Outdoor Life and Indian Stories / Making open air life attractive to young Americans by telling them all about woodcraft, signs and signaling, the stars, fishing, camping, camp cooking, how to tie knots and how to make fire without matches, and many other fascinating open air pursuits. Also, stories of noted hunters and scouts, great indians and warriors, including Daniel Boone, Kit Carson, General Custer, Pontiac, Tecumseh, King Philip, Black Hawk, Brandt, Sitting Bull, and a host of others whose names are famous; all of them true and interesting

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

CHAPTER II

THE GREAT CONSPIRACY

A WILY CHIEFTAIN AND HIS SECRET

The great emperor Opecancanough, of whom we have already told you, hated the whites even more than his brother Powhatan. He was a warrior of rare skill, much the superior in all respects to Opitchapan, the successor of Powhatan. Before the death of the latter, Opecancanough secured the title of king over the free tribe of the Chickahominy.

This chief was never a friend of the whites. He had several quarrels with them, and had not been king long when he began plotting to destroy the settlements. One cannot help admiring the cunning and skill displayed by this arch enemy of the English. He formed his plans with such secrecy that not a hint of them reached the settlers before the hour of the outbreak. Two days before the date of the massacre, a party of Indians guided several Englishmen through the woods, and sent one of their youths to live among the white men, that he might learn their language. A messenger who visited the chief was treated with the utmost kindness, and told that peace with the white man should last as long as the stars held their places in the sky. The settlers lent their boats to the Indians who paddled to and fro as they chose. More than one pioneer who had been fixed upon as a victim, sat with the dusky assassins at his table on the morning of the massacre.

The awful blow fell on March 22, 1622, with the suddenness of a lightning bolt from the blue sky. The warriors seemed to spring from the ground. Neither sex, nor old age, nor prattling infant was spared. The toilers in the fields were shot down, women and children tomahawked, and in the space of one hour, three hundred and forty-seven victims lay stretched in death. Among these were six members of the council and many of the leading people. The number of plantations was reduced from eighty to six.

The massacre raged up and down the James, and all the settlements would have been destroyed, but for the warning of a Christian Indian, Chanco, who was able to make known the peril in time for some of the people to save themselves. White men can become as savage as Indians when their rage is aroused. The summer months were spent in strengthening the fortifications and in preparing for a campaign against the Indians. Every man and boy able to handle a gun was drilled in its use. So deadly was the general temper that time was not taken for the planting of more than half a crop. When everything was ready, the settlers took the field, and began hunting down the savages as if they were so many rabid dogs. No mercy was shown to any one. They were followed far into the gloomy forests and shot wherever sight was gained of them. Finally, the whites seemed to grow weary, and sent word to the Indians that they were now ready to forgive and make peace with them. Under this pledge the warriors came forward, but the moment they were within the power of the settlers, the latter assailed them without mercy. This treachery was without excuse. For a long time it was believed that Opecancanough was among the slain, but such was not the fact, as the settlers were doomed to learn to their cost.

Now comes one of the most awful scenes in all the great story of American history. The seasons came and went and all was serene and peaceful, so far as the keenest scouts among the settlers could learn. Men passed to and fro in the native villages, trusting themselves for days with the savages, who could have wrought their will with them; they were received by the grim Opecancanough himself, who told of his sorrow that his chiefs and warriors had ever forgotten their friendship for the pale faces, and he assured them that no such wrong could ever occur again; the Indians visited Jamestown and the different settlements, just as they had done years before, without the slightest distrust on the part of their hosts.

Opecancanough was past three-score and ten when the massacre of 1622 took place. His athletic figure yielded slowly to the passing years, the black strands that dangled about his shoulders were whitened by the snows of many winters, and the coppery countenance became seamed with wrinkles. He stepped across the four-score mark, and finally ten more years were added to his great age, with slight weakening of his vigor and strength.