A FIGHT IN THE SWAMP
Not a day passed without new rumors at Werowocomoco of the white strangers and their curious habits.
Pamunkeys from the tops of swaying trees on either bank watched eagerly the doings of the colonists, and runners bore the word of every movement to both Opechanchanough at Kecoughtan and to The Powhatan at his village. Curiosity and consternation were equally balanced in the minds of the red men. What meant this coming from the rising sun of beings whose ways no man could fathom? Were they gods enjoying a charmed life, against whom neither bow nor shaman's medicine might avail? About the council fires in every village this was debated. The old chiefs, wise in the traditions of their people, spake of prophecies which foretold the coming of heroes with faces pale as water at dawn who should teach to the tribes good medicine and bring plentiful harvests and rich hunting. Others recalled the vague rumors which had come from far, far away in the Southland, from tribes whose very names were unknown, of other palefaces (the Spanish colonists in the West Indies), who had brought fire and fighting into peaceful, happy islands of the summer seas, who like terrible, powerful demons, spread about them death and strange diseases.
Then came to the councils the comforting word of the death of a white boy slain by a Pamunkey arrow. So they were mortal after all, said the chiefs, and they smoked their pipes more placidly as they sat around the fire. Against gods man could not know what action was right; but since these were but men who could hunger and thirst and be wounded, it behooved them to plan what measures should be adopted against them.
Many of the chiefs urged immediate steps.
"It is easy," said one, "to pull up a young oak sapling, whereas who may uproot a full-grown tree?"
Nautauquas, son of Powhatan, was among the most eager for action. He had won for himself the name of a great brave and a mighty hunter though still so young. Many a scalp hung to the ridgepole of his lodge and many a bear and wildcat had he slain at great risk to his life. Now here was a new way to distinguish himself—to go forth against dangers he could not even foresee. What magic these pale-faced strangers used to protect themselves was unknown; therefore if he and his band should overcome them and wipe away all traces of their short stay, it would be a tale for winter firesides and a song for singers of brave deeds as long as his nation endured.
"Let me go, my father," he pleaded. "Thou, who thyself hast conquered thirty tribes, grudge not this fame to thy son."
"Wait!" was Powhatan's only answer.
The shamans and priests had advised the werowance thus. Not yet had they fathomed Okee's intentions in regard to these newcomers, though they had climbed to the top of the red sandy hills at Uttamussack where stood the three great holy lodges filled with images, and they had fasted and prayed that Okee would reveal to them what he desired. Powhatan, in spite of his years, felt the urge of action, and his heart leaped up when his favorite son gave voice to his own wishes. He longed to take the warpath, to glide through the forest, to spy upon the strangers who had dared make a place for themselves in his dominion, and then to fall upon them, terrifying them with his awful war-cry as he had terrified so many of his enemies. Yet he dared not do this yet: he was not only a great war chief, but a leader of his people in peace. Okee had not yet spoken. Perchance the men with strange faces and strange tongues would of their own accord acknowledge his sovereignty, and there might be no need of sacrificing against them the lives of his young men.
All this he was thinking when he bade Nautauquas wait; but there was no one who read his mind, yet no one who dared to disobey him.
When Nautauquas came out from his father's lodge he took his bow and quiver and went into the forest to hunt. In his disappointment he had a hatred of more words and a longing for deeds. He ran swiftly and had reached a spot where he felt sure that he would find a flock of wild turkeys, when he saw Pocahontas ahead of him. She too was hurrying, bent evidently on some errand that absorbed her, for she did not stop to peer up at the birds or to pull the flowers as she was wont to do.
"Matoaka," he called, "whither goest thou?"
"To see the strangers and their great white birds again which I beheld from Kecoughtan, Brother. I cannot rest for my eagerness to know what they are like nearby."
"Hast thou not heard our father's word that no one shall go near the island where the strangers be?" he asked.
"My father meaneth not me," she answered proudly. "As thou knowest, he permitteth me much that is forbidden to others."
"But not this, little Sister. Only just this moment did he forbid me to go thither. His mind is set thereon; tempt not his anger. Even though he loves thee well, if thou disobeyest his command in this matter he will deal harshly with thee. Turn back with me, Matoaka, and thou shalt help me shoot."
Pocahontas was reluctant to give up her long-planned expedition, but she let herself be persuaded. She remembered that Powhatan that very day had ordered one of his squaws beaten until she lay at death's door. Moreover, it was a great joy to hunt with Nautauquas and to see which of them would bring down the most turkeys. They were needed by the squaws who had been complaining that the braves were growing lazy and did not keep them supplied with meat.
While Powhatan's two children were adding to the well-filled larder of Werowocomoco, there was real dearth of food at Jamestown. The stores, many of them musty and almost inedible after the long voyage, were growing daily scarcer. There was fish in the river, but the colonists grew weary of keeping what they called "a Lenten diet," and in their dreams munched juicy sirloins of fat English beef. At first their nearby Indian neighbors had been glad to trade maize and venison for wonderful objects, dazzling and strange; but now, whether owing to word sent by Powhatan or for other reasons, they came no more with provisions to barter. John Smith, seeing that supplies were the first necessity of the colony, had gone forth on several expeditions up the different rivers in search of them. By bargaining, by cajolery, by force, he had managed each time to renew the storehouse. Yet again it was almost empty and starvation threatened.
Something must be done at once, and the Council sat in debate upon the serious matter. Captain John Smith waited until the others had had their say, and nothing practical had been suggested, then he rose and began:
"Gentlemen of the Council, there is but one thing to do. Since our larder will not fill itself, needs must someone go forth again to seek for food. Give me two men and one of the ship's boats and I will set off to the northward, up that river the Indians call the Chickahominy and, God helping me, I will bring back provisions for us all and make some permanent treaty with the savages to supply us till our crops be grown."
President Wingfield agreed to Smith's demand. The barge was got ready with a supply of beads and other glittering articles from Cheapside booths, and Smith set off with the good wishes of the wan-faced colonists.
After they had reached what seemed to Smith a likely spot for trading, he took two men, Robinson and Emery, and two friendly natives in a canoe and set off to explore the river further, bidding the others to wait for him where he left them and on no account to venture nearer shore.
He was glad to be away from the noise of complaining men at Jamestown, many of whom were ill and fretful from lack of proper nourishment and some, who because they were gentlemen, would not labor yet repined that they could not live as gentlefolk at home. On this expedition he was with friends, even though he knew not what enemies might be lurking on the shore; and he realized that the natives were growing less friendly as time went on and they began to lose their first awe of the white men. But he had no fear for himself; he had faced too many dangers in his adventurous life to conjure up those to come.
As they paddled up the Chickahominy the men began to talk of old days in England before they had dreamed of trying their fortunes in a new world, but Smith bade them be silent so that he could listen for the slightest sound to indicate the vicinity of a human habitation.
"Make friends as soon as thou canst with the copper men, Captain," whispered Robinson, "for I be main hungry and can scarce wait till thou hast bartered this rubbish 'gainst good victuals."
"Pull thy belt in a bit tighter, men," suggested the Captain grimly; "if I understand all they tell me, the Indians can beat the most devout Christians in fasting. 'Tis one virtue we may learn from them."
They kept in the middle of the stream to be safe from any arrows that might be shot at them from shore; but after many hours of this caution. Smith determined to explore a little on land. To his practiced eye a certain little inlet seemed so suitable a landing for canoes that he felt sure an Indian village could not be far off.
"Push out into the stream again," he commanded as he stepped ashore, "and wait for me there."
John Smith strode into the forest, ready for friendship or war, since he knew not the temper of the natives of that region. Suddenly, as he came out upon an open space where a morass stretched from a hill to the river, two hundred shrieking savages rushed upon him, shooting their arrows wildly at all angles.
"War then!" cried Smith aloud, and as one young brave in advance of the others stopped to take aim, he leaped forward and caught him. Ripping off his own belt. Smith bound the astonished Indian to his left arm so that he could use him as a living buckler. Thus protected, he fired his pistol and the ball, entering the breast of an older chief, killed him instantly. For a moment the strange fate which had overtaken their leader checked the onslaught, while his companions stooped down, one behind the other, to examine the wound made by the demon weapon. This respite gave Smith time to whip out his sword, and whirling it about him, he kept his enemies at a distance. He might have succeeded in defending himself thus for some time longer, for the savages had ceased to shoot, not certain whether their arrows would not be ineffectual upon an invulnerable body, but all at once he became aware of a new danger. The marshy ground on which he stood had softened with his weight and that of his living shield and he now felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into the morass until he was submerged up to his waist. Still the Indians, doubtless fearing he had some other strange weapons or evil medicines in his power, did not rush forward to attack him.
The day was bitterly cold, and the stagnant water struck a chill to his very bones. His teeth began to chatter with cold, not fright. It was almost with a sense of relief that he saw the Indians start towards him. Carefully treading in their light moccasined feet, they gradually surrounded him and two, taking hold of him, while others loosened the bound brave, they drew him up from the slushy earth by the arms.
He was now a captive, and not for the first time in his life. There was nothing to be gained, he knew, by struggling, and he faced them with no sign of fear. They led him to a fire which was blazing not far off on firmer ground where sat a chief, who, he learned, was the werowance Opechanchanough.
At a word of command from him, the guards moved aside and the huge warrior walked slowly around Smith, examining him from head to foot.
There was a pause which, the Englishman knew, might be broken by an order to torture and kill him. He did not understand their hesitancy, but he meant at any rate to take advantage of it. He must engage the attention of the giant chief before him. Slowly he pulled from his pocket his heavy silver watch and held it up to his own ear.
Never had Opechanchanough and his men experienced such an awe of the unknown. For all they could tell, this small ball in the white man's hand might contain a medicine more deadly than that of his pistol. They stood like children in a thunderstorm, not knowing when or where the bolt might strike.
But nothing terrible came to pass. Then Opechanchanough's curiosity was aroused and he put out his hand for the watch. Smith, smiling, held it towards him in his palm and then laid it against the chief's ear, saying in the Pamunkey tongue: "Listen." Opechanchanough jumped with astonishment and cried out:
"A spirit! A spirit! He hath a spirit imprisoned!"
Then one by one the captors crowded forward to look at the "turtle-of-metal-that-hath-a-spirit," and many were the exclamations of astonishment.
In order to increase this feeling of awe and to lengthen the delay, though he did not know what he could even hope to happen. Smith felt in his pocket again and brought out his travelling compass. It was of ivory and the quivering needle was pronounced by Opechanchanough to be another spirit.
But suddenly, without warning, two of the younger warriors, who had evidently determined once for all to discover if this stranger were vulnerable or not, seized Smith and dragging him swiftly to a tree, threw a cord of deer thong about him, drawing it fast. Then they notched their arrows and took aim at his heart. "In one second it will be over," thought Smith, "life, adventures, my ambitions and my troubles."
Then Opechanchanough called out to the braves, holding up the compass. Frowning with disappointment, the young men loosed their captive and Smith realized that it was again the chief's curiosity which had saved his life. By means of such Indian words as he knew and by the further aid of signs he endeavored to explain its usage.
"See," he said, pointing, "yon is the north whence comes popanow, the winter; and there behind us lies cohattayough, the summer. I turn thus and lo, the spirit in the needle loves the north and will not be kept from it."
When all had looked at the compass, Opechanchanough took it again in his hand, holding it gingerly as he would have held a papoose if a squaw had given one to his care. This was something precious and he meant to keep it, yet he did not know what it might do to him. At any rate, it would be a good thing to take with him the man who did understand it.
"Come," he said, "since thou canst understand our words, come and eat in the lodge of the Pamunkeys."
And Smith, ignorant of when death might fall upon him, followed. That day they feasted him, and the half-starved Englishman ate heartily for the first time since he set foot in the new world. At least he had gained strength now to bear bravely whatever might await him. The next day he was bidden accompany them, and they marched swiftly and steadily for many hours through the forest to Orapeeko. It may be that Opechanchanough's messengers had informed him mistakenly that Powhatan was at that village which, after Werowocomoco, he most frequented; but on their arrival there they found the lodges empty except the great treasure-house full of wampum, skins and pocone, the precious red paint used for painting the body. This was guarded by priests, and while Opechanchanough talked with them. Smith marvelled at the images of a dragon, a bear, a leopard and a giant in human form that ornamented the four corners of the treasure-house.
Evidently the priests were giving the werowance some advice. Smith wondered whether the savages offered human sacrifices to their Okee and if such were to be his fate. But the night was passed quietly there; the next day was spent in marching, and the following night in another village. Everywhere he was the object of the greatest interest: braves, squaws and children crowded about him, fingered his clothes, pulled at his beard and asked him questions. The Englishman observed them with the same interest. He noticed how the men wore but one garment leggings and moccasins made in one piece, and how they were painted in bright colors, many wearing symbols or rude representations of some animal which he learned was their "medicine." He watched the women as they embroidered and cooked, tanned hides and dyed skins, scolded and petted their children. Their lodges were lightly built, he saw, yet strong and well-suited for their occupants. Many of the young men and maidens made him think of deer in the swiftness of their movements and in the suppleness of their bodies.
After many days of travelling, in which Smith believed that they often retraced their steps, they found themselves one afternoon at the outskirts of a larger village than any they had yet entered. Dogs barked and children shouted as they neared the palisade, and men and women came running from every side.
"Certainly," thought Smith, "we are expected. Never in an English village have I seen a Savoyard with a trained bear make more excitement than doth here Captain John Smith."
