Famous Indian Chiefs / Their Battles, Treaties, Sieges, and Struggles with the Whites for the Possession of America

by Charles H. L. Johnston

So many whites had been captured by the Indians that the Governor at Jamestown finally sent some envoys to treat with Opechancanough for their exchange.

"I shall not do aught that you wish of me," replied the haughty Chief to the requests of the ambassadors. "Am I not King of this country? Do I not own it by direct descent from my parents? Does the Indian not hold this land from the Great Father? And, as for this picture of the Great Father of the English which you bring me," here he turned to a portrait of James the First which the envoys had given him, "to show my feelings for him, I hereby step on him." So saying, he threw the portrait upon the ground and put his foot so heavily upon the face of good King James that he broke it into a hundred portions. Thus, seeing that they could have no effect upon the irate monarch, the envoys withdrew to their canoes and paddled home to Jamestown, as angry as it is possible to conceive.

The imagination can well picture what the feelings of the settlers must have been at this time. Surrounded in the forest by a skulking foe who watched their movements with vindictive hatred, they feared to venture into the open unless in numbers and well armed. Forced to flee from their plantations, they huddled together in the stockaded towns like so many sheep, unable to till any fields save those in the vicinity of their own fortifications, and continually fired at (while ploughing or working upon their harvests) by the lurking savages. A few of their numbers had escaped from the hands of the Indians and had brought news of torture which made the blood boil and which the pen cannot picture. The smouldering ruins of their once peaceful homes dotted the surrounding country. Wives, sisters, children, had fallen before the ruthless tomahawk, and, stirred by feelings of the greatest hatred, the white men longed for an opportunity to have a fair fight with the crafty redskins; and so busily made bullets for serving in an advance into the land of the enemy.

In the autumn and winter of 1622, a series of attacks upon the savages was made by the irate white men. More Indians are said to have been slain at this time than had ever fallen before the hands of the English since the settlement of Jamestown. And the tactics employed by the Colonists do not show them to have been the men of sweet and gentle disposition which they are often said to have been, for, in order to get even with their red enemies, they availed themselves of a stratagem as cruel and treacherous as any which the Indians utilized against the whites. A peace was offered to the followers of Opechancanough, which they accepted, and the understanding was had between red men and whites that the savages would be left alone while they planted and harvested their corn crop. So, believing in the word of the palefaces, the Indians tilled the soil, planted their corn, and were about to harvest it, when the English surrounded them, fell upon them in all directions at a given hour upon an appointed day, killed hundreds of the defenseless savages, and destroyed a vast quantity of provisions. Among these cruelly murdered were several of the most famous war captains, and for some time Opechancanough, himself, was said to be among the slain, a rumor which caused great rejoicing among the whites. But—after some months—it was learned that this crafty chieftain was still at large and as active as ever before.

"I shall yet have the head of this arch conspirator," cried Governor Wyatt, when news was brought him that Opechancanough was alive. "Come, men, we will march against this murderous varlet, raze his village to the ground, and chase him into the foothills of the Blue Ridge." He had no need to urge on the Virginian Long Knives; they were only too anxious for an opportunity to attack the despoiler of the peace of their adopted country, so, in the spring of 1625, a goodly body of stout rangers pushed into the forest in the direction of Pamunkey—the stronghold of the Chief of the Chickahominies. Their advance was cautious, stealthy, sure, yet, as they came to the vicinity of the Indian town, wild cries echoed from every side, they were shot at from the brush, and, before they realized it, they were in a furious melée with the followers of Opechancanough. But the Long Knives knew how to fight in Indian fashion, and crouching behind logs and fallen trees, they soon began to pick off the screeching braves, who darted from tree to tree in the endeavor to dodge the straight shots of the palefaces. The fight was hot and furious. The Long Knives pressed on to Pamunkey, and, although the red men made a stout rally before the village, they were beaten back, only to see the smoke soon curling from their burning wigwams and storehouses. Governor Wyatt, in person, now urged on his men to a renewed attack on the braves, and, although the Indians were beaten off through the forest, the whites could not pursue them as far as Mattapony, only four miles distant, and the principal depot and rallying point of Opechancanough. Satisfied with the day's work, the English now retreated to their own settlements, leaving the Indians in full possession of their most valued town.

The war had now lasted for three years, and in spite of all their efforts, the English had not driven the Indians from their rallying places and settlements. "By heaven, they know how to fight," said stout Governor Wyatt, "and this Opechancanough is more than a match for us. But I will catch them again with the same stratagem which I used before, and I will wipe these treacherous war dogs from the soil of this country." So saying, he sent a proclamation to the Chickahominies and Pamunkies, requesting them to come to a certain place for a conference, where he intended to surround and capture most of them. But the plan failed of success, and these Indians—under the direct guidance of Opechancanough—were more troublesome than ever. At this period they refused absolutely to have anything to do with either Wyatt or his representatives. The skirmishing went on for four years between the angry white men and the bloodthirsty red warriors, and at the end of that time, a march was made by the Indian braves towards Jamestown, which so alarmed the Governor that he collected every available man to stem the outbreak.

The two armies met in a stout skirmish soon afterwards. It was a hot fight, and, as usual, the Indians were worsted in the affair. They withdrew to the forest, beaten but not overawed, while the Colonists were too much injured to follow them. A peace commission was now sent to Opechancanough, but he refused to listen to any overtures from the whites. He scoffed at all ideas of a settlement of the difficulties which lay between himself and the Colonists, and withdrew in sullen anger into the forest. "By all that I love," cried Governor Wyatt, "I will force this fellow to treat with me," and sending a large armed force towards Pamunkey, some time later, he secured a temporary truce with the fierce Opechancanough. But so little dependence was placed on it, that, while the commissioners on both sides were adjusting the preliminaries, a proclamation was issued by the Governor which forbade the Colonists from either parleying or trading with the Indians. The truce was understood to be only a temporary affair, yet for nine years no further hostilities occurred between the settlers from England and the red men. Meanwhile more and more white Colonists came to Virginia. The settlements rapidly increased in size, while the Indians, through disease and lack of medical knowledge, did not increase with any great rapidity.

Opechancanough was not yet a friend to the white man, although he was apparently upon friendly and peaceable terms with the Colonists. Nursing his anger and resentment, he remained at his home in the forest, meditating upon the best means for expelling the English from the country and secretly forming a plan for another massacre of the plantation owners. Moody, vindictive, sour, the old Chieftain would sit gloomily before his wigwam, speculating upon the future and dreaming of the cheerful moment when he would be able to have Virginia for his own people. Thus he brooded, while dissensions grew among the Colonists and an insurrection against the Governor of Virginia took place among the English. The time had again come for Opechancanough to strike. The moment had arrived which he had waited for through nine long years, and, rousing himself from the torpor which had held him for this period, he determined upon a great and decisive blow which would rid him forever of the accursed English.

The great Chieftain was now very aged. His voice shook as he gave his orders. Yet, when he had sent out word for a gathering of his warriors, his commands were taken to the very remotest tribes of his confederacy with speed and accuracy. As in the first outbreak, he again determined to attack the scattered settlements at a certain time, to station large forces near the points to be assaulted, and to give the more distant posts to the leading Chiefs of the several nations in his confederacy of Indian tribes. He, himself, was to lead the advance against the settlements nearest to Mattapony; the whole Indian force was to assemble without making any noise, and if any brave was found who had breathed a word of the conspiracy, he was to be immediately shot to death and all his family with him. The whites were to be completely annihilated, and no quarter was to be shown to either women, children, or aged persons. It was a great design, well thought out, carefully concealed, and thoroughly prepared. Let us see how it succeeded.