The white settlers had taken up plantations over a vast area of land, and some of them had farms at a considerable distance from the river, from each other, and from the stockade at Jamestown. Here, in fancied peace and seclusion, they tilled the soil, grew corn, wheat, and tobacco, and began to prosper in the wilderness. Their women and children were with them, the rough-hewn barns were full of cows, horses, and sheep, while—piled near their log houses—the ploughs and other imported implements of agriculture showed that the civilization of the whites was soon to bend the wilderness to its will, and make the virgin soil produce. There was no suspicion of an Indian attack. The red men loitered lazily about the cabins of the settlers, played with the dogs, slept in the sun, and bartered a few skins, which they had trapped, for grain and provisions. Apparently there was no thought or idea of violence. Opechancanough was friendly; his warriors were busy with fishing and hunting; and peace breathed its security over the soil of Virginia.
But the tempest of hatred and revenge, which had been gathering since the death of Powhatan, was to now break upon the devoted colony. Hiding his true intentions behind an aspect of friendliness and kindness, Opechancanough had made every preparation to exterminate the Colonists from England. He had silently passed the word to his warriors to make an attack upon the settlements upon the twenty-second day of March, 1622, and so carefully was the secret kept that not a word of the terrible news escaped to warn the defenseless whites. The various tribes, who banded themselves together for the attack, were stationed in the vicinity of several places where an advance against the settlements would be easy and swift. They were directed by Opechancanough to march with all speed to these stations—the day before the massacre—and, although the braves had to walk for great distances through a dense forest (guided only by the stars and moon), not a single straggler deserted the ranks of the Indians, nor did a single mistake occur. One by one—in single file—the warriors silently passed through the Virginian thickets, and, halting at short distances from the settlements, waited in the underbrush for the signal to advance.
In the early gray of this March morning, a redskin slipped silently through the wood from the clearing of a planter. He arrived at length to where his allies were crouching quietly in the shadows, and, raising his hand aloft, he said: "Ugh! Ugh! The time is good. Strike now!" Without further consultation, the long line of painted warriors slipped out from the forest into the clearing, rushed across the open space to the cabin of the settler who had dared to penetrate thus far into the wilderness, and soon a wild scream and savage warwhoop showed what had been the fate of the inhabitants. Flames soon burst from the roof—the log hut was ablaze—and, with loud screeches of joy, the Indian devils danced about the crumbling remains of the once peaceful home.
The savages knew exactly where every Englishman was to be found. Some entered the houses of their white friends, saying that they wished to trade. Others drew the owners out into the forest, telling them that they had skins there, which they wished to barter with them; and still others fell upon the Colonists as they were ploughing or working in the fields. The whites were totally unprepared and thoroughly surprised. Before they could think, they were seized, struck down, and murdered. In one short hour, and almost at the same time, three hundred men, women, and children were thus brutally dispatched, before they had an opportunity to seize anything to defend themselves with. Wild screams of terror went up in the wilderness, as the Indians completed their butchery, and there were none there who could aid the defenseless Colonists of Virginia.
But the Indians did not have an easy time with all the whites whom they attacked. When they rushed in upon Nathaniel Causie—an old soldier of Captain Smith's—he seized an axe, and, although wounded by several arrows, when a savage tried to stick a knife into him, he struck him such a blow with his weapon that he fairly cut him in two. This terrified the other Indians so that they fled, while Causie ran to the settlements farther inland to warn the whites of their peril. At a place called Warrasqueake, a Mr. Baldwin stood off about fifty braves with his musket, and by barricading himself in his house finally drove the savages away single-handed. Not far away from his home, two settlers held their house against sixty Indians, and hit so many of the screeching red men that the war party finally withdrew, falling upon the house of a stout old historian, called Ralph Hamer, who kept them off with a spade, armed his sons with pitchforks and axes, and, as the Indians had no guns, kept them away from his log hut, after a battle lasting over two hours. At Martin's Hundred a family of four persons hid in the cellar of their house and were entirely overlooked by the yelping warriors, although seventy-three of the English settlers were slain near by. With horrible yells of delight, the Indians mutilated the dead bodies of the slain and tortured the dying settlers with the cruelest of devices.
At Jamestown a fortunate incident occurred. A settler, living just opposite the town, had an Indian servant called Chanco. This red man's brother told him of the proposed attack on the day before the outbreak, so, running to his master, Chanco cried out, "Quick, quick, you must run away. Opechancanough, he come tomorrow with his men, and murder you."
"How do you know this, Chanco?" asked the startled Colonist.
"My brother, he tell me just now. Quick, to the settlements."
Now, believing what his servant told him, the settler ran to the shore, leaped into a boat, and rowing rapidly across the James River, warned the inhabitants of Jamestown of their peril. They quickly armed themselves, mounted their howitzers on the stockade, closed the gates, and presented such a formidable appearance to the followers of Opechancanough when they appeared before the walls next day, that they quickly withdrew into the forest.
The first attack was over, but war had just begun. The settlers deserted their cabins and gathered in the larger towns for mutual defense. Their smaller towns—like Henrico and Charles City—were abandoned, their scattered plantations were deserted, their iron works and glass works were given up, their fields of corn and vineyards were destroyed, and the men armed for revenge upon Opechancanough, the cruel. A body of soldiers was formed—called the Long Knives—who carried muskets and exceedingly sharp dirks which they would plunge into an Indian's hide with as much pleasure as they stuck them into the dead carcass of a deer. All but six plantations were left to their fate and there had been eighty prosperous farms on the James River. Three overseers and owners refused to leave their property, mounted cannon on stockades around their houses, armed their servants, and determined to give the Indians a severe drubbing if they ever dared to attack them. The forests and underbrush near all the houses of the whites were burned for several miles, so there would be no protection to the skulking savages, and these—not daring to make an attack in force—made short and sudden incursions on the settlements, carrying off corn, cattle, and sometimes unfortunate people. The whites gave the red men no quarter when they caught them. The Long Knives were as bloodthirsty as were the savages themselves.