well as he did, he ought to have been prepared. Thrown so suddenly off his balance, he went backward over the side of the canoe, which narrowly escaped upsetting; and, as his heels kicked in the air and he vainly threw out his arms to save himself, he dropped out of sight in water twenty feet deep.
The girl screamed with delight. Her scheme had worked to perfection; she had punished her brother as she planned, and as he deserved. Down, down he went, before he could right himself and get his bearings. Then his head popped up, he blew the water from his mouth, and one or two powerful strokes brought him to land. Scrambling to his feet, he made for the laughing girl. He was not angry, for he admired her brightness, but-wait till he could lay hands on the mischievous sprite!
But she was not yet caught. Brimming over with fun, she darted into the wood, with him in headlong pursuit. Perhaps on the open plain, in a straightaway chase, he might have overtaken her, though it is by no means certain; but she was quicker than he in dodging, turning, and doubling. With one hand outstretched, and seemingly about to grasp an arm or shoulder, his fingers closed on vacancy, as she whisked to one side, and, waiting until he repeated the attempt, she slipped again beyond reach. Like a civilized girl, she kept screaming and laughing while thus engaged, glancing continually over her shoulder, and baffling her pursuer at the very moment that success seemed certain.
All the time she was heading toward her home, not far off in the woods, while he, forgetful of the implements left behind in the canoe, kept up his efforts to lay hands on her. He would not believe he could fail, and she nurtured the self-delusion on his part, encouraging him once or twice by allowing the outstretched hand to touch her robe, though it could never grip it fairly.
Suddenly, just as he held his breath ready to leap forward and pounce upon her, and it looked as if nothing could save the fugitive, she did a very clever thing. She darted across a spot in the woods where the ground was covered with many running vines. She did this, but he was too earnest in the pursuit to notice danger. She led him on, and again his hand shot out almost over her shoulder, when he caught his moccasin in one of the vines, that was like so many yards of fine steel wire, and sprawled forward on his face, with a force that drove the breath from his body, and seemed to make the earth shake with the shock.
And then she could run no farther, from very excess of merriment. Pressing one hand against the nearest tree-trunk to support her, she laughed until she could hardly stand. He slowly climbed to his feet and shook his head. She was not assured that he had given up the chase, and held herself ready to bound away again, when both abruptly paused at the discovery that a third party had appeared on the scene.
Two or three rods in advance, on the same line the two had been pursuing, stood a tall Indian, fully six feet in stature, motionless, and surveying the couple with an enquiring expression. He was three score years of age, his long locks were sprinkled with grey, and his face was stern and seamed by the passage of the many stormy years. He was thin almost to emaciation, but the fire burned in the black eyes as fiercely as when he first went on the warpath. He was dressed much like the younger warrior, except that the upper part of his body was encased in a jacket similar to that of the girl, and his countenance was unstained. In the girdle about his waist were thrust a long knife and the handle of a tomahawk, but he carried no bow and quiver. Standing rigidly upright, with his coppery face like that of a stone image, he looked sternly at the two.
Hardly had the girl caught sight of him, when she ran forward, and, throwing both arms about his waist, called out in pretended panic:
"Father, save me from Nantaquas! He means to kill me!"
Laying one hand fondly on the wealth of hair about his chest, the parent gazed at the young man and demanded:
"What is the meaning of these strange actions?"
Standing in his garments, still wet from his recent upset, the smiling son pointed to his sister.
"She will tell Powhatan her story."
The American Indian has the reputation of being stoical. It is true that he will bear the most poignant anguish and torture without a sign of suffering. He is trained to suppress his emotions, especially before strangers, but there are no persons in the world who love their children more affectionately; and when beyond the sight of strangers they often indulge in expressions of that love.
The chieftain of whom I am now speaking was the most famous Indian connected with the colonial history of Virginia. He was Powhatan, one of the sternest and most unflinching leaders of his race. He ruled over numerous tribes, nearly all of whom he had conquered and brought under his sway. From Virginia to the far south none was his equal. He had several homes, at each of which he lived a part of every year, and was always surrounded when at any of them by a strong guard, numbering forty or fifty of his tallest warriors.
Since you have learned that Powhatan was the father of the two who now stood before him, there is no longer any excuse for keeping back the name of the girl, for I am sure you guessed it long ago. She was Pocahontas, pretty, bright, and kind hearted, and the favorite of the terrible Powhatan, who permitted any liberties from her, and rarely refused her a request which he could gratify. Nantaquas was another favorite, though he had other sons who were well worthy of their father's fame.
Releasing herself from the embrace of her parent, Pocahontas stepped back a couple of paces, and with sparkling eyes and glowing face told Powhatan about the incident that had sent her flying from before her brother. It would have done your heart good to see those iron features relax as the sachem listened to the delightful story. Although well advanced in years, and a stoic by training, he could not wholly forget the time when he was such a youth as that son who stood a little way back, with arms folded, listening to the words of his sister, and never offering objection.
Powhatan extended his arms, and as Pocahontas stepped impulsively forward, he placed a hand under each of her elbows, and tossed her like a feather several feet up in the air. As she came down he caught her in his grasp, held her closely to him, and fondled her hair and patted her dusky cheek; while she, in turn, reached up and patted his wrinkled face. No father and child could have loved each other more truly than Powhatan and Pocahontas.
But the grim parent did not permit himself to indulge long in his caresses of the one so dear to him. Again patting her head, he said:
"Let my child go to her home; Powhatan has something he would say to Nantaquas."
She obediently turned away. Her course carried her behind the sachem, who had withdrawn all attention from her. Pausing an instant, she looked at her brother, who was still standing with folded arms, and who turned to glance at her the moment she halted, curious to learn the cause. He was quickly informed, for standing thus, where no one else saw her, she made the same comical grimace at him that he made at her when paddling the canoe. He suddenly started towards her, but took only a step, when she was off like a bird. Powhatan turned his head, but caught only a glance of the handsome robe, the white plume, and the twinkling moccasins, as they flitted from sight.
You will bear in mind that in giving the conversations between the various Indians who pass before us, I use the utmost liberality in translation. As a rule, their sentences are short, and often ornamented with striking figures of speech. They sound stiff, and are sometimes hard to understand by those not accustomed to them. It will be better, therefore, to try to put their meaning in the form which you use in your conversation.
Hardly had Pocahontas darted from sight, when the chieftain said to his son:
"The pale-faces have come across the Deep Water to the hunting-grounds of Powhatan and his people."
"Yes; we met them on the river in their big canoes; they spoke words, though we did not understand what they said, nor could they know the meaning of our words. They have come to make their homes among us."
The remark of the chieftain proved that the signal fire, of which mention has been made, was not only meant for him, but that he read the message. It seems strange that so much could be told by the fashioning of the thin column of smoke rising from a small fire kindled on the crest of a slight elevation; but such means of telegraphy have been used by the American Indians for centuries, and the speed with which they send tidings across wide stretches of country almost surpasses belief. It is only a few years since that an important treaty was signed by the United States Government agents with a number of tribes in the West. The parties were so far removed from the nearest telegraph station that the news did not reach Washington until three days later; yet it was known to tribes four and five hundred miles distant the afternoon of the day of signing, and within a few hours after the signatures were written. The message was signalled from mountain peak to mountain peak, across wide stretches of prairie, and hundreds of warriors discussed the matter long before their chiefs set out for their distant homes.
So in the case of Powhatan, chief of many tribes, who knew of the coming of the white men while they were sailing up the James, and for several days before he saw any one of them. It is easy to understand how an ordinary message, relating to simple affairs, can be carried by the means named, but it is wonderful how news, unlike any that had ever before been sent across an expanse of forest, could have been read by the sachem and others for whom it was meant.
Powhatan left no doubt that he was deeply displeased by the appearance of the white men, where they had never before set foot. They had come into the heart of the country which belonged to him, and he was too wise to fail to see the meaning of the visit.
"They will come to land, and build their wigwams; they will till the ground, and hunt the game in the woods; by and by others will come and make their homes beside them; and they will keep on coming, till they are like the leaves on the trees; we have heard from the red men of the south that they bring strange weapons; that they shoot fire, and slay men who are far beyond the reach of our bows and arrows; all the pale-faces are alike; they will kill the red men or drive them into the sea, until none is left."
"The words of Powhatan are wise," said Nantaquas respectfully; "I am afraid of them, and would not trust Pocahontas in their power."
"My son did right; she is but a child; she must stay away from them."
"And what shall be done with the pale-faces?" asked Nantaquas, who understood the dark expression of his father. "Shall they be left alone when they go ashore, that their numbers may increase-though I do not think they have any women with them?"
"When the serpent is small, a child may crush it under the heel of her moccasin, but, if left to grow, it will soon sting her to death."
The meaning of these words was plain; Powhatan intended to destroy the weak colony before the white men could send for other friends to sail across the Great Water. Few even though they were, the work should be hard and dangerous, when so little was known of the real nature of their fearful weapons; but, no doubt, the thousands of warriors that Powhatan could summon to the task would do it well, thus crushing the danger in the bud.
Powhatan, like most of his race, was a man of few words. Having made known his resolve, he ordered his son to lead the way to where the canoe had been left on the bank of the stream. When it was reached he stepped within, and, instead of seating himself at the stern, took his place at the bow. It would have been sacrilege for Nantaquas to suggest that the chieftain who is referred to by historians as "Emperor" should use the paddle. No vassal could have been meeker than the son when he headed down the river, handling the oar with the same skill that he had shown earlier in the day.
By this time the afternoon was drawing to a close, but there was a bright moon in the sky, which lit up the broad, smooth surface of the James as if it were day. The sachem sat silent and erect, with no appearance of curiosity, but the keen eyes, which pierced the gathering gloom, did not let the smallest object escape them. Passing around the long, sweeping bend that has been described, the large vessel and two smaller ones came into view, lying at anchor, within a short distance of shore. It might have been thought that the emigrants had come to rest, to wait till the morrow before going farther up stream, had not smaller boats been seen passing to and fro between the ships and the land. But more still was soon learned.
Although from what Nantaquas and Pocahontas had told it would seem that little was to be feared at present from these unwelcome visitors, the life of Powhatan was too precious to permit any unnecessary risk to be run. He ordered his son to go a little nearer, holding himself ready to make instant flight when told to do so. Thus edging up, they were able to see three or four tents on a small peninsula, jutting out from the northern shore. The white men from across the sea had already landed and begun the first lasting English settlement in the New World.
Nantaquas would have liked to visit the newcomers, now that his sister was not with him, but Powhatan would not allow it, and, at his command, he turned the head of the canoe up stream, before it had attracted notice, and paddled hurriedly from the place. As before, the chieftain did not speak, even after the boat had been run to land and drawn up the beach. He stepped out, and, with the majesty that was rarely or never absent, strode through the wilderness to his lodge or native "palace," with his son walking silently at the rear. Arrived there, he held a long council with his under chiefs and leading warriors. The plans for the destruction of the colony were fixed; but before he slept that night Pocahontas drew from him all that had been agreed upon, and she did not rest until he had given his promise to defer the fearful work. He would not pledge himself to do more than postpone his purpose, but such postponement was of the greatest importance to the welfare of the little colony.
CHAPTER IV.
A CALL OF STATE
The three small ships with their one hundred and five men sailed up the James River, until they had reached a point some fifty miles from its mouth, when their interest was drawn to a low peninsula, which put out from the northern shore. It was a bad site for a settlement, because it was half covered with water at high tide. Since those days it has become an island; but it looked so pleasing to the men who had been tossed on the stormy ocean for so many months, that it was taken as their new home. Anchor was dropped, the smaller boats began taking the emigrants and their belongings to shore, and there, on May 13th, 1607, was founded Jamestown, which, as I have already stated, was the first lasting settlement planted by the English in the New World.
Sad to say, nearly three quarters of a century later, when the colony was torn by civil strife, Jamestown was burned to the ground, and never rebuilt. All that remains are the ruins of an old church tower and a few mouldering tombstones. These are rapidly crumbling; the waves dash mournfully against the shore; the sea-fowl flit past; and ere many years come and go all traces of the famous town will have disappeared.
As the English went ashore they pitched their tents, but the season was so mild that they found it more agreeable to make their homes for the time under the verdant foliage of the trees while building their cabins. These were put up on the neck of the peninsula, and before long the place took on the appearance of a community. It is a pleasure to recall that these people were good churchmen, and from the hour of their landing gave strict attention to the duties of religion. The first place of public worship in America was a ragged tent. An awning was stretched among the trunks of trees, and a bar, fastened between two of these, served as a reading desk. At this Mr. Hunt read the Service morning and evening, preached twice each Sunday, and, at intervals of three months, celebrated the Holy Communion. When he was prevented through illness or other causes, Captain John Smith or some of his associates read the service.
As soon as the hurry of work was over, a structure was put up. Of course, it was of modest size and build, but when Lord Delaware arrived three years later, he records that this first religious edifice built by Englishmen in America was sixty feet long and twenty four feet wide.
It would seem that the best of beginnings had been made, for trees were felled, cabins built, and a church erected; but a woeful mistake lay in the character of the men themselves. Very few had the least fitness for pioneer work. When the box was opened in which King James had sealed the names of the first seven Councillors, all but two of those selected proved grossly unfit. These two were Bartholomew Gosnold and John Smith. Gosnold soon died, and Smith had not been freed from arrest on the charge of plotting against the colony. Edward Maria Wingfield was chosen first president, but he was lazy, self-indulgent, and seemed to be able to think of nothing except Smith and his plots for placing himself at the head of affairs. The other Councillors were no better than he, and the prospect of Jamestown was dark.
This sad unfitness was not confined to the rulers. More than half the men were ranked as "gentlemen," which in those times meant persons who did not do manual labor. The wild rumors of the abundance of gold in the New World drew them across the ocean. They believed that it would take only a short time to load the three vessels with the yellow metal, when they would return to England and live in luxury for the rest of their days. You naturally find that most of those who toiled for a living were jewelers and gold-refiners.
Sturdy, rugged, honest John Smith saw all this with anger and disgust. He knew what was surely coming, and calmly waited for it to come. Although shut out from the Council, he did not sulk, though he felt the injustice. "By and by they will ask for me," he thought, as he went vigorously to work. He impressed upon his friends the necessity of keeping on good terms with the Indians. The season was far advanced, but corn was planted with the certainty that it would ripen fast in that favoring climate and soil. But the food brought over the ocean would not last more than two or three months, when it would be necessary to obtain supplies from the Indians. If they chose to withhold it, it would go ill with the white men.
Now if you will look at your map again, you will note the situation of Jamestown on the northern shore. Tracing the course of the James River towards its source, you will observe the city of Richmond, the capital of Virginia, on the same side of the river, but well up in Henrico county. Below the site of Richmond, in the direction of Jamestown, was the principal residence of Powhatan, chief of thirty tribes, his own immediate tribe being scattered inland and along the river to the south and east. It was a two-day's journey between the village of Powhatan and Jamestown.
Distrustful of the old chief's temper towards them, Captain Smith and a party of his men took the first chance to sail up the river and pay a formal visit to the Emperor of the country. The name of the town itself was Powhatan, from which fact the same title has been given to the famous chieftain, whose Indian name was different. The aboriginal capital stood on a small hill, and numbered twelve houses, in front of which were three small islands in the river. The "palace" was a large, native structure of bark and skins, with a sort of bedstead at one side, on which Powhatan sat. With his majestic mien, his robe of raccoon skins, and the feathers in his grizzly hair, he suggested a king upon his throne.
When Smith and two of his companions were brought into the presence of this Emperor the scene was striking. Along each wall of the dwelling stood two rows of young women at the rear, and two rows of men in front of them. The faces and shoulders of all the females were stained with the red juice of the puccoon, and a number wore chains of white beads about their necks. Almost any man would have been embarrassed when introduced into the presence of royalty of this character. Smith's companions were mute, but he was too much a man of the world to betray any fear. He doffed his hat, made a sweeping bow, and addressed the old chieftain with as much outward respect as if he had been, indeed, the King of England.
One of the most marked proofs of the ability of Captain John Smith was that during his brief stay in Virginia he had been able to pick up enough knowledge of the Powhatan tongue to make himself fairly well understood, being helped thereto by his gestures, of which he was master. There had been Indian visitors from the first at Jamestown. All were treated so well that several spent much of their time at the settlement, studying the white men and their ways with never-ending interest. Smith became a hard student, and was thus able to tell Powhatan that he and the other pale-faces had come across the Great Water with feelings only of love for him and his people. They had no wish to take away their hunting-grounds, not to kill their game, nor to do them harm in any way. He hinted that the whites might prove to be of great help to Powhatan, for they brought strange and deadly weapons with them, which they would be glad to use in aiding him to conquer other tribes of Indians.
Captain Smith was a man of rare tact, but he blundered when he made this offer to the old Emperor. It said, in truth, that Powhatan was not able to do his own conquering of rebellious tribes. Such was the power and self-confidence of this sachem, that any hint that he could need help in carrying out his own will was an insult to him.
Smith was quick to see his mistake, and did what he could to correct it, but he did not succeed. Powhatan was sour, and nothing was clearer than that he felt no good will toward those who had dared to make their homes in his country. He pretended not to understand the broken sentences of his visitor, until after one of his warriors had helped to interpret them. Having met with no success, Smith and his friends withdrew and set sail down the river for Jamestown.
During the interview both he and his companions used their eyes in searching for the youth and the girl who had met them when first on their way up the James. But neither Nantaquas nor Pocahontas was present, a fact which proved they were absent from the town, for, were it not so, nothing would have kept them from the "palace" on such and an interesting occasion.
The boat in which the Englishmen had sailed up the river had to lie by for one cloudy night while on the way, and now the explorers found themselves overtaken by darkness, when hardly half the return voyage was made. But the sky was clear, and again they were favored with a bright moon, which so lit up the stream that they kept on their course, with the prospect of reaching home quite early the next day.
While one of the men held the old-fashioned tiller, with nothing to do but to keep the boat well away from shore, Smith sat at the bow, thoughtfully smoking a long-stemmed pipe which he had bought from one of the friendly Indians who often visited Jamestown. The others of his associates were doing the same at a little distance, for most of the English were quick to learn the habit from the red men. The night was so still that a single sail hardly felt the touch of the gentle breeze, and only now and then did the faint ripple at the bow show that the boat was making any progress toward Jamestown.
Captain Smith had many things to vex and trouble him. He was angry when he thought of the injustice under which he suffered, and the worthlessness of those named to rule the colony. With the coming of the hot, sultry southern summer all prudence seemed to leave the settlers. They drank deeply of the unwholesome water, and the mists that brooded over the neighboring swamps were heavy with malaria, which had already laid a number on their backs, with more than one fatal issue threatened.
Those who kept healthy thought it too uncomfortable to toil when the hot sun was overhead, and as twilight and night drew near, the day was too far gone to make it worth while to labour. They would not be roused early enough in the day to do anything of account, though most of them did make a pretense of hoeing the corn, of which several acres were growing. Wingfield, the president, set the example of indolence, and instead of being moderate in eating, acted as if there never could come an end to the food that had been brought across the sea, and which was already nearly exhausted. What the colony needed above everything else was a stern, rigorous, wise head, and it is no reproach to Captain Smith that he said to himself: "I am the only man for the time; but they have tied my hands, though they shall not be tied long."
While the future looked so dark, he was more disturbed by the present, or what might be called the near future. He saw in the glum, resentful manner of Powhatan something more than displeasure with the presence of the white men. Holding such great power as did the chieftain, he was not likely to remain quiet much longer. He could not but know of the growing weakness of the colonists, who were short of food, with much sickness among them, and the certainty that before long they would be at the mercy of the Indians.
Smith wondered why an attack had not been made upon the settlement long before. With the vast body of warriors that Powhatan could summon at his will, they would have been able to crush the little band of white men, despite the dreaded firearms at their command. The pioneer had no idea that the postponement of such an assault was due to Pocahontas, nor did he learn the truth until years afterward.
He looked at the dark, frowning shores on either hand, stretching in the distance many miles beyond the farthest extent of vision when the sun was shining, and thought of the thousands of warriors who roamed and hunted through those solitudes, fighting one another, when, had they been wise enough to unite their strength, they could bid defiance to any armed fleet that England might send across the ocean.
Suddenly a star-like gleam showed on the southern shore. That it had been kindled by the Indians was not to be doubted. Watching it for a minute or so, without seeing anything more than a glowing point, Smith turned his face toward the northern bank. At the moment of doing so he observed an answering signal, and was not surprised, for it was natural that such a reply should be made.
"They are speaking to one another about our boat, but that is of no concern to me, for I do not think we have anything to fear from them."
He scanned the two shores in the expectation of seeing other signal fires, but none showed. Meanwhile the boat made little headway against the tide, for the gentle breeze hardly fanned one's face. Smith rose to his feet, and with pipe between his lips, gazed out on the moonlit expanse of river, not expecting to discover anything unusual, and yet something of that nature quickly appeared.
A peculiar flickering toward the northern shore caught his eye, and while trying to learn what it meant he saw that the object was an Indian canoe, in which he soon made out two persons, with the nearer one swaying a paddle, while his companion sat quietly at the stern.
The Captain recalled the sight which greeted the ships when first coming up the James. There was the small craft, driven in the same manner, and with the same number of persons. Standing erect at the gunwale, he watched it closely, and a minute or two later was certain that the two were Nantaquas and Pocahontas. He had learned of their identity from the friendly Indians who came to Jamestown, the plume worn by the girl being a badge of royalty.
The canoe was passing the bow of the ship, a hundred yards away, making no attempt to come nearer. Desiring a talk, Smith called in his resonant voice:
"Nantaquas! Will you not come aboard?"
The youth appeared to say a few words to his sister, after which he headed his craft in the direction of the larger one. A few minutes would have brought him alongside, when he was checked by a startling interruption. Through the stillness sounded a low booming sound, which rolled up the stream and was heard faintly to echo between the shores.
There could be no mistaking its meaning: it was the report of one of the small cannon on the Sarah Constant, and it meant danger to Jamestown.
CHAPTER V.
A TIMELY ARRIVAL
Through the stillness of the summer night rolled the sound of the cannon that had been fired in front of Jamestown, many miles down the river. The report, which was not repeated, sent a thrill of alarm through Captain Smith and his friends, for to them it could have but one meaning: it had been discharged because of an attack upon the settlement by Indians.
The boom, as it traveled up the broad stream, carried the same tidings to the son and daughter of Powhatan, who were drawing near the large boat in response to the invitation of him who was returning from his visit of state to the dusky Emperor. Nantaquas plied his paddle with renewed vigor, but instantly sheared away, and instead of keeping on as he had started, made with all speed for the northern shore. It was natural to think that the white men on the larger boat would undergo an instant change of feelings when the alarming sound fell upon their ears. Indeed, the youth expected a volley from the boat, but nothing of the kind was in the mind of Captain Smith, who did not interfere while the canoe and its occupants rapidly passed from sight.
Smith walked hurriedly to the stern, where the others had gathered about the steersman.
"The settlement has been attacked," said the captain in his quick, crisp manner. "Listen!"
All stood silent and motionless for several minutes. The Sarah Constant had three such pieces on board, fitted for good service, and Smith repeated that if it was necessary to discharge one of them, the urgency was equally great for the firing of the remainder. Be that as it may, the straining ears heard no second report, though the listening was long, and was repeated at intervals for a couple of hours later.
Naturally, the certainty that there was grave trouble at Jamestown intensified the impatience of Smith and his friends to reach the place as soon as they could. If their help was not needed, he knew his was, and he could not get there too quickly; but the fates were against him for the time. The wind, which had been dying out ever since sunset, now wholly ceased, and the rising tide began to carry them back towards the Indian capital. The anchor was dropped, and thus the craft lay at rest, as it must remain for several hours, awaiting the turn of the tide or perchance a rising of the wind. Two men were placed on guard, and Smith and the others lay down to get such sleep as might come to them.
The calm lasted throughout the night, and when daylight came the surface of the James was as smooth as a summer millpond. The tide had turned, but moved so sluggishly that Captain Smith told his skipper to let the anchor remain for a few hours, all agreeing that the weather signs foretold a change at or before that time. They partook sparingly of the coarse bread which they had brought with them, adding several mouthfuls of cold fowl that the Captain had shot a few miles below the spot on their upward voyage.
His next words caused surprise. He intended to go to the southern shore with two of the men, to inquire into the signal fire that had first caught his eye the night before. He hoped to learn something of the trouble at Jamestown, though his chief hope was that he might find the way to obtain a quantity of corn, of which his countrymen stood in sore need. From what Smith had been told, he knew that a small Indian village was not far inland. There was reason to hope that through barter, or possibly, as a last resort, the display of force, the owners could be made to part with a goodly supply of food.
A number of gaudy trinkets, beads, ribbons, fanciful little knives and gewgaws were bundled up and put in the small boat, the three men took their places, with the Captain at the stern, while each of the others began to swing the oars in the fashion that has been common since time immemorial. They were old hands, and rowed in unison, while the craft headed toward the point which the Captain had pointed out before starting. In the hope that some of the warriors would show themselves, he keenly studied the shore, both above and below; but if there were any red men in the neighborhood, they took care that none should see them.
When the boat touched land the three stepped out, the two who had used the oars drawing the boat up the bank, and then awaited the orders of Captain Smith.
Each man had a knife, a musket, and ammunition. The guns were of what is known as the snaphaunce pattern, which took the place of the clumsy firelock during the previous century. The weapons were the old style flintlocks, heavy and cumbersome, but useful in the hands of those familiar with them.
It was but natural on the part of Captain John Smith to feel certain of his superiority in every respect over any and all of his associates. This included even marksmanship and skill in the use of fire arms. It was a common practice with him when engaging in a hunt to go away from his companions. If asked for his reason, he replied that their presence prevented his success; he could do much better when alone. As for them, it did not matter, since they could never hope to be his equal.
So it was that at the present time he told his friends to move off together, following the course of the stream, and never wandering so far in the woods that they could not easily make their way back to the water. If they met any Indians or made any important discovery they were to halloo at the top of their voices, and he would make haste to them and take charge of things. As for him, he would decide every question as it came up. It becomes necessary for us to give our attention to the two men, while we leave the doughty Captain for a time to himself.
The only sign of the recent presence of others on the spot was the heap of ashes left by the signal fire. This had been kindled within a few feet of the stream, where there was no vegetation to hide the rays. The trinkets which all hoped could be used for barter were left in the boat. Thus it will be seen that Smith did not mean that either he or his friends should go far from the spot.
It was not strange that the name of one of the couple was also Smith, for we know that the name is the most common among civilized people. I know a city of my own country in which I read in the directory exactly one hundred and five plain "John Smiths," and I doubt not that there are plenty of them in Great Britain. In the present instance, the Smith who had helped row the boat was no relation of the Captain. His companion was a cousin, remembered as Jack Bertram.
These two moved up-stream-that is, toward the village of Powhatan. There was no reason to believe they would come upon anything of importance by keeping near the river, where the walking was easy, so they pushed inland for a number of rods, and then took a course parallel with the James. The timber was dense, and the undergrowth so matted that it was hard to force a passage. Smith took the lead, thus making the work less for Bertram, who kept close behind him.
When they had pushed their way for a brief distance, Smith stopped.
"What good can come of this? Since no one has been over the land ahead of us, we cannot overtake anyone."
"They may be coming from the other way," said his companion, less discouraged because he was not doing such hard work in the way of traveling.
"Little promise of that. I do not understand what Captain Smith hopes to learn or do by this groping through the woods. If we knew the way to the Indian village we should go there, and, if they would not give us corn, take it from them. Ah! I did not look for this."
That which caused this exclamation was the sight of a well-marked trail leading over the course they were following. Both stopped to study it more closely.
"It has been made by animals coming to the river to drink," said Bertram. "It can be of no help to us though it may be used also by persons."
Smith walked for a few paces, scanning the path, which soon turned to the left, leaning farther inland. At the same time the ground sloped gently upward, showing they were drawing near an elevation. Suddenly the leader halted. Glancing up, Bertram saw the reason for it, and then was as much astonished as his companion.
Standing in the trail, wonderingly staring at the couple, was the girl whom they had seen when the ships were sailing up the James River weeks before on their way to found the colony of Jamestown. There was no mistaking her. She had the same rich robe about her shoulders, and the same white plume curling over her mass of black hair that fell over her pretty shoulders. She carried her long bow in one hand, and the top of her quiver of arrows peeped from behind the left shoulder. Her hands and moccasins were small, the latter ornamented with colored beads.
She caught sight of the white men before they saw her. She must have been coming over the path, when she observed the figures and stopped in amazement. On her comely face the emotion of astonishment was quickly followed by that of pleasure.
"It is Pocahontas," whispered Bertram, at the rear of his friend; "we saw nothing of her yesterday at the lodge of the old chief, because she was absent. I wonder what she is doing here alone?"
"Her friends can't be far off. But I say, Jack, this is a godsend."
"What do you mean?"
"You will see."
The girl did not wait after observing that she was seen by the strangers. She knew where these men had come from, and, shifting her bow to her left hand as she walked, she came smilingly forward. She had noticed the strange custom of the pale-faces when they met of clasping their hands. Without pause she reached out her hand to Smith who was in front, and said to him in broken words:
"How do? how do? Me friend; you friend."
Smith took the dainty palm, warmly pressed it, and then gave way to Bertram, as he stepped up beside him and did the same. Pocahontas tried to say something more, but she knew so little of the English language that neither caught her meaning. It was amusing to note her sparkling eyes and charming smile as she saw that too many of her words were spoken in her own tongue for the men to understand them. Laughing in her childish way, she gave up the effort, and stood looking inquiringly into the bronzed faces before her, as if asking them to help her out of her trouble.
"Jack," said Smith in a low voice, "the Indians have attacked Jamestown; we don't know how many of our people they have killed; we need food; let's take this daughter of the old chief and hold her as a hostage. We will give him the choice of letting us have all the corn we want, or of having his pet daughter put to death."
"I hardly know what to say to that; it may work the other way."
"It can't; Powhatan loves her so much that he will do anything to keep harm from coming to her."
Smith did not wait to argue further, but, taking a quick step toward the smiling girl, grasped her upper arm. In answer to her questioning look, he said:
"Go with us; we take to Jamestown; won't hurt."
The smiles gave way to an expression of alarm. She held back.
"No. no, no. Me no go; Powhatan feel bad-much bad."
"You must go!" said Smith, tightening his grip. "We not hurt you."
Bertram stood silent throughout the brief minutes. While he hardly liked the scheme that had been sprung so suddenly upon him, he thought it might turn out well, and therefore, he did not interfere.
And then Pocahontas, child that she was, began crying and striving to wrench her arm free from the iron fingers that had closed around it. She drew back so strongly that her feet slid forward beside each other. Had not Smith used much strength she would have got away from him. Impatient over her resistance, he next tried to scare her into submission. Scowling at her, he said in savage tones.
"Stop! Come with me, or I kill!"
This, it need not be said, was an idle threat, for the man had no thought of anything of the kind, though he was ready to use more violence to subdue the girl. Probably he would have struck her, for he was a quick-tempered man, and was fast losing his patience. Pocahontas would not stop her resistance, but as she found her moccasins sliding over the slippery leaves she struggled harder than ever, with the tears streaming down her cheeks. She begged and prayed but all her words were in her own tongue. In her panic she could not stop to try to put them in the language of which she had only slight knowledge.
Captain John Smith had gone but a little way down stream, when he decided that he had taken the wrong course. He turned about and followed after his companions, coming upon them at the crisis of the struggle between his namesake and the young daughter of Powhatan. He paused only an instant, when he angrily cried out:
"What is the meaning of this?"
The other Smith merely glanced around at his leader, and kept dragging the captive along the trail. It was Bertram who hastily said:
"She is the daughter of Powhatan. We are going to take her to Jamestown, to hold her as a hostage, and make the chief give us what corn--"
Without waiting for anything further, the Captain sprang forward, calling angrily:
"Let go! Release her!"
Before the amazed fellow could comply, he was grasped by the back of the collar. Captain Smith shifted his gun to his right hand, so as to leave the other free. The fingers were as those of a giant, and the scared Englishman let go of the sobbing prisoner. As he did so the Captain gave a kick with his goodly right foot, which lifted his namesake clear off the ground, and sent him tumbling on his face, his peaked hat falling off, and his gun flying several yards away.
"I would do right to kill you!" called the leader, his face aflame as he glared down on the fellow, who began climbing shame-facedly to his feet. "Among all the Indians in Virginia there is not one so good a friend of the English as that little girl."
As he spoke he pointed towards the spot where she stood a minute before, but she was not there. She had taken instant advantage of her release, and fled beyond sight.
CHAPTER VI.
AT JAMESTOWN
Captain Smith's burst of tempestuous anger was caused, in the first place, by the unpardonable violence shown to the gentle Pocahontas, a girl so young that she was not yet far in her "teens." In the sweetness of her nature she had shown perfect trust in the white men, and, early as it was in the settlement of Virginia, all knew she had no feeling but friendship for the people that had made their homes within the country of her father, the great Powhatan. What a rude awakening was hers! What injury it was likely to do to those who were in sore need of the good will of the powerful tribes around them!
A second cause of the Captain's wrath was the fact, clear to him, that the outrage, apart from its wickedness, was the worst thing possible when viewed as to its results to the white men themselves. Instead of alarming Powhatan and forcing him to help them, it would have the contrary effect. It would add to his ill will, and lead him to measures that otherwise might have been averted. (This, as you shall learn, was proved some years later, when Captain Argall stole Pocahontas, and came nigh causing the complete destruction of Jamestown and the settlements.)
Not only that, but the immediate results were sure to be disastrous. It was not to be supposed that Pocahontas was alone thus far from her home. She certainly had friends near at hand, she was already fleeing with her story; she would reach them in a brief while, and they would hasten to punish her enemies.
These thoughts flashed through the mind of Captain Smith, while the victim of his anger was slowly climbing to his feet. He took a step towards his namesake, meaning to strike him to the earth again, but the man shrank away, with no word of protest. The Captain checked himself and said:
"We must hasten to the boat before we are cut off. Come!"
The fellow picked up his hat and gun, and Captain Smith led the way at a rapid stride over the trail and through the dense undergrowth, till they reached the margin of the stream, along which they hurried to the spot where the prow of the craft had been drawn up the bank. He pushed it free and stepped within. Instead of seating himself at the stern, he did so at the bow, so that he faced the shore they were leaving, as did the two who hastily sat down and caught up the oars. The one who was named Smith was nearest the stern, his companion being between him and the Captain, with all three, as has been shown, looking towards the shore they were fast leaving behind them.
"Row hard," said the Captain, "for you have no time to spare."
Neither of the men had spoken a word since the rescue of Pocahontas, and they bent to their oars with the utmost energy. They knew they had done wrong, and naught was left but to obey the command of their leader, which they did with right good will.
The tide was sweeping down stream so fast that the craft took a diagonal position under the impulse of the oar, this being necessary to hold a direct course to the waiting boat in midstream. The three had not reached a point fifty yards from land, when a young Indian warrior dashed through the undergrowth into the open space on the beach. He was Nantaquas, and almost at his side was his sister Pocahontas. He held his long bow, firmly gripped in the middle by his left hand, and had drawn an arrow from the quiver behind his shoulder, which was partly fitted to the string of deer-thong. The girl pointed excitedly to the man Smith who was rowing, and who was nearer to them than either of the others. She was showing the guilty man to her brother, who had probably asked the question of her.
"Look out!" warned the Captain. "He means to shoot you!"
The endangered fellow was so flustered that he broke the regularity of the strokes of the two, though Jack Bertram strove hard to catch it again. He kept his eye on the young warrior, who rigidly straightened his left arm, with the hand gripping the middle of the long bow, while he drew the feathered arrow to its head, and sighted at the alarmed oarsman.
Captain Smith watched Nantaquas, not allowing the slightest movement to escape him. Suddenly he called:
"Down!"
The other Smith instantly flung himself forward on his face, so that he was hidden by the low gunwale. Bertram, hardly knowing what he did, dodged to one side. The Captain did not stir. He knew he was in no danger.
At the same moment that the oarsman went down Nantaquas launched his arrow, which came with such swiftness that it made a flickering streak in the sunlight which the eye could hardly follow. Captain Smith caught a glimpse of something like the flitting of a bird's wing, and the missile flashed over the very spot where the intended victim had been sitting an instant before, driven with such unerring aim that, but for his quickness, the arrow would have been buried in his chest.
So great was the power with which the missile was fired that it seemed to dart horizontally outward for nearly a hundred feet beyond the boat before it dipped enough for the point to drop into the water, where it turned rapidly over several times, and the flint-head sank below the surface.
Brief as was the time, the oarsman partly regained his coolness. He raised his head, but instead of drawing upon his oars he dropped them, and reached for the musket at his feet. His companion kept toiling with all his strength.
"Drop that!" thundered Captain Smith. "It would serve you right if you were killed! Use your oars!"
The two men, in their flurry, forgot to hold the boat to the right course, so that it took a more direct one than before. Had this been done from the first, Nantaquas could not have launched his arrow without endangering Captain Smith, since he would have been in the line of aim. At any moment the Captain could have shot Nantaquas, who stood out in the clear view, or either of his companions could have done the same, but the leader would not allow it. He sympathized with the "prince," and though he did not care to have the offender slain, he would not permit any injury to be done to Nantaquas.
The youth had fitted another arrow to his bow, and now drew it to the head. The keen eyes of Captain Smith noted every movement. He saw that after drawing his right hand half-way back, Nantaquas held it stationary. He saw that if he fired again, and the man serving as his target dodged, the arrow was likely to strike Captain Smith, unless he was equally quick in eluding it. Moreover, the distance was increasing so fast that every second added to the difficulty of the shot. He knew which man had befriended Pocahontas, and eager as he was to slay the criminal, he must forego that pleasure in order to spare the friend.
Holding the long bow poised for a few seconds, he slowly lowered it, still keeping the notch of the arrow pressed against the string, as if expecting a new chance to present itself. If the boat would turn partially sideways toward him, as at first, he might still bring down his man; but the oarsman had learned wherein their safety lay, and took care to make no mistake.
All this time the boat was moving rapidly, and it was not long before it passed beyond bowshot.
Nantaquas remained standing in full view on the shore, his sister beside him, both watching the receding craft until it came alongside the large one, and the three stepped aboard, leaving the small boat to be towed at the stern. Then brother and sister turned about, and passed from sight in the forest.
A brisk breeze was blowing, and Captain Smith and his companions had hardly joined their friends when the anchor was hoisted, and they were carried at good speed toward Jamestown, which they reached early that afternoon. There they learned that the settlement had passed through a trying experience during the absence of Captain Smith and his party.
Although the Englishmen arrived at the site of Jamestown rather late in the season for planting, and although many of them were too indolent to work, others did what they could to make up for the lost time. In the rich soil, which had been cleared of trees, corn that had been obtained from the Indians was planted, and quickly showed a vigor of growth that promised the best results.
On the day that Captain Smith sailed up the James to make his call of state upon Powhatan, more than twenty men were engaged in planting and cultivating the corn already put in the ground. Without any warning, and when no one dreamed of danger, the woods near by began raining arrows. They came in bewildering showers, amid the shouts of the Indians, of whom only occasional glimpses were caught, as they flitted from tree to tree, while they used the trunks as shields. The English, stricken with panic, dropped their implements and ran behind the stockades, which had been finished only a short time before. Hurried as was their flight, those who glanced behind them saw one man lying motionless on his face. He was dead, pierced by so many arrows that he looked like a huge porcupine. Nearly all the others had been struck, some of them two or three times; and when they ran panting through the open gate the missiles were still sticking in their bodies and clothing. Actual count showed that seventeen men had been wounded, most of them slightly, though three or four seemed likely to die of their hurts. Happily, however, all recovered.
Instead of leaving, the Indians kept their places in the woods, continually launching their arrows at the settlers. While these were harmless when directed against the stockades, some of the warriors showed great skill in curving them so that they dropped inside the defences. It required keen watchfulness on the part of the defenders to save themselves from being badly hurt, for, when a sharp-pointed missile comes almost straight downward from a height of more than a hundred feet, it is likely to do fatal damage. The Englishmen could protect themselves from mishaps, but could do little in the way of driving off their assailants while they were so well shielded among the trees.
Matters stood thus when the Sarah Constant took a hand. Dropping a little way down stream, so as to get clear range of the stretch of woods in which their enemies shielded themselves while keeping up their attack, she discharged two of her cannon that were loaded to the muzzle with slugs. It is not likely that any of the warriors were hurt by the missiles, but when they saw large limbs splintered and falling about their heads, and heard the rattle among the leaves and twigs overhead and about them, they were terrified, and scurried off in as headlong a panic as that of the settlers when attacked by the red men.
Not another foe was seen during the day, though there could be no doubt that more than one pair of black eyes were peeping from among the vegetation, the owners, no doubt, wondering as to the nature of the awful weapon that could tear the big branches from the trees. Some time after dark, however, the sentinels heard sounds in the woods near at hand, which showed that their enemies had returned, and, of course, were plotting mischief. The larger vessel, which had held her place after driving off the Indians earlier in the day, now fired another assortment of missiles, and this ended all trouble of that nature for some time to follow. It was the report of this cannon which had travelled up the James to the boat where Captain Smith sat meditatively smoking.
The first attack on Jamestown brought good results. It was clear to all that the settlement must have a vigorous head, and that he must be a military man. Wingfield, as has been shown, had no qualification whatever for the office. He must be displaced, or the colony would go to ruin. Smith was determined on his removal, and as a first step he demanded that a trial by jury should be given himself on the charges made long before, and for which he was still under arrest.
Wingfield refused, and when Smith insisted he replied that he would send him back to England to be tried by the authorities there.
"You will not!" said the angry Captain. "The charter provides for the trial of all such charges in Virginia; it is my right, and I will not be denied it!"
So, against his will, the Governor gave Smith his trial, which was the first one by jury in America; and never did an accused man gain a greater triumph. Every charge brought against him was shown to be false: the witnesses broke down, and those who swore that Captain Smith had plotted to obtain the mastery of the colony were proved to have sworn falsely. He might have been boastful and overbearing at times, but he was unselfish, and always thought of the real interests of those who had crossed the ocean with him to found homes in the New World. Smith was not only declared innocent of the shameful charges, but his chief persecutor, a member of the Council, was ordered to pay a fine of 200 pounds. When this large sum was handed to Smith, he gave it to the colony for the general use. Then all parties partook of the Communion, declared themselves friends, and Smith took his seat as a member of the Council.
He had no wish to be Governor or President, though he knew the day was near when no one else would be able to save the colony. He had a freer hand in certain matters while simply Councillor, and was willing that the people should become tired of Wingfield before he stepped into his shoes.
We cannot dwell upon the miseries of that first summer in Jamestown. The sickness, caused by paying no heed to the laws of health, rapidly grew worse. It looked for a time as if disease would carry off every man. They lay groaning and fever-smitten in their cabins, until no thought was given to the danger from the Indians. Had Powhatan, or any other leader, chosen to attack Jamestown with only a score of warriors, he would have had no trouble in destroying every man. Even Captain Smith, who seemed safe against every disease and weakness, took the fever, but refused to give up, and with the help of a few others he was able to drag out and bury the dead. Among those who passed away were the good Bartholomew Gosnold and Studley, the treasurer.
There remained, however, Wingfield, the corrupt and wicked President, and the one who had been defeated in the trial of Smith. The two were his bitter enemies, and they formed a plot which, if successful, would not only ruin Smith, but would probably destroy the colony itself.
CHAPTER VII.
UP THE CHICKAHOMINY
When September came one-half of the Jamestown colony had passed away, and most of the survivors were tottering with weakness and disease. I have said that for weeks theses wretched beings could have hardly raised a hand to keep off the Indians had they chosen to attack them; but instead of that, Providence moved the hearts of the red men to pity, and they brought corn to the sufferers, though the supply was so scant that it could last but a short time.
Captain Newport had sailed for England several months before for food and supplies, but could not be expected back for a long time to come. He left one of the smaller boats for the use of the colonists, and Wingfield and another plotted to seize it and sail to the Mother Country. When they tried to do so, however, the others were so indignant that they not only stopped them, but turned them out of the Council, and chose John Ratcliffe as President. He was little better than Wingfield, and the settlers now compelled Smith to take charge of the colony.
The Captain quickly proved his worth. He gave the people to understand that every well man must choose whether to work or starve. He would have no idlers, and he set the example by toiling as hard as the best of them. On his return from an expedition down the river, where he forced a surly tribe to trade corn with him, he arrived just as Wingfield and his friend, who had again seized the pinnace, were about to sail. Smith opened fire on them with a cannon, and would have sunk the craft had they not surrendered. Their action was so base that they were tried by jury. The life of Wingfield was spared, but all authority was taken from him; while his companion, as the greater offender of the two, was condemned to death and shot.
With the coming of cool weather a great improvement took place in the health of the colonists. Disease abated, and on the appearance of frost all fever disappeared. Those who had been ill rapidly regained their health. The river abounded with fish and fowl, and the yellowing corn could be made into bread. For the first time the future looked bright, even though so many had died. Other immigrants were sure to arrive ere long, and were believed even then to be on their way across the ocean.
How prone are we to forget favors done to us! No man of colonial times earned a heavier debt of gratitude than Captain John Smith of Virginia, and yet, when things improved, those whom he had been the means of saving complained because he had not done more. He gave up the Presidency as the best means of teaching the people his value to them.
Of course, you know that Christopher Columbus died under the belief that, instead of discovering a continent, he had simply found the eastern shore of India. The belief was held by nearly everybody during more than a century that followed, that America was only a narrow strip of land, beyond which stretched the "South Sea." They thought that by sailing up any of the large streams they would reach that vast body of water. When Captain Henry Hudson passed up the noble river, named for him, in 1609, he expected to keep on till his little ship entered the South Sea. It was because of this universal belief that England, in granting land to most of her colonists, made the western boundary the Pacific Ocean, or South Sea, which I need not remind you was discovered by Balboa in 1512.
Thus it was that the colony which settled Jamestown was ordered to hunt for the South Sea. Captain Smith was reproached in Council for not carrying out this royal command, and because of such neglect his surly associates declared that the whole enterprise was a failure. I have often wondered whether the sensible Captain had any faith in this wild dream. Be that as it may, he replied to the fault-finding by declaring he would set out at once in quest of the missing sea. I cannot help thinking that when he was stung into making this answer, he was led to do so by his disgust with affairs at home, but more by his love of adventure. He must have felt that it would be a great relief to get away from the quarrelling people, who would learn his worth during his absence, while he would gain an experience for which he longed.
If you will glance at your map once more you will notice that a large tributary empties into the James River from the north, about ten miles west of Jamestown. It is the Chickahominy, and its sources are well to the westward in the direction of the mountains which form the most romantic section of Virginia.
It was on a clear, cold day, early in December, that Smith started on his eventful voyage in a barge propelled by a crew of half a dozen sturdy men, besides two friendly Indians. As he meant to ascend the river, as far as possible, he trailed a smaller boat behind the barge-the same that he used when he went ashore to learn the meaning of the signal fire on the southern bank of the James. This craft promised to be useful when he had gone as far as the barge could go, while it could also be turned to account by himself in hunting for game that would be scared away by sight of the larger boat, whose advance could not be as well hidden as the smaller one.
The barge, as it was called, was provided with a sail, which must prove of great help for a part of the time at least, while the small half-cabin at the stern gave sleeping room for the "shift" when off duty. There were plenty of blankets, though the size of the craft allowed no use of a fire as a means of warmth. There were three row-locks on each side, to be called into play when the wind was not favorable, besides the numerous times when they would have to use the poles with which to push the boat through the water. A scant supply of "pone," or corn bread, and venison was brought, but the main reliance of the party was upon the fish that were to be taken from the stream, and the fowl and game that could be shot along shore or in the woods.
When the barge left Jamestown not a flake of snow was to be seen anywhere, though winter had begun, and the climate in that section is sometimes severe. A strong breeze was blowing from the eastward, and the craft moved easily forward without calling the oars into use. Most of the course of the Chickahominy is through a swampy section, choked by fallen trees, where navigation is difficult. Captain Smith had sailed for a few miles above its mouth some weeks before, but the region was unknown to him. Because of this fact it was the more pleasing, for, as you know, the prospect of stirring adventure was one which he was never able to resist. During his stay in Virginia he explored so many waters in the neighborhood of Chesapeake Bay, that the distance covered was equal to the breadth of the Atlantic between Liverpool and New York.
It was yet early in the day when the barge turned to the right and entered the broad mouth of the large branch of the James. The sun, shining in a clear sky, moderated the cold, so that with their blankets about their forms the men were comfortable. The two Indians used only the deerskin jackets of covering for the upper part of their bodies. Thus clothed, they would have felt no discomfort had the temperature been at zero. Each had his bow and arrows, the white men being provided with the snaphaunce muskets or old-fashioned flintlocks.
Captain Smith seated himself at the stern, just back of the little cabin, his hand resting on the end of the tiller, which was held between his elbow and side. In this position it was the easiest thing in the world to direct the course of the boat. The others placed themselves as fancy prompted, all ready for any work when called upon.
Seated thus, the explorer was in a good position to study the country as they moved between the banks. The woods had a sameness, though they could never lose their interest to the crew, who knew they were the first of their race to gaze upon the forests, with the matted vines, the trees bending far over the surface, while rotting log, interlocked limbs, and fragments of trunks were mixed in such confusion that the boat had not gone far when the Captain had to change his direct course to a winding one so as to have a clear passage. Looking over the gunwale he saw that in most places the water was clear, though the color of the soil at the bottom gave it a dark appearance. Sometimes this depth was eight or ten feet, and then it became so slight that he was not surprised to feel the process slacken, and then cease so gently that few noticed it. The boat had grounded upon a marshy spot, and the wind could carry it no further.
Captain Smith spoke to his men, and four of them seized each a pole and rose to their feet. When the ends were thrust against the oozy bottom they sank deep into the mud. Instead of trying to push the craft ahead, they shoved so as to drive it back into deeper water. This was not difficult, the chief work being that of withdrawing the ends of the poles from the soft earth, so as not to bring the hull back to its former place. When the depth had increased the boat was steered to one side of the shoal, and the sail not having been lowered, it moved on again, though at so moderate a speed that some minutes passed before even Captain Smith was certain they were really advancing.
All this time the occupants of the barge were on the watch for Indians. Our friends were entering the hunting-grounds of the red men whose tribal name was that which was given to the river, and it was not to be expected that they would long remain ignorant of the coming of the visitors. Nothing would have been easier than for some of these warriors, lurking in the wooded depths along shore, to launch a shower of arrows that would be likely to do harm, even though Smith and those of his race were protected by rude coats of mail. But while this might have guarded their limbs and bodies, their faces were left without any shield whatever.
When the sun was overhead the two men seated nearest the cabin brought out the black, coarse bread and cold venison. With the aid of knives these were cut into rough pieces and divided among all. Butter, pepper, and salt were not thought of, and those who wished to wash down their food did so by dipping up water from the river in the palm of the hand, or, in the case of the Captain, by lifting it in a small tin cup.
About the middle of the afternoon the breeze fell, and the flapping sail told the navigators that they must use the oars. Four were slipped into place, and two pairs of sturdy arms bent to the task, the others awaiting their turn. The Indians who sat near the bow, silent and watchful, were not expected to take part in the labor, for it was of a nature with which they were not familiar. The Captain had told them to use their woodcraft to detect any danger, and the two were scanning the shores as they opened out before them, on the alert for the first warning sign.
Suddenly one of the red men uttered a hissing sound. Faint as it was all heard it. The rowers instantly stopped, and Captain Smith looked inquiringly at the Indians. The one who had emitted the signal pointed in advance and to the right bank. The river at this place was more than two hundred yards broad, the trees growing close to the shore and many in the water itself. Several white oaks curved out almost horizontally over the surface before turning upward and becoming upright. Many interlocking vines showed, but it was the season of the year when the foliage was absent, and only here and there was an evergreen seen.
Not a white man could discover the cause of the warning. So far as they were able to see, they were the only living creatures in the neighborhood. As yet they had not caught sight of a deer, bear, or even a fowl, and more than one began to believe that a disappointment awaited them over the supply of game. That the dusky guard had detected something, however, was certain. In answer to Smith's inquiry he said, speaking in his own tongue, that an Indian was near them on shore. There might be more, but certainly there was one. After a minute's pause the Captain ordered the men at the oars to renew work. As they did so he steered the boat a little to the left, but, like everyone else, kept his attention upon the spot where it looked as if danger was lurking.
The guard was right, for, when nearly opposite the place, all who were on watch saw not one warrior, but two partly hidden, by the trees and undergrowth. Their position was slightly crouching, and their attention was fixed upon the white men. They had the bows and arrows of their people, and one of them seemed to be fixing a missile to the string of his weapon.
While all were watching the Indian, not really certain as to his intention, he suddenly aimed, and let his arrow fly. It flashed in the sunlight, but was so poorly directed that it passed ten feet over the heads of the crew, and dropped into the water beyond.
Hardly had it done so, when Captain Smith reached down and caught up his musket lying at his feet. He aimed at the daring warrior, and, pausing only a moment, pulled the trigger. He was a better marksman then the other, who was struck by the bullet, which, if it did not inflict serious hurt, caused a twinge which threw the fellow into a panic. With a yell he whirled on his feet and dashed into the wood, his equally frightened companion crashing through the undergrowth at his heels. The crew broke into laughter, and two or three would have fired at the fleeing couple had the Captain permitted it.
Smith had done a prudent thing, for, had he made no reply to the attack, his foes would have thought it due to fear, and would have pressed the white men. Nothing further of that nature was to be feared from the two, nor from any of their friends whom they could tell of the occurrence.
The men at the oars now gave place to others, and the ascent of the Chickahominy continued until night began closing in. By that time they had reached the edge of the famous White Oak Swamp, where some of the severest battles were fought during the great Civil War of 1861-5. They found it composed of lagoons, morasses and stretches of wide-spreading ponds or lakes choked with trees, and abounding with shallow places, where the expanses of sluggish water were so broad and winding that it was hard to keep to the channel. The barge was anchored in the middle of one of these small lakes, the Captain deeming it unsafe to camp on shore, though nothing further had been seen of Indians. After partaking of a frugal meal the men lay down for the night, two of their number mounting guard. The Captain longed for a smoke, but there was danger of the light drawing the attention of their enemies, and again he set a good example to his friends.
After night had fully come, the anchor was gently lifted, and with the aid of the long poles, the position of the craft was shifted a number of rods down stream. This was meant to make it hard for any warriors prowling in the vicinity to find the boat. They would naturally seek it where it was last seen in the gathering gloom, and failing to discover it, would have to look elsewhere.
CHAPTER VIII.
PARTING COMPANY
It happened that the two men who were first to mount guard were our old acquaintances, Smith and Bertram, who had gone ashore with Captain Smith some months before, when the first named tried to abduct Pocahontas, the daughter of Powhatan, and might have succeeded but for the interference of the Captain.
Bertram's position was at the bow, while Smith was at the stern, near the small cabin. When the Captain gave them this duty he warned both to be on the alert during every minute of the time. The Indians were so cunning that if they knew of the presence of the barge in the river they would try some trick upon the whites, and the deception might take any one of a score of forms. The important order to the sentinels was that, whenever they saw anything suspicious, they were to fire upon it, for, in doing so, they could not fail to teach their enemies an important lesson.
"And," significantly added the leader, "gunpowder is valuable. Don't waste it."
Bertram sat with his blanket wrapped about his shoulders and his musket resting beside him, where it could be caught up at a moment's warning. His companion did the same at the stern. The night was cold, and since they were prevented from warming their blood by moving about, they felt the chill despite the protection. When it seemed to them that midnight had come, they were to call two of their friends and change places with them.
Soon after the couple had gone on guard, a gentle wind arose. It sighed dismally among the leafless branches on shore, and caused a faint rippling against the hull, which added to the loneliness of the place. No sound of wild animal or signal of men was heard amid the chilling solitude around them. The lowering of the temperature was so recent that the boat had met no ice on its way, though a few needlelike points began putting out from the swampy shore, and more of it was likely to form within the next few days.
Bertram had held his place for nearly two hours without hearing or seeing anything to cause misgiving. Deep, impenetrable darkness shut in the boat. In no direction could the watchers catch the faintest outline of the shore. The sky was partly cloudy, and the new moon was hidden, though a few stars twinkled overhead without adding any light to the impressive scene.
There was no danger of either of the men falling asleep while at his post. They might have done so had they tried to watch until daybreak. As it was, they continued as vigilant as if pacing to and fro in front of a camp fire.
At the end of the time named Bertram heard a sound that he knew meant danger. It was so faint that he was neither sure of its nature nor of the point whence it came. He shoved down the top of the blanket from his ears and listened. Fancying that the noise had been on his right, he leaned forward in the effort to penetrate the gloom, and closed one hand about the barrel of his musket.
Five or ten minutes of silence followed, when he heard the noise again-still faint, but distinct enough to show its nature as well as its direction. It was made by the dip of a paddle, and his first impression of the point whence the sound came was right. Beyond a doubt, a party of Indians in a canoe were hunting for the barge.
Bertram did not signal to his companion, for he might be held by some discovery of his own. He leaned farther over the gunwale and peered into the darkness. He lifted his gun so that it lay across his knee, and smothering the click made by the lock, drew back the clumsy hammer, with the bit of yellow flint clutched in its maw.
Thus gazing, he made out a shadowy something, which looked like a section of the gloom, resting on the water. It was moving very slowly, neither approaching the barge nor receding from it, but seemingly making a circuit of the craft. It was a canoe, but instead of completing the circuit on which it had started, it paused when just in front of the bow.
The sentinel thought that it would not stay motionless long, but would pass on, probably coming nearer the larger boat; but minute after minute passed without any change of its position. Several times when Bertram was intently looking he was sure there was nothing in sight; but, upon shifting his gaze for a moment and bringing it back again, his doubt vanished. The canoe was there, though he could not tell how many persons it contained.
Perplexed and uncertain of what he ought to do he emitted a cautious call to his companion, who stealthily made his way to his side.
"Have you seen anything amiss?" asked Bertram.
"Naught whatever. How is it with you?"
"A few yards in front of us a canoe has halted, but it is so dimly seen that I am in doubt whether to fire or not. What do you make of it?"
With one hand on the shoulder of his friend, Smith leaned as far over as he could, and gazed into the gloom.
"It is there," he whispered; "and, if I am not mistaken, it is full of warriors."
"Then I will do as the Captain commanded."
"And I will await the result before I fire."
The hammer of Bertram's gun being already raised, he softly brought the stock to his shoulder, first dropping the blanket so as to leave his arm free. He sighted carefully, but was checked by the same difficulty as before; as he fixed his vision on the target it seemed to melt in the darkness, and he could not make sure of his aim.
"I cannot see it," he muttered in vexation. "Do you fire."
"It is idle; it has gone."
This was true. During the brief moments taken to aim, the canoe had glided off in the gloom, and the keenest scrutiny on the part of both could not locate it. Smith picked his way to the stern, and the two kept watch until well beyond midnight. Then they roused two of their friends, and told them what they had seen, and urged them to unusual vigilance. But, though they obeyed, they discovered nothing to cause alarm, nor were the canoe and its occupants seen or heard of again. It was fair to believe that the warriors, after studying the large boat as best they could in the gloom, agreed that it was too dangerous for them to attack, and went away.
The two succeeding days were marked by toil and discouragement. Only for a brief time did the sail give any help, and there were hours when the oars were useless because of the many obstructions. Three times the crew had to saw their way through the logs and branches, and more than once, after poling hard for a long while, they could not see that they had made any progress. Fortunately the Indians did not disturb them. It was on the second day that a solitary warrior was noticed. He was leaping from log to log on his way across one of the many streams, knowing nothing, as it seemed, of the presence of the strange visitors. Not once did he turn his head, but whisked out of sight the moment his moccasin rested on dry land, as if he had business that would not admit of delay.
Finally, it was seen that the large boat was of no further aid in going up the Chickahominy. Use must be made of the small one trailing at the rear, which had served when they had to chop and saw their way through the obstructions. Smith would have been warranted in turning back and giving his energies to the exploration of other branches of the James, but such was not his nature. He said he would take the two Indians and a couple of his own men with him, and go up the stream as far he could.
The day was so near at its close that he decided not to start until the next morning. The chief thing to be feared was the red men, who were known to roam and hunt through the region. The fact that, after the exchange of shots several days before, they had seen only the single warrior, was good evidence that nothing of the kind threatened; but Captain Smith was not quite satisfied. He sent his friendly red men ashore with orders to scout the woods in every direction for signs of their countrymen, while he urged upon the guards to use sleepless vigilance throughout the night.
The disturbing feature must be borne in mind. Near the spot where the Captain had decided to part company with his companions they had seen an Indian leaping across the logs. What more likely than that he had friends in the neighborhood, whom he had joined shortly after observing the barge, and had told them of his discovery?
What would be done by these warriors? Would they give no attention to the white men, or would they join in a plan for their destruction? These were the questions which Smith could not answer, and which explained why he sent the friendly Indians to land with orders to scour the woods on every hand.
The result quieted the fears of the Captain. His scouts did not come back till late at night when they reported that they had not seen any of their own people, nor a sign of their presence in the vicinity. Furthermore, his men who kept watch on the boat did not discover anything to cause misgiving. This seemed to mean that no danger threatened, and yet it might mean one or two other things that were by no means so pleasant to think upon. The enemies, observing the hunt made for them, would have had little trouble in keeping out of sight. A still darker theory was that the scouts knew that a large number of warriors was in the woods, and possibly reached an understanding with them. Whether this was true or not can never be known, but the fact remains that there was at that very time a large party of red men near by, and the conduct of one of the friendlies some time after makes the theory named reasonable.
The barge was rowed to the middle of a broad expanse of water, where the woods were quite far off in every direction, and the anchor was dropped into the soft bottom. Smith meant to take the two Indians and the same number of his own men with him. His namesake and Bertram asked the privilege of being his companions, but he declined. He had not felt very friendly towards them since the affair with Pocahontas, and in the event of trouble with any of Powhatan's tribes, the presence of the two as his comrades might prove dangerous to himself.
Before leaving he addressed the four who remained in charge of the barge.
"No matter what happens after I am gone, not one of you must go ashore. You cannot do so without working the boat to land, and that is, perhaps, what the red men are waiting for you to do. Stay here till I come back."
"But suppose, Captain," said Bertram, with a grin, "you do not come back?"
"Wait for three days, if you see nothing of me then, turn the prow down stream, and make all haste for Jamestown."
"And what shall we say when we get there?"
"Say what you please," replied the Captain impatiently. "I don't doubt you will sprinkle plenty of falsehood in your words."
It was so much easier to go up the Chickahominy in the smaller boat, that Smith thought it likely he would continue the ascent of the river for several days. He meant to press on as far as he could go in the craft. Whether he should venture beyond that on foot must depend upon circumstances.
Thus five men entered the small boat, which, you remember, was provided with two pairs of oars, but had no sail. The white men did the rowing, while the Indians stoically looked on, willing, if asked, to take one of the blades in hand, and ply it as they were accustomed to use their own paddles.
At the moment of starting a slight flurry of snow carried the flakes against their faces, but it ceased in a few minutes, and the weather became more moderate than at any time since leaving Jamestown. This was pleasant, for no ice of account showed in the stream in which they must remain for some time to come.
Captain Smith had not been gone half an hour when those left behind in the barge boat gave voice to their discontent over the command he had laid upon them.
"It is unbearable to stay here for two or three days," said his namesake, who was seated at the bow, looking with a glum expression at his companions. "How shall we spend the weary hours?"
"We might fish," said Bertram with a grin.
"That would answer for a little while, but the fish do not bite readily in this wintry weather, and we shall grow tired."
"The scouts who spent so much time ashore told us that no Indians were near; that ought to satisfy us. Let us go ashore, where we can stretch our limbs and perhaps find game."
The proposal was in direct disregard of the order of their leader, but it was agreeable to each of the four men. They can hardly be blamed for feeling as they did over the prospect of remaining in virtual imprisonment so long, but their act, none the less, was wrong. Bertram and Smith rose to their feet and began plying their poles. The water was five or six feet in depth, and under their efforts the craft began sidling toward land. While the couple were toiling the others scanned the wooded bank which they were nearing. They must have felt a misgiving, for each laid his musket across his knee, and one of them wrinkled his brows and shook his head, but said nothing, and the poles were used with a vigor that steadily lessened the fifty yards or more it was necessary to pass to reach land.
The point at which the boat was directed was an open space, several square yards in extent, and favorable for stepping ashore from the craft. Beyond and on the two sides stretched the wood, with its rank undergrowth and matted vines. If there was any current it was too sluggish to be noted.
The side of the boat was so near the bank that it was a slight leap for any one. Smith was standing with his pole motionless, and on the point of making the jump, when one of his friends, who had also risen, gun in hand, called out in an excited undertone:
"Back-quick! The woods are full of Indians!"
CHAPTER IX.
HARD PRESSED
It was fortunate, that when the Indians warriors swarmed out of the woods to attack the boat so near shore, the four white men on board did not lose their presence of mind. This was partly due to the feeling which had come, more or less, to every one, that they were doing a dangerous thing in thus disobeying the order of Captain John Smith. Thus they were partly prepared for that which broke upon them with so much suddenness.
Smith and Bertram used the poles to the utmost, despite the arrows whizzing about them. They pushed so hard that the boat quickly yielded, and the space between it and the land widened with every moment. Their companions aimed their muskets at the crowding forms, and fired with such skill that each brought down a warrior.
The effect of this check upon the others was instantly noticed. It scared them into darting back among the trees, but instead of keeping up their flight they whisked behind the trunks, from which they continued to launch their arrows at the men in the boat.
Now, if the Indians, who certainly numbered a hundred, had done any one of several things, it would have proved a bad day for our friends. It is strange that the red men did not wait a few minutes longer until the four stepped ashore. Then, from behind the trees, they could have brought them down without danger to themselves. Or, if when they made their rush they had kept on, they might have leaped aboard the barge and crushed the defenders. Perhaps they did not know that after the white men had fired their terrible weapons it took some time to reload them. Be that as it may, they fell back, and the chance that the invaders needed was given them.
No one could have shown more bravery than Bertram and Smith. They plied the poles, paying no regard to the missiles flying around them; while their companions, first firing the guns of the couple, reloaded and discharged their own as fast as the chance offered. When the craft reached the middle of the broad space little was to be feared from the Indians, for the distance was too great for them to gain good aim.
It was at this moment that a strange thing took place. The clothes of every one of the defenders had been pierced by arrows-some in several places, and two had been wounded, though not severely. No one could have been more exposed than Bertram, standing out as he did in full view while helping to pole the boat. He was glazed more than once by the missiles, but was the only one of the four who was not so much as scratched. Smith had been hit, but was smiling over his good fortune, when he pitched forward on his face, pierced to the heart by an arrow that was among the last fired at the boat.
The body was tenderly laid at the stern, and then, while two were alert with their weapons, the third used the oars. There was no thought now of staying where they were until Captain Smith came back. They did not believe he ever would come back. So they kept on down stream as best they could. Fortunately for them the large body of Indians did not follow along the banks; and with the help of the current, after passing the obstructions below, they made good progress. In due course they glided out of the mouth of the Chickahominy into the James, and, reaching Jamestown, told their story. Among the settlers there was not one who expected ever to see Captain John Smith or his companions again.
Meanwhile the Captain was having stirring times. You remember that he set out to go still farther up the stream in the little boat, which was just bouyant enough to carry him, the two white men, and the friendly Indians. Its light draught made the work so easy that they kept on for a dozen miles before meeting their first check. The party heard the faint reports of the guns of their friends left behind in the barge. Smith thought it more than likely they were in trouble, but he had no idea of going to their help, since no one but themselves was to blame.
About noon he reached a point where he saw the little boat had become useless. He suspected the truth: he had strayed from the river itself, and was following one of its branches. He did not care for that; but telling the oarsman to turn to the left bank, all stepped out, and the boat was drawn up nearly clear of the water.
"You are weary from rowing," he said to the two who had taken turns at the hard work; "and you may wait here while I go a little farther in quest of game."
"Can't we help you?" asked one, who added that they were not tired. Both would have been glad to take part in the hunt.
I have said that Captain Smith was fond of hunting alone, and he told his friends to stay where they were. He meant to be with them before dark, when they could broil the game which he was sure of bagging, and they would spend the night in comfort by the camp fire in the depth of the forest.
Despite what the men said they were quite worn out from rowing the boat for several miles. So, with the help of a flint and steel, they kindled a big fire, wrapped their blankets around them, and lay down with their feet toward the blaze. By and by they sank into deep, restful sleep, for the air was nipping and cold, and they were well guarded against the chill.
It grieves me to say that neither of them ever awoke. At the end of an hour, while they lay dreaming, the same party of Indians that had attacked the larger boat came upon them, and quickly ended their lives.
Now, I need not remind you that in England, like all other countries governed by a monarch, the eldest son comes to the throne on the death of the ruler. Should King Edward die-and we all hope he will not be called away for a long time to come-the Prince of Wales, who is his eldest son living, would become the sovereign, and in the event of his death, his eldest son would inherit the crown. Such is the rule of descent in Great Britain.
It was not thus with Powhatan, the Emperor of many tribes of red men. The next heir to his throne, if we may call it such, was his eldest brother. If he had had no brothers, the descent would have passed to the sons of Powhatan's sisters. But Powhatan had several brothers, and one was Opecancanough. If he outlived Powhatan and the eldest brother he would become Emperor. I may say that this chief did become ruler, and lived to be nearly a hundred years old.
Opecancanough never liked the English, and he urged Powhatan and his fellow warriors to destroy them before their numbers became too great to be overcome. He was active and had much to do with the enmity the older brother often showed to the settlers. He was the leader of the band which attacked the large boat, when one of the white men was killed and the others had a narrow escape.
Opecancanough was pursuing Captain John Smith. He knew he was the leading man at Jamestown, and that it was more important to slay him than to put twenty other Englishmen out of the way. When he learned of the voyage up the Chickahominy he gathered more than a hundred of his warriors, and secretly followed the boat for many miles, watching for a chance to destroy the crew, but especially to slay Captain Smith. It proves how cunning he was that he did this for many miles without any of the white men learning the fact. The two who exchanged shots with the crew did not belong to his party, though they afterwards joined it.
A strange fact which it is hard to understand, was, that when Captain John Smith and his companions started up the branch of the Chickahominy they were not seen by either the chief or any of his band. The Indians were on the other side of the broad expanse of the water, and were not looking for anything of that nature; but it is singular, indeed, that some of them did not observe the departure of the small craft with its five occupants.
When the barge began working toward shore, Opecancanough believed Smith and his friends were on board. His eagerness to slay them led to a haste in the attack, which was the means of saving all except one man. During the fight the chief discovered that five of the crew, including the Captain, were absent. He must have noticed also, that, the small row boat which had been towed at the stern was gone. These facts told him the truth: Captain Smith had started up stream with four companions, who were already quite distant.
If the chief had made a bad slip in the first case, he now met with a piece of good fortune, due to the fine woodcraft of himself and his warriors. A study of the different outlets of the expanse of water showed where a slight disturbance was caused by the passage of the small boat. These signs became clearer as they pressed along the shore, and left no doubt that they were on the right course. Thus it came about that they arrived at the camp where the two white men lay asleep with no dream of danger. After the fatal halt it remained for the Indians to push on after Captain Smith, who had started to shoot some fowl or game for the supper of himself and friends.
From this point it was necessary to trail the Captain. It was not hard to do so, since he could not go through the forest without leaving the prints of his shoes, which were as easy to follow as if he had been walking over a dusty road. You must remember, too, that he had two companions in the persons of the friendly Indians. I have said that there is no knowing whether they were true to the leader or not. I cannot help doubting the loyalty of one of them, and think you will soon agree with me.
Captain Smith had no thought of danger. The fact that he had come thus far in the wilderness without harm led him to think that what had seemed to threaten him once or twice on the way had passed, and he need feel no alarm. Only one incident, after he had gone a little way, caused misgiving. He kept the lead; the Indians following him in single file, as is their custom. With his musket resting on one shoulder, the sturdy fellow tramped forward, sometimes turning to the right or left to avoid a dense growth of underbrush, or pool, or marsh. He was peering among the branches of the trees and along the ground in front and on either hand in quest of game, and grew impatient because he did not discover any. With a half-angry word upon his lips he suddenly saw a movement among the trees a little to the left, which he knew was caused by some animal. Uttering a guarded "Sh!" to his companions, he stopped short and looked keenly at the point where he had seen the slight flutter.
The next moment he caught the outlines of a noble buck stalking among the trees, with his side turned towards the hunter, whom, of course, he did not see, though he was sure to detect him in a twinkling. Afraid that one of the Indians might not understand the delicate situation, Captain Smith turned his head to whisper a warning.
As he did so he saw only one of his men. He who had been walking at the rear was gone. The discovery caused such a thrill of distrust that Captain Smith forgot the buck moving a little way from him, and asked:
"Where is Pete?"
He used the name he had given the fellow in place of his difficult native title. Jim, as the second was called, flashed his head about, and seemed as much astonished as the white man. He answered in his own tongue:
"He was walking behind me; I do not know what has become of him."
Both glanced among the trees to the right and left and the rear, without seeing anything of the missing one. A crashing noise made them turn to the front. It was caused by the buck, which having observed the hunter, was off like the wind. No danger of his serving for a meal that evening.
The Captain turned round again. Jim was standing with his back to him, his long bow in his left hand, while his profile showed over the right and then over the left shoulder as he searched for his late comrade. It looked as if he was as much puzzled as the white man. If so, we must believe he was loyal to the Captain, though we cannot think the same of the other.
Smith was angry. Before he could express his feelings he saw directly beyond Jim a disturbance among the trees, so similar to what he had noticed a short time before, that he thought it came from a similar cause, and that the game he was seeking was within his reach.
But he was mistaken. While he was looking an Indian appeared, coming cautiously toward him. Then another showed on the right of the red man, a third on his left, and beyond, around and among these the stained faces and dangling hair of others were quickly revealed, with still more coming into view. A band was approaching the startled Captain, who knew he was caught in a bad plight. The party which had slain three of his friends and had been pursuing him over so long a distance had caught with him at last.
The leaders of the Indians were almost as quick to discover their man as he had been to see them. A score of signals passed from one to the other, and the band pressed towards the Captain, who held his ground. Smith said there were three hundred of them, but it must have been less, though they were numerous enough to show that little or no hope remained to him.
That there should be no doubt as to their intentions, fully a score sent their arrows hurtling among the trees and branches at the white man. Some went wild and clipped off the twigs near him, but two of them nipped his clothing. He fixed his eye on the foremost Indian, who had come near piercing him with his missile, and noting that he was in the act of fitting a second one to his string, he took careful aim at the warrior and shot him dead.
During these stirring moments Jim stood as if so overcome that he was unable to move or speak. Although he held a fine bow in one hand and his quiver was full of arrows, he made no attempt to use them. It was too much to expect him to assail his own race, when there was no chance of helping the white man by doing so. Captain Smith did not ask him thus to seal his own fate, but his own quick wit saw a way in which he might be made to aid him.
Two strides brought the Captain so near that he could have touched the back of his dusky friend, who still seemed dazed.
"Stand where you are! Don't move!" commanded Smith, in his most impressive voice. "They won't shoot through you to reach me!"
The Captain was a larger man than his shield, and he took a crouching pose, peeping over each shoulder in turn and around the sides of Jim at his enemies, who were baffled for the moment. While doing so Smith carefully reloaded his musket. It was hard to pound the powder in place with the ramrod, shove the bullet after it, and then pour the grains into the pan, for, while thus occupied, he had to "keep one eye" on his foes.
CHAPTER X.
A PRISONER
Despite the trying situation of Captain Smith, he managed to reload his gun, and at the same time to keep his body quite well shielded by that of his dusky friend. Several causes made it possible to do this. Jim showed a real desire to help his master, for, when it would have been easy to break from him and join his countrymen, he allowed himself to be handled at will by the white man. The warriors showed by their actions that they did not wish to hurt Jim. More than once, when one of them had drawn his bow-string and pointed the arrow, he held it back, seeing that if he should discharge it he was likely to hurt the man who stood in front of the crouching Englishman. More than all, however, was the dread which the band, large as it was, felt of the fearful weapon that had stretched one of their number lifeless on the ground. Most of them tried to keep the trunks of the trees between them and him, even when aiming their primitive weapons. Smith had only to turn the muzzle of his musket towards the most daring of his enemies to make them dodge back to their protection and cringe in fear.
The Captain saw that the right course was not to fire until he had to do so to save himself. So long as his assailants knew that their leader was sure to fall they would hold back. How long this would last remained to be seen.
Now, it is hard to think of a situation more hopeless than that of Captain Smith at this time. When attacked, his back was toward the camp where he had left his two companions some time before. He hoped to be able to retreat until he joined them, when the three with their firearms might be able to hold off their foes. But it was quite a way to the camp, and he could not believe he would be permitted to reach it. His foes were so numerous that by spreading out they would be able soon to surround him. He could not protect himself from all sides by the body of Jim. It would seem that the best and only thing for him to do was to surrender before he had increased the enmity of the Indians by slaying more of them.
Standing close behind Jim, he gave his orders in a low voice. After he had reloaded his gun he grasped his friend's girdle at the lower part of his back, and jerked upon it when ready to retreat a few steps.
"Step slowly," he said, "keep with me. Not too slow!"
In this way the withdrawal was kept up till they had gone several rods. Smith glanced to the right and left, and saw that his enemies were spreading apart, so as to surround him. He must prevent this, or it would soon be all over with him. In truth, the position of the Indians would be better for themselves when they had formed a semicircle than after the circle was completed; for an arrow discharged from directly behind Smith would be liable to hit Jim, in the line of its flight, while the danger of doing this was less if fired from either the right or left.
You do not need to be told that Captain John Smith was one of the bravest of men, and he would fight as long as the slightest hope was left to him. When he had doubled the distance named he began to think that he might reach the camp of his companions and beat off his assailants, who felt such a dread of his gun. But while doing so, with Jim still serving the part of shield, he saw that the danger he had in mind at first had come upon him. One warrior, more than six feet in height, with his face stained with puccoon, and his crown stuck full of dyed eagle feathers, had worked so far to the right of the white man that the latter could not screen himself behind his friend without inviting a shot from most of the others. Smith was able to keep his chief foe in his field of vision while watching the actions of the main party.
This warrior must have had a clear plan in mind, for, darting from one tree to another and holding his arrow, he gained the advantage he was seeking. In order to make his aim certain he stepped from behind the trunk which had sheltered him, and carefully sighted at the slowly retreating Englishman. Before he could draw the shaft to a head he uttered a loud cry, leaped high in air, and pitched forward with his long bow bent under him. Smith had fired again, and not a second too soon.
The shot was so unexpected that the warriors were checked for a minute. Smith expected it, and, standing behind Jim, hastily reloaded his musket. No harder situation can be thought of, for it was certain that his foes would soon rally, and press him closer than before. With a coolness that was amazing, he poured the powder into the pan of his gun from his horn, grasped the weapon firmly, and took a couple of steps to the rear.
"Come on, Jim," he said, having loosed his hold. "Keep moving till I tell you to stop."
It was at this juncture that Smith made a startling discovery. One of the Indians-he who stood nearest the one that had just fallen-had an English musket in his hands! Less than ten paces from him a second warrior held a similar weapon.
Smith knew what it meant; his two friends whom he had left in camp had been slain. He had no one now to fall back upon.
Even the brave Englishman did not then yield. He would have continued retreating and fighting until brought to the ground. Nor did he give up when one of the arrows, better aimed than the others, pierced his thigh, and made a slight wound. He noticed that his comrade who had served him so well thus far had also been hit. His countrymen were growing impatient because he kept them back so long, and were beginning to launch their shafts with less care for his safety. His life would not be spared unless he stepped aside.
With a chivalry for which Captain Smith deserved the highest credit, he pushed his friend so strongly to one side that he had to take several paces to keep from falling.
"Thank you, Jim; you can serve me no longer."
The Captain retreated faster, with his eyes on his enemies, meaning to hold his fire as long as he could, but ready to use the musket the instant it was needed. Afraid that he would soon be surrounded, he paid no heed to Jim, who paused a little way from him, and stared around as if bewildered. The Englishman could not look where he placed his feet.
The right foot went down on the ground, but instead of finding the firm support it had had all along, the leg sank to the knee in the soft mud. Smith made a desperate effort to wrench it free, when the left foot went down as far as the other. He struggled with might and main, but sank farther, until both legs were imbedded in the ooze almost to his thighs.
This brought the end. It seemed to him that the clinging mud was colder than ice itself. He must perish, even if the Indians left him alone, and they were sure not to do that. He flung his musket from him, and threw up his hands.
"I yield! I surrender!" he called in the tongue of the red men.
Even then, when his helpless situation was plain to all, most of the warriors were afraid to draw nearer to him. All knew him as the most important member of the colony, and what they had seen him do filled them with dread of the great magician. Fortunately, there were a few with more sense. They went to where Smith was still floundering and grasping his outstretched hands, drew him out upon hard ground.
The Captain had learned from his experience among these people. He knew their weak side. In a voice of authority, he asked as he looked around in the stained faces, for their chief. At the same time he took hold of a small compass in an ivory case, which he earned at his side. Deftly untying the string, he held the little instrument in his hand, so that all could see the tiny needle flickering back and forth under the glass covering. They crowded around like so many children, gaping in wonder, and not knowing whether to retreat or hold their ground.
Finally, one braver than the others, timidly reached his forefinger and tried to place it on the dancing needle. But lo! something stopped the finger point before it touched the restless bit of metal. With a gasp of affright the warrior recoiled, ignorant of what it meant.
That which had checked his action was the thin covering of glass. Not one of the Indians had ever beheld the metal, and the bit before the curious one was so transparent that he did not see even that. Those of his people who had visited Jamestown observed the windows protected with oiled paper. Glass was before them for the first time.
Only one of the Indians was brave enough thus to try to touch the magnetic needle, and despite the shock he received, he tried it again, only to be repulsed as before. He bent his head farther over the compass, as if he suspected the hard substance which stopped him.
His head almost touched the chin of Captain Smith. The latter looked more closely at him. He saw that, while he was dressed much the same as the others, he had more stained eagle plumes in his dangling black hair, and he wore a broader and finer sash around his waist. Gazing downward, Smith noted also that his leggings had numerous ornamental fringes, and there were more beads on his moccasin-all these being in the line of the Englishman's vision.
Noting these, it flashed upon Smith that this warrior was the chieftain for whom he had asked a few minutes before. At the same moment he recognized him. He was Opecancanough, brother of Powhatan, next to him in importance, heir to the throne, and a leader who was destined to act an important part in the early history of Virginia.
When the sachem straightened up, after he had learned why he could not touch the needle, Smith offered the compass to him. He smiled and shook his head. His courage was not yet sufficient to take the marvellous thing in his palm. He looked into the face of the Captain, as did all the others, who crowded round, as if inviting him to tell them something about the instrument.
In describing this odd incident Captain Smith relates something which, with all our fondness for the good fellow, we cannot quite believe. He says that by means of the compass he demonstrated the roundness of the earth, the skies, the sphere of the sun, moon, and stars; "and how the sunne did chase the night round the world continually; the greatnese of the land and sea; the diversitie of nations; varietie of complexions, and how we were to them, antipodes, and many other such matters."
Perhaps the lecture was given as described, but little or nothing of it was understood by his hearers. In the first place, his knowledge of their tongue was slight, and the facts themselves were profound. But by this time Smith was in a bad condition. He was smeared with icy mud to his waist, and so chilled that his teeth chattered. His captors showed unexpected kindness. They rubbed the stuff from his clothes, and led him back to the camp where his dead friends lay. The fire was burning strongly, and he was soon able to warm himself.
But Smith had killed two of the warriors, and when the others had had time to recover from the spell of his seeming magic they talked together. After all, he was a man the same as themselves, though the color of his skin was different, and he did not dress like them. They were so numerous that he gave up all thought of resistance, since his weapons were in their hands, and they enclosed him on all sides. Two of them came forward, each taking him by an arm, and led him to a tree, to which he was bound with deer thongs. Then the company formed a circle, and each Indian slowly drew an arrow to its head, with the point levelled at him. Smith closed his eyes, and uttered a prayer to heaven.
Opecancanough was not among those who thus made ready to bury the missiles in his body. He stood a little apart from the others, and before they could launch their deadly arrows he commanded them in a loud voice to stop. At the same moment he held up the compass, which he had at last taken from the captive. His men were prompt in obeying, and all lowered their weapons.
Hope was renewed in the breast of Smith, though he could not help fearing that his death had been merely postponed. His captors knew who he was, and, since he had slain two of their number, they would not forgive him, even though the Indians had shot three of the whites to death.
The order of march was formed with Opecancanough in the center, and the English swords and muskets carried as trophies before him. Next to him walked Smith led by two savages, each of whom held one of his arms, while on either side marched six in single file.
Thus the procession moved through the forest till it reached Orapakes, a hunting home of Powhatan, on the northern side of Chickahominy Swamp. This village contained about two score mat houses. The women and children swarmed out of the dwellings and stared in amazement at the prisoner, the like of whom few had ever seen before. The warriors began a grand war-dance around Smith and Opecancanough, who stood in the middle. When the savages had tired themselves out they led the prisoner to a large matted wigwam, into which he passed, while twenty of the leading Indians mounted guard on the outside. Smith was unbound, and he seated himself on a bearskin near the entrance to the lodge, wondering what was to come next.
Before long a couple of warriors appeared bearing cooked venison and Indian bread, which they placed on the ground before the captive, who was so hungry that he ate his fill. After this enough was left for a dozen men. His attendants put it into baskets, and swung them from the roof over his head, but to Smith's surprise ate nothing themselves.
The wintry afternoon was drawing to a close, and the Captain was so exhausted that he stretched out on the bearskin and soon fell asleep. A fire had been kindled on the farther side of the wigwam, which so filled it with warmth that he was comfortable, though naturally his mind was greatly disturbed. Before closing his eyes he saw the shadowy forms of men, women and children, who kept coming to the entrance and peeping in. The door consisted of the skin of a bear, which was frequently drawn aside, and then the Captain saw several pairs of bright eyes studying him. He heard their whispers, after which they withdrew, and their places were taken by others as curious as they.
About midnight Smith awoke. Someone threw more wood on the fire, and by the light that filled the apartment he saw two others bearing venison and bread, which they placed at the head of his couch. The prisoner smiled.
"I have eaten enough to last me till tomorrow," he said. "You may take this away, and wait till I am hungry again."
But they gave no heed, and, having set down the food, passed softly out into the open air.
"Why are they feeding me so well?" he asked himself. "They must know I have had my fill-and therefore do not need any more-"
A dreadful suspicion flashed over him.
"They are fattening me like a pig, so that I shall be in good condition for them to eat!"
CHAPTER XI.
THE FRIEND IN NEED
Now, if a boy, while eating a fine dinner, should suddenly form the belief that the men who gave the food to him meant it to make him plumper, so that he would form a better dinner for them, I am sure he would not have much appetite left. Captain John Smith came to this belief not many hours after finishing a bountiful meal provided by his Indian captors, and he made up his mind not to eat another mouthful. If they meant to feast upon their prisoner, they should find him in the poorest condition possible.
It is easy for anyone to form such a resolve when he has no craving for food, but with the next morning it seemed to Smith that he was never hungrier in his life. And there were two big baskets of pone and venison. After thinking over the question he decided that he might as well eat what was set before him, and begin his fasting after that. By and by it was not hard to persuade himself that it would really make no difference as to what would be finally done with him. So he gave over all thought of punishing himself by going hungry when there was nothing to be gained by it.
The Indians spared his life so long that Captain Smith began to hope they would let him return to Jamestown. When he was taken before a sick man he told the friends he could get his medicine at the settlement that would make the patient well, but they were too cunning to let him go after it.
The next proposal of his captors was that he should help them in destroying Jamestown. They told him nothing could save the place, for the tribes had determined not to allow a white man to remain alive. They promised to give Smith all the lands he could ask, with liberty to choose as many wives as he pleased. He assured the Indians that it was out of their power to hurt the settlement, and that those who tried to do so would suffer awful consequences. His words produced the effect he intended, and the plan was given up.
Smith next did a thing that filled the red men with astonishment. He tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and with a piece of red chalk, whittled to a point, he wrote several sentences. Holding up the slip with the writing on it, he said to the staring warriors:
"The words I speak to you have been put on this paper; they ask my friends at Jamestown to give you the articles which I name. Let some of your messengers take this to Jamestown and show it to my people there, and you will see that I have spoken with a single tongue."
Not believing what he said, two of fleetest runners set out for the settlement. It was the depth of winter, when there was a good deal of snow on the ground, and the weather was very cold. But the messengers made the journey, and handed the paper to the persons there, who straightway gave them the trifling articles called for, to the unbounded astonishment of the runners, who could not understand how the strange thing was done.
It need hardly be said that the paper contained more on it than the writer had read to the Indians. He told his friends of the plan of the red men to destroy the place, and urged upon them to use the utmost diligence against surprise. In order to impress their dusky visitors, the settlers fired several of their cannon among the ice-laden trees. The shots made a great racket, and sent the branches and bits of ice flying in all directions. When the runners came back to their people and told what they had seen, and proved that the prisoner had really spoken by means of the paper to his friends many miles away, their amazement was beyond words.
Now followed several weeks during which Captain Smith was on exhibition. He was paraded through the country, with crowds swarming to look at him, as we do in these times when some new and strange animal is shown in the museums. No harm was offered him, but he could never feel secure against death, and he was always looking for a chance to escape. Not once, however, did he dare make the attempt. His captors were so watchful that he knew he must fail, and they would be sure to punish him, probably by slaying him at once.
During these troublous times Smith kept looking for Pocahontas or her brother Nantaquas. They must have known of the kindness he had shown the girl, and it would seem that gratitude would lead them to do all they could for him. But he saw nothing of either. His excursions were through the lands that were directly ruled by Opecancanough. The old Indian capital was on York River, about twenty-five miles below the present village of West Point. The spot was known as the "Chief Place of Council," the Indian name being Werowocomoco.
Finally, as if Opecancanough could not decide for himself what should be done with the captive, who had been exhibited through the country, he was taken to Werowocomoco, before the mighty Powhatan himself. There the great question was to be settled by the most powerful Emperor of all the Indians.
The scene was striking. The tall, glum, haughty Powhatan sat on a framework or couch, suggestive of a throne, covered with mats, and in front of a large fire. He was wrapped in a robe of raccoon skin. On each side sat a young woman who was his wife, and along the sides of the royal lodge stood two rows of men, with the same number of women standing directly behind them. The faces and shoulders of all the females were stained red, most of their heads were adorned with white down, and strings of white beads were around their necks. It was fortunate for the women that such a large fire was burning in the wigwam, for they had very scant covering on their bodies.
As Captain Smith was brought before this imposing company, naturally he was filled with wonder as to what the end would be. He knew that the grim, gaunt Emperor was about to decide his fate-or, rather, would make it known, for the prisoner had been led thither to hear his sentence.
As the Captain made a grave obeisance to Powhatan he cast searching looks around the lodge in quest of Pocahontas and her brother Nantaquas, and saw the latter. He was standing on the right of the Emperor, at the head of the double line of warriors, which was the place of honor. All these men had their weapons with them. Knives and tomahawks showed in their girdles, and the end of each bow, as tall as themselves, rested on the floor, being grasped around the thick portion in the middle.
Smith noticed that the stature of Nantaquas was the equal of the warrior next to him, though, in truth, he was only a boy. His eyes met those of Smith, but there was not the slightest change of expression. Whatever his feelings might be, the youth dared give no sign in the presence of his stern father.
But where was Pocahontas? Twice, Smith searched hurriedly among the group, all of whom he saw despite the rows in front, but that fair, pitying face was not among them. The prisoner's heart sank. He gave up hope. A woman known as the "Queen of Appomattox" was ordered to bring a wooden bowl of water, in which he washed his hands. Another woman handed him a soft bunch of feathers, which he used as a towel. After this came a barbarous feast for the hapless captive, and then a long consultation.
It is probable that Powhatan and his brother chiefs would have spared Captain Smith, but for the fact that he had slain two of their number. That was an offence which could not be forgiven, and he was sentenced to death. Two warriors appeared at the entrance of the lodge, each bearing a heavy stone. It was the most they could do to carry them to the open space in front of the chieftain, where they were laid on the ground, beside each other.
At a sign from Powhatan half a dozen of his men sprang to where Smith stood, watching the dreadful preparations. He was dragged and pushed forward, his hands tied behind his back and then flung to the ground, and his head forced down, so that it rested on the larger of the two stones. He did not resist, for this man of so many strange adventures felt that the last of them all had come.
Hardly had his head been placed on the rough support, when most of the warriors fell away, leaving one ranged on either side of the prostrate captive. These stood near his shoulders, and each grasped a huge club, the large end swinging clear of the ground, in position for them to draw it back and bring it down on the head of Smith with such force that no second blow on the part of either would be needed.
It was an awful moment. Intense silence reigned in the lodge. No one seemed to breathe, and only the soft rustle of the fire and the moaning of the wintry wind outside the wigwam broke the stillness. The position of everyone was rigid, and all eyes were fixed upon the captive and his executioners. Not a sign of pity showed on the face of anyone. The countenance of Powhatan was like that of a graven image, but his black eyes gleamed. To him the tragedy was one of fine enjoyment. He did not give any command or speak, for it was not needed. The couple with the clubs knew their duty.
At this moment of tense emotion a movement was heard on the left of the Emperor, and just behind the wife who was standing at the head of the row. With a gasping exclamation, Pocahontas dashed between the men in front of her, thrusting them out of her path, and, bounding like a fawn across the intervening space, dropped on one knee, placed an arm on either side of the Captain's head, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, looked up at her father.
"You must not kill him! He is my friend! He was kind to Pocahontas! Spare his life, dear father, for me!"
No one moved or spoke. Powhatan glared angrily at his daughter for neither she nor anyone had ever dared to do a thing like this before. Had it been anyone else, he would have struck the person dead at his feet.
But he could not raise his hand against the loved child of his heart. He started to rise, but changed his mind and sank back again. The executioners looked at him, awaiting his command, and paying no attention to the girl kneeling between them, with her arms still about the neck of Captain Smith, who looked up into her dark, pitying eyes. A warm tear fell on his bronzed forehead. With one hand Pocahontas brushed back the heavy brown hair which had dropped over his eyes, and smiling through her grief, said:
"You shall not be harmed! Your life is spared!"
"How can you know that, my good friend?"
"Do you not see?" she asked in turn, grasping one of his bound arms above the elbow, as if to help him to his feet.
At this moment Captain Smith saw what she meant by her question. The warriors with their huge clubs had stepped away from the two. Powhatan could not deny the prayer of Pocahontas, and had signalled to them to spare the life of the white man.
When the Captain stood erect, his face flushed with embarrassment. Not knowing what to do, he did nothing, but stood with his eyes on the ground. Pocahontas fluttered about him like a bird. She tried to untie the knots that bound his wrists behind his back, and though she would have succeeded in a few minutes, she was impatient. She beckoned to her brother Nantaquas, who came hastily forward and cut the thongs with his knife. He turned inquiringly to Powhatan, who motioned for his son to take the man away. Clasping the hand of the prisoner in his own, the youth led him through the door to the outside of the wigwam. Pocahontas did not follow, but did another thing that astonished the group gathered round. Forgetful of all kingly dignity in the stress of her feelings, she bounded to the throne, flung her arms about the neck of her parent, and laying her head on the gaunt shoulder, sobbed with thankfulness, murmuring words which only Powhatan could hear.
And for the moment he forgot that he was King. He stroked the masses of black hair until she regained command of herself, when he told her in a low voice that he had spared the prisoner because he could deny nothing to the one who asked it. She faced about with glowing countenance, on which the tears still shone, and moved back to the place she had held before doing the noble act.
Meanwhile Nantaquas guided Captain Smith to his own lodge, which stood at the eastern end of the village. It was small, for only he dwelt there. It was hardly a dozen feet in length, and no more than two-thirds of that in width, but a fire was smouldering at the farther end, the skins of animals were spread on the ground, and his favorite bow leaned in one corner. On the ridge pole of the wigwam were hung the furs of bears, deer, and wolf. Primitive as was the dwelling, it was as comfortable as it could be.
Captain Smith was not a "gushing" man. In this respect he was like Nantaquas. The Indian youth had learned the white men's custom of greeting one another by shaking hands. When the Captain, therefore, offered his hand to his friend, it was grasped by him.
"I shall always be thankful to you, Nantaquas."
"Your thanks belong to my sister," was the gentle reply.
"I know that, and she will ever dwell in my heart. Does this mean that my life is spared for a short time only?"
"I will learn; wait till I come back."
Lifting the flap of the lodge, the dusky youth slipped outside. Captain Smith sat down on one of the furs spread on the floor, and gave himself over to thinking of the strange things that had come to him in the past. He was sitting thus, sunk in meditation, when his friend returned.
Nantaquas had talked with Powhatan, who told him that Smith was to stay among the Indians, and give his time to the making of moccasins, bows and arrows, robes and pots, and especially to the manufacture of beads, bells, and copper trinkets for Pocahontas. The Captain accepted the proposal with great pleasure, for he knew that the end, sooner or later, would be his return to Jamestown. What a contrast between the many stormy scenes he had passed through and this quiet toiling in the depths of the American woods! He took up the task with the same energy he put in everything, and pleased Nantaquas; who showed a real friendship for him. Powhatan was also well satisfied, and Pocahontas, who often came to the little workshop and watched the sturdy Captain at labor, was delighted. She would sometimes sit for a long time on a mat in front of him, noting with childish interest the movements of the sturdy fingers that were more used to handling the sword than to fashioning the delicate ornaments and trinkets. She could not restrain her happiness as the articles gradually took form. When the Captain completed a pair of moccasins that were as dainty as the slippers of Cinderella, she slipped them on her feet, clapped her hands, and danced about the wigwam, just as any little English or American girl would have done. Nantaquas and Captain Smith smiled at the pretty picture, and the brave and good Captain felt well rewarded for his trouble. Indeed, could he ever repay this sweet daughter of the forest for what she had done for him? He often asked himself the question, and the answer was always a soft but earnest "No!"
CHAPTER XII.
CONCLUSION
Powhatan left no doubt of his friendly feeling towards Captain Smith when, six weeks after he started on his voyage up the Chickahominy, the sachem allowed him to return under guard to Jamestown. He received a warm welcome from his countrymen, and the Indians who had come with him were sent back to Powhatan with many presents for themselves, and still more for the American Emperor himself.
It is one of the many proofs of the fine character of Captain John Smith and of his great service to the colony, that, brief as had been his absence, the settlement had reached the verge of ruin. The little church had been burned, and the good minister held religious services under the trees. Of the more than a hundred men who had come across the ocean a few months before, only forty were alive. On the very day that Smith arrived at the settlement, the new President Ratcliffe and several of his friends had seized the pinnace-the only boat left-and were about to sail for England. This was the third attempt of that kind, and it was defeated again by Smith, who would have shot every man of them had they not come back to land and surrendered.
Now, what do you suppose was the next step of those wicked persons? You must remember that they had other friends, base as they were. They said that under the old Levitical law Smith was guilty of the deaths of the men that had been slain by Indians. They would have hanged him on the charge, had he not ended the business by arresting his accusers, and warning them that, if they caused him any more trouble, he would hang them all.
Woeful times now came to Jamestown. You would think they could be no more dreadful than those through which the settlement had already passed, but the poor people, besides quarrelling among themselves, began starving to death. The gaunt, famished settlers staggered along the single street, too feeble to rise when they stumbled and fell. All they could do was to creep into their cabins and lie down, moaning and waiting for death to end their sufferings. It looked as if not a man would be left alive, and about the only one who kept his feet and moved freely about was Captain Smith. He was always cheery and hopeful, and helped others by his good spirits, which seemed never to leave him.
But the day came when even this brave man saw no hope. He did not know where to get the next mouthful of food without going among the Indians, and his companions were too worn and weak to be taken with him. He would not leave them to their sad fate, but was ready to die among them, as he had been from the first.
Standing moodily on the outside of the palisades, with arms folded and looking off along the trail that led into the forest toward York River, he suddenly saw a strange sight. A girl came out from among the trees, bearing a basket of corn on her shoulder. He had hardly time to recognize her as Pocahontas when he saw she was followed by other Indians. On came the procession, until he counted eighteen. The one next to her was Nantaquas, and, filing after him, were other warriors, every one of whom carried a basket of corn or a haunch of venison. Providence had moved their hearts with pity for the perishing white men, and their timely visit with food saved them when, but for such kindness, all must have perished.
No wonder the grateful English ever after referred to the good maiden as "the dear and blessed Pocahontas." She came once or twice a week for months, bringing supplies through the woods from the York River to Jamestown. It was she who took the first step in this good work, and Powhatan was willing, for he felt friendly at the time towards the whites. Years after, in a letter to the Queen, Captain Smith referred to these acts of Pocahontas in the following quaint words:
"During the time of two or three years she next under God, was still the instrument to preserve this colony from death, famine, and utter confusion, which, if in those days had once been dissolved, Virginia might have lain as it was at our first arrival to this day."
I have not the space to tell you the later history of Virginia. Its troubles were by no means ended, and many dark days followed-days when it looked as if nothing could save the colony from passing away. I have aimed rather to show something of the great services of Pocahontas, daughter of Powhatan, who ruled over thirty tribes of Indians, She never showed any weakening of her friendship for the white people. Sometimes her father became offended with them and went to war, but nothing could shake her good will. He even grew angry with her, but, though parent and child could not quarrel the maiden only became more guarded in her deeds of kindness, when Powhatan happened to be in one of his ugly moods.
There was a time when the chieftain's enmity against Smith became so deep that he used every means he could think of to have him put to death. The Captain was ready to fight the Emperor, when nothing else was left. He set out one day with a strong company to surprise Powhatan. He had not been gone long when nine of those whom he had left at home went out in a boat in a severe storm. The craft was capsized and the whole party drowned. Smith had ordered these men to hold themselves ready to join him whenever he sent for them. It was important that he should be told of the calamity as soon as possible, so that his own expedition might not fail through lack of the aid he might need.
The task of reaching Smith through the many miles of wilderness was so dangerous that only one man in the colony was willing to make the attempt. He was captured by Indians and taken before Powhatan at Werowocomoco, and the chieftain ordered him to be put to death. Without drawing suspicion to herself, Pocahontas got him a short distance away in the woods, and hid him among the bushes. He would have been found and brought back by the warriors who set out to search for him had she not cunningly led them in a wrong direction. The man gained enough start to join Smith, and tell him of the sad accident to the men whom he had counted upon for help.
Some time later, when matters seemed to have quieted, a party of colonists went among Powhatan's people to trade, but all except one was massacred. Pocahontas succeeded in saving his life, and he lived many years, secure in her friendship, among the Indians.
In 1609 Captain Smith, while on one of his exploring expeditions, was so painfully burned by the accidental explosion of a bag of gunpowder, that he suffered great agony. Good medical treatment could not be given him at Jamestown, and he sailed for England. He never came back to Virginia, which was a great misfortune, since no man could be found fitted to take his place. Of the five hundred whom he left behind, only sixty were alive at the end of six months. History refers to this fearful period of Virginia as "the Starving Time."
When, at last, conditions improved through the steady coming of immigrants, Captain Argall started on a cruise up James River. He invited Pocahontas to visit his vessel, and she, dreaming of no evil, came aboard with an Indian woman, who had been bribed to play her part, under the promise of Argall that no harm should befall the girl. The woman was allowed to go ashore, but Pocahontas was kept as a prisoner. The expectation of Argall was that Powhatan would be glad to pay a large ransom with corn for her return to him. Instead of doing so, the furious sachem prepared to wage a savage war against the colony.
During these troublous weeks Pocahontas stayed at Jamestown, where everyone treated her kindly. John Rolfe, a member of a good English family, became interested in the maiden, and she returned his affection. He was a good Churchman, and talked to Pocahontas about the true religion. She listened with deep interest, and soon showed that no one understood the mysteries of the Christian faith better than she. She was truly converted, and asked that she might be baptized. In the quaint little chapel at Jamestown, whose columns were the rough pines from the forest, whose pews were fragrant cedar, and whose communion table and pulpit were of black walnut, this Princess of the Woods knelt before the font hewn out of a log, made the responses in broken English, and received the baptismal name of Rebecca.
Rolfe and Pocahontas were married in the month of April, 1613. Although Powhatan did not attend the ceremony, he cheerfully gave his consent, and sent his brother and two of his sons to represent him. One of these was our old friend Nantaquas, who was highly pleased with the marriage. The uncle of Pocahontas gave her away in accordance with the Anglican ritual. The windows of the chapel were festooned with evergreens, wild flowers, and crimson hollyberries. The communion table was covered with spotless white linen, and on it rested bread from the wheat fields and wine from the native grapes. The settlers and Indian visitors crowded the small building, and gazed with deep interest upon the beautiful picture.
When the bride and groom appeared, she was dressed in a simple tunic of white muslin, with her comely arms bared to the shoulders. Sir Thomas Dale had presented her with a rich robe, which she had herself embroidered. Her abundant black hair flowed down her back, and was encircled by a fillet, filled with the bright plumage of birds, and holding in its fastenings a cloudlike, misty veil. A few simple articles of jewelry gleamed on her wrists. Modest, loving, and beautiful, she made a charming bride.
Nor must we forget the groom. He had a manly figure, and with his short, full beard, an attractive countenance. He was dressed like an English cavalier, and wore a short sword on his thigh as a mark of distinction. The two stood upon the chancel steps, which had no railing, and there the clergyman, with impressive voice and manner, amid the breathless hush of the spectators, made the two man and wife.
This union was a happy one in every respect. Husband and wife devotedly loved each other, and Powhatan became the true friend of the English, and so remained to the close of his life. When Governor Dale sailed for England in 1616, he took Rolfe and Pocahontas with him. She was called "Lady Rebecca," and surely it was proper that she should wear such honor, for was she not the daughter of the Greatest American King of his time? She received marked attention from the court and leading dignitaries in England, and everything was done to make her feel happy in a land so new and strange to her.
It was natural that Pocahontas should feel anxious to meet her old friend Captain Smith. He was the first whom she asked about, but, to her grief, she was told that he was dead. While mourning for him, the Captain called upon her. She was so shocked that she burst into tears, and asked why the deception had been used. All sorts of explanations and excuses were made; but you will agree with me that none was sufficient to justify such cruel treatment.
She soon regained her cheerfulness, and the two sat down and had a long talk over their lives in the land, three thousand miles away, in the depth of the American woods. She called the Captain "father," and he returned by speaking to her as "daughter."
Since I know you feel an interest in the brave Captain John Smith, I will say in this place that he sailed along the coast of New England in 1614, and gave the name of Boston to the principal city in that region, besides partially exploring the country. He spent his last years in London, engaged in writing his histories. He died in 1631, and was buried under the chancel of St. Sepulchre's Church. The opening of the poetical inscription is, "Here lies one conquered, that hath conquered kings," and the close of the prayer is, that "with angels he might have his recompense."
Rolfe and his wife had made ready to sail for the New World, when, at the beginning of the year 1617, she fell ill at Gravesend, and died at the age of twenty-two years. She left an infant son, Thomas, who was taken to London and educated by his uncle, Henry Rolfe. When he reached manhood he returned to America, gained a large fortune, and became a gentleman of distinction. From him some of the leading families in Virginia today are proud to trace their descent.
By the way, I may add, as an interesting coincidence, the fact that the home of Little Folks, "LaBelle Sauvage," was thus named in honor of Pocahontas, the "Princess of the Woods."
EDNA'S SACRIFICE
BY FRANCES HENSHAW BADEN