Scarcely three weeks had passed when President Wingfield ordered Captain Smith and Newport to take twenty men and sail up the James to discover its source. Captain Smith was loath to leave, for discontent was brewing among the colonists.
When delicate hands were blistered and unused muscles ached with unaccustomed toil, the idle among them left off work and sat down to rest, until resting became a habit. The whole of the burden fell upon the persevering ones, who thus had to work not only for themselves, but for the lazy ones also.
“It is not fair,” said John Laydon, “that some should have to fish for food in the hot sun, and work to load the vessels with clapboards, while others lie idle.”
“We don’t have to work, the common storehouse will feed us,” responded a man lying among a group of idlers stretched under a tree.
To all of their complaints Wingfield paid no attention but spent his time in eating, devising plans for gain, and plotting against Captain Smith.
CHAPTER IV
Where the beating heart of Virginia lies, there nature has built a temple, and reared seven hills as high altars to the One True God. As the James, rushing swiftly down its course, reaches this hallowed spot it instinctively pauses and shatters its one clear melody into a thousand exquisite harmonies on its rocky banks of keys.
On a gently sloping hill, overshadowed by huge forest trees, stood some ten or twelve houses where the warriors of Powhatan had their summer home. Somewhat apart from the others was the house of Powhatan, King of Virginia. Built of the trunks of the cedar, and thatched with the boughs of the pine, it formed a royal dwelling place for that august chief. Nightly four tall warriors stood guard around it to prevent a sudden surprise from their enemies who lay to the westward.
“The pearl of Powhatan’s daughters lies sleeping within her shell,” was the watchword passed at regular intervals from one to the other. Dire was the vengeance of Powhatan if one failed to answer the salute of the other.