FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS

THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

PRESENTED BY
PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND
MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID

SITTING BULL.

([See page 425])

FAMOUS INDIAN
CHIEFS

Their battles, treaties, sieges, and struggles
with the whites for the possession
of America

By
CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON
Author of "Famous Cavalry Leaders," etc.

Illustrated

BOSTON. L. C. PAGE &
COMPANY. PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1909
By L. C. Page & Company
(INCORPORATED)

All rights reserved

First Impression, November, 1909
Second Impression, September, 1910
Third Impression, September, 1911

Printed by
THE COLONIAL PRESS:
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A.

Dedicated
To All Schoolboys and Young Men

INTRODUCTORY

Upon a beautiful day in July, 1492, two brown-skinned Spaniards lay upon the wharf that jutted far out into the waters of the blue Mediterranean Ocean at Palos, Spain, and looked meditatively in the direction of the far West. From their dress it could be easily seen that they were sailors, and from their conversation it was only too evident that they were speculating upon questions that then stirred the thoughts of many intelligent seafarers.

"As you watch a ship, its hull first disappears upon the horizon, then the spars, and then the masts, themselves," said one, "which leads me to the belief that mayhap we shall—in some of our voyages—come to a point where we shall fall from the centre of the earth and disappear into the heat of a fiery furnace."

The other smiled. "I am of that opinion myself," he answered, "but I do not feel the same fear of toppling off from the edge of things when I am on inland water, for in the Caspian Sea I have found that there is an end to all water courses and bodies of water that are of smaller size than that before us. In maps, I see that gnomes, dragons, hydras, and fire-breathing snakes are pictured in the unexplored distances. Serpents of great size and ferocity are supposed to live in the fiery caldron before us. Virgil, himself, speaks of them, and, as for myself, I wish that I might have the opportunity of seeing what is beyond the coast of Africa, which is the farthest point that I have ever reached in some fifteen years of wandering upon the ocean. 'Tis said that Cathay, by some called China, lies beyond the horizon, and is a land full of intelligent people ruled over by the mighty Khan."

"Well," continued the first, "I think that your wish to view the other world will soon be fulfilled, for rumor has it that Christopher Columbus—whom some say is half crazy with ideas that this world is round, and other strange fancies—is soon going to be able to take a trip across the sea, lying in front of us. Friends tell me that he has, at last, obtained money and ships from the King and Queen, and that he is about to venture forth in search of Cathay. You must hurry, my friend, if you would join his crew, for men tell me that the idea is popular, and that many wish to take passage with him."

The second seaman leaped to his feet. "I will go at once and see if I cannot get a place," he said, and, without more ado, he walked hastily to the narrow street which led into the town.

Not many weeks later, three little caravels: The Nina, The Pinta, and The Santa Maria, left their anchorage in front of the quaint seaport of Palos, and, propelled by a gentle breeze, made off towards the Straits of Gibraltar. On board was Christopher Columbus: dreamer, navigator, astronomer, mathematician, and the first white man to leave a record of a trip to the West Indies. The two Spaniards who had lain upon the wharf of Palos were with him, and, with spirits filled with the hope of new and strange adventures, the steersmen guided the vessels towards the unknown West.

Eventually the keen-eyed mariners sighted land, and, thinking that they had arrived at India, the Spaniards called the natives Indians, when they had reached the shore and were surrounded by copper-colored people. These savages were, at first, greatly afraid of the fair-haired strangers and refused to meet them on friendly terms, but, after they understood that the voyageurs would not injure them, they began to barter and trade in a friendly and intimate manner.

The natives wore no clothing and had their bodies painted with grotesque designs, and in various colors. They were armed with lances, tipped with beads of sharp flint and fish bones, or hardened at the end by being charred in a fire. Of iron and steel they apparently had no knowledge, for one venturesome brave seized one of the swords of the Spaniards and severely cut his own hand with it, which proved conclusively that they were not accustomed to this form of a weapon. With cries of pleasure they received the glass beads, pieces of lead, and other trinkets which Columbus and his men gave to them, and, in return, offered the Spaniards tame parrots, cavassa bread (of their own baking) and long rolls of cotton yarn. But these presents did not particularly interest the white adventurers, as they were not only in search of a route to India, but also for the shining and alluring particles of gold.

In their noses the Indians wore small, golden ornaments which were of far greater interests to the greedy invaders than were the tame parrots. So much so, indeed, that Columbus and his men immediately made inquiries regarding the source from which the natives secured such treasure. They were told that these articles came from the southwest, where lived a powerful Monarch who was accustomed to have his meals served upon dishes of fine, beaten gold. This stimulated the spirits of the invaders to penetrate into the unknown distance, for they were confident that they had reached the outlying islands of Asia and were near a famous deposit of riches of which other Spanish travellers had written.

The daring Columbus had reached San Salvador—a beautiful isle of the West Indies—which was surrounded by other fertile islands, covered with palms and luxurious foliage, from which came the chatter of parrots, the cries of tropical birds of brilliant plumage, and the sweet scent of flowers and of fruit. As the Indians were not molested they became more friendly, and it was easier to understand their signs and gesticulations. From these the Spaniards learned that they were in the midst of an archipelago—or collection of islands—and that there were more than a hundred of these, inhabited by people who were continually at war with one another—a state of affairs that exactly tallied with what Columbus had heard of the islands upon the coast of Asia. He was therefore convinced that he was in a land which had been previously explored by Spanish voyageurs, and that he had found what he had set out from Spain to discover—a new and more direct route from the mother country to the East Indies and the Chinese Empire.

Columbus weighed anchor and kept sailing from one island to another, hoping to find Cathay, or China. But temples, palaces, and cities did not appear. In their stead, frail houses of bark and of reeds, fields of corn and of grain, and simple-minded natives, came to the anxious visions of the explorers. The inhabitants of these sweet-scented isles could tell them nothing of the deposits of gold, or the palaces, for which Columbus was searching, so, day after day, he kept on his way, diligently scanning each new point of land, getting a little gold, here and there, from the Indians, and also some pearls, silver, and numerous skins of the beautiful birds of the country.

Finally the Spaniards became discouraged with their search for precious metals, and, after sailing to Cuba to explore the coast line, their most trustworthy vessel was wrecked by a sudden and unexpected gale. This did not dismay the gallant Columbus, although a few of his men lost heart, and, building a fortification of the wood from the vessel, he left a garrison to defend it, provisioned them for a year, while he began the long journey back to Spain. With him went a few of the native Indians, who were carried along to be shown to the people of the mother country and to prove that a new world had really been discovered, where dwelt another race. They reached Spain in safety, and thus—for the first time that has been recorded—an Indian from America was seen on the Continent of Europe.

In 1502 Sebastian Cabot, an English adventurer, captured three natives on the coast of Newfoundland, who were clothed in the skins of the beaver and the otter, and who subsisted upon raw flesh. These he took with him to England, presented them to King Henry the Seventh and to the members of his court, and, although they, at first, talked in a strange and uncouth tongue, they soon learned the language of their captors and discarded their native dress for that of the "palefaces." They were the first Indians ever seen in England, and what eventually became of them is not known. Their picturesque appearance created a great impression upon those who saw them and stimulated many a person of adventuresome temperament to sail towards America in search of fortune and of fame.

But the Spaniards and the Englishmen were not the only seafarers who were sufficiently brave and adventurous to cross the Atlantic in search of the unknown. In 1508 the French discovered the mouth of the Saint Lawrence—that mighty, Canadian watercourse—and several natives were seized and transported to France by the captain of the expedition, Thomas Aubert. A few years later—in 1524—John Verazzini (an Italian, sailing under the French flag), sailed along the coast and anchored in several places before he touched upon the Connecticut Coast, where twenty of his men went ashore in a small boat and walked about two miles into the interior. They saw a number of Indians who seemed terrified and fled before their advance, but they were anxious to transport some of the inhabitants to France, so captured an old woman who had hidden herself in some tall grass, with a child upon her back, and two little boys by her side. A young girl of about eighteen years of age was also near by, but when the sailors attempted to seize her she uttered such loud and piercing shrieks that they decided to leave her alone. The old woman also set up an awful wailing when they endeavored to carry her aboard their vessel, so they contented themselves with taking a small boy to their ship, who was carried to far distant France. America was called New France by Verazzini, who returned for further exploration, a short time afterwards, only to be killed—and some say eaten—by the Indians.

When Captain Hendrik Hudson—a hardy English adventurer—discovered and sailed up the river which bears his name in New York State, in the year 1609, he met various bands of Indians, both upon the waters of the mighty stream and on the shore. These, at first, were inclined to be friendly, but as his men treated them with distrust, and would not greet them in a hospitable and intimate manner, there were soon skirmishes with the hostiles. On September 8th, the savages came on board the vessel and brought tobacco and Indian corn to exchange for knives and beads. They offered no violence to the sailors for these were continually on their guard, expecting an attack. The ship's log gives an excellent account of what now occurred.

September 9th.

"In the morning two great canoes came on board, full of men, one armed with bows and arrows. Another pretended to buy knives in order to betray us, but we perceived the intention of the red devils. So we took two of them to keep them as hostages. We put red coats on them and would not let the others come any where near us. Soon afterwards the canoes left us. Immediately two other natives came on board of us, one we took, and let the other go, but he soon escaped by jumping overboard."

September 11th.

"The ship had now anchored at a considerable distance up the river. The people of the country came on board, making a great show of love, and gave us tobacco and Indian wheat."

September 12th.

"This morning there came eight and twenty canoes full of men, women, and children to betray us, but we saw their intent and suffered none of them to come aboard. They have great tobacco pipes of yellow copper, and pots of earth to dress their meat in."

That the savages came to "betray them" was no doubt a mistaken idea of the gallant adventurers, as Indians rarely go upon the warpath with their women and children, but leave them at home, where they are out of danger.

September 15th.

"Hudson sailed twenty leagues (miles) further up the stream, passing by high mountains. This morning the two captive savages got out of a port-hole of the ship and made their escape."

September 18th.

"The Master's Mate went on shore with an old Indian—a Sachem of the country—who took him to his house and treated him kindly."

October 1st.

"The ship having fallen down the river seven miles below the mountains (probably the site of the West Point Military Academy) came to anchor, while one man in a canoe kept hanging under the stern and would not be driven off. He soon contrived to climb up by the rudder and got into the cabin window which had been left open, and from which he stole a pillow, two shirts, and two breastplates. The Mate shot him in the chest and killed him. Many others were in canoes around the ship who immediately fled, and some jumped overboard. A boat manned from the ship, pursued them, and, coming up with one in the water, the Indian laid hold of the side of the boat and endeavored to over-set it, at which one in the boat cut off his hands with a sword and he was drowned."

October 2nd.

"The ship fell down seven miles farther and came to anchor again. Then came one of the savages that swam away from us when we were up the river, with many others, thinking that he could betray us, but we suffered none of them to enter our ship. Whereupon two canoes full of men with their bows and arrows shot at us after our stern, in recompense whereof we discharged six muskets and killed two or three of them. Then above a hundred of them came to a point to shoot at us. Then I shot a musket at them and killed two of them, whereupon the rest fled into the woods. Yet they manned another canoe with nine or ten men, which came to meet us, so I shot a ball also at it, and shot it through, and killed one of them. Then our men, with their muskets, killed three or four more of them."

This ends the record of Hudson's skirmishes with the Indians, and, as he sailed away from the newly discovered territory, he called the river Manna-hata, a name which appeared in all the early maps of this district, but which was subsequently changed to Hudson in commemoration and glorification of its discoverer.

Although the sturdy Hudson had not taken any of the natives home with him, still earlier—in 1535—the French voyageur, Jacques Cartier, met a famous chief called Donacona upon the St. Croix River in Wisconsin, and was treated in a hospitable and most kindly manner by him. But the white adventurer was anxious to exhibit the savage in France, so, partly by stratagem, and partly by force, he carried him back in his ship to his own country, where the wild chieftain died soon afterwards of an illness brought on by homesickness.

So runs the record of these early attempts of the Europeans to take the Indians to their own land and allow their own people to see what strange folk inhabited this new-found country. Many then wondered from whence these copper-colored natives had come and many have since speculated upon their probable origin. It is difficult to say where they really had their source. Some are of the opinion that they were descended from Asiatic people who crossed to the Alaskan coast, in boats, and gradually made their way south, to populate the entire country now known as the United States. In Ohio and Illinois there are vast piles of earth built by human hands, hundreds of years ago. These mounds are in various shapes and forms; some are of circular build; some round; some square; others thrown up to resemble birds, wolves, and buffalo. There are ten thousand such mounds in Ohio, and near the city of St. Louis is a single mound which covers eight acres. The people who constructed these are known as the Mound Builders, and it is believed by some that they were a different race of people than the Indians whom Columbus met with on his expedition to San Salvador. By others, it is maintained that they were of the same blood, and when the early discoverers of America were searching the seacoast for gold, pearls, and a passage to China, the Mound Builders were constructing these curious cairns in many portions of the Middle West.

Many hundreds of mounds have been carefully opened by archaeologists—or students of ancient people—and their contents have been scrutinized in order to discover what degree of civilization these Mound Builders possessed. It has been found that, although the Mound Builders were familiar with the use of copper for ornaments and tools, they hammered it from the native ore, and knew nothing whatever of smelting or of casting. Their weapons and instruments were mainly of quartz, slate, and of bone. Many carved pipes have been found in their works, and it is apparent that they cultivated tobacco, maize, or corn, and some other vegetables. Their pottery was similar to that of the Mexican Indians—although inferior to it—and the most artistic examples of it are certain small figures representing animal and human forms, which have been found broken and thrown upon funeral pyres beneath the sepulchral mounds. Besides the copper—which came from mines in Lake Superior, still operated for this treasure—the excavations showed that the Mound Builders used an abundance of mica, brought from the mountains of North Carolina, pearls from the Tennessee River, shells from the Gulf of Mexico, and obsidian from the region of the Yellowstone Park in Wyoming. It is, therefore, apparent that they had extensive commercial relations with other people who resided near by.

On the banks of the Damariscotta River in Maine are remarkable heaps of shells which rise, in some places, to the height of twenty-five feet, and consist almost entirely of huge oyster shells of from ten to fifteen inches in length. Fragments of pottery and bones of moose and of deer are also found in these curious heaps, and, at the bottom of one of the highest, has been discovered the remains of an ancient fireplace filled with human bones and pottery. Curiously enough, similar banks of shells are found in the St. John's River in Florida, at Grand Lake, on the lower Mississippi, and at San Pablo, Berkeley, and Alameda, in the Bay of San Francisco. Here oysters still exist, but in Maine they are found in such small numbers that it is no object to gather them. These mounds could only have been constructed by human hands, and, therefore, the belief is current that people of no mean order of intelligence inhabited America long before the coming of the first white men.

Whether the Mound Builders and shell-heap constructors were ancestors of the red men, it is difficult to say, at any rate the natives with whom the white race were soon to struggle for the possession of the Continent of North America were savage, cruel, vindictive and slothful. They could not adopt the ways of the white man. They could not learn to live by the plough instead of the hunting rifle; they could never see that houses were better to live in than frail wigwams in the forest, and so, in the end, the superior intelligence of the white man triumphed, the Indian was forced into reservations set apart for him and his race, and the country was populated by men of European descent.

In the long struggle for the possession of the land, several chiefs arose whose qualities of mind were superior to that of many of their contemporaries. The names of some of these stand out brightly upon the pages of history, and the records of their deeds and daring show that they were Indians who possessed a bravery quite equal to that of their enemies, even if their other qualities were inferior. Let us, therefore, glance at their illustrious names and learn what we can of their vain attempts to stem the unwithstandable advance of the white race.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS

POWHATAN: THE GREAT SACHEM OF VIRGINIA

In the year 1603 the white wings of an English vessel were reflected in the blue waters of Chesapeake Bay, Virginia, as some hardy voyageurs upon the deck of the ungainly-looking craft took soundings of the depth of the water, admired the broad expanse of fertile country, and, after making expeditions into the many coves and estuaries, sailed away again for their native heath. Hidden by the overhanging branches of the trees which grew near the gleaming ocean, some suspicious natives watched the fair-skinned strangers with awe and apprehension. They were followers of Powhatan—Chief of the Indians of seacoast Virginia, and one of the most remarkable warriors of history. They had never before seen the features of a white man, and, although rumors of these strange people who came from far-distant lands had reached them from the natives who lived to the south, these were the first palefaces upon whom their eyes had ever rested. As the new, strange vision of a rakish hull and flapping canvas disappeared upon the horizon, they turned to each other, and said, with smiling countenances, "It is well, they will not return."

These savages lived in villages that were on, or near, the banks of the many rivers which here coursed slowly to the Atlantic. Their wigwams were made of saplings tied together and covered with reeds, bark, or mats woven from native grasses. They were warmed by means of a fire in the centre, the smoke from which passed through a hole in the roof. Thus they were comfortable in the coldest weather, but very smoky when the wind was blowing with any speed. A mat was hung across the doorway to keep off the drafts from the exterior, and the floor was covered with tanned deer hides, or with mats of considerable thickness. Sometimes a collection of these cabins was surrounded by palisades, ten or twelve feet in height, and thus a stout resistance could be made to invading bands of hostile Indians.

The dress of these natives was scanty enough, except in the months of December, January, and February, when the weather was really cold. Those of rank wore a mantle of skin embroidered with beads, during the warm months, and a fur covering in winter. Their feet were enclosed in moccasins of deer hide, tanned by a long and tedious process. The women wore a long apron of deer skin and deerskin leggins, while the less prosperous members of a tribe had little to clothe themselves with but woven grasses and turkeys' feathers. In summer the men discarded everything but a breech clout, while the women practically went without clothing. Both sexes colored their heads and shoulders a brilliant red, with a mixture of powdered puccoon-root and oil, while the belles of a tribe added to this decoration by tattooing their skins with figures of beasts and of serpents. Besides this, they would punch three large holes in each ear and from these would hang chains, bracelets, and copper ornaments. Sometimes strings of pearls would be suspended from their ears and wound about their waists, while the warriors would often wear small green and yellow snakes, which were alive, and would be attached to their ears so that they could crawl and wrap themselves around their necks.

A quantity of Indian corn, or maize, was grown by these Indians, and this was their chief means of subsistence. Corn bread was the staple food, although another kind of bread was often made of wild oats mixed with sunflower seed. Their meat consisted of fish, deer, wild turkeys and other game; while grubs, locusts, and snakes were also a portion of their bill-of-fare. From dried hickory nuts, pounded in a stone basin, and mixed with water, they made a drink called Pawcohicora, which was much relished at feasts and banquets. They lived a simple, peaceful life; fought little with the surrounding tribes; and were noted for the great age which they attained.

When called to battle the warriors went forth with tomahawks, arrows, knives and war clubs. Their tomahawks were made either of a deer's horn, or of a long, sharpened stone set in a handle like a pickaxe. Their knives were made, for the most part, of stone, but sometimes shells and reeds were sharpened for this purpose. A stone point was put on the end of their arrows and they were winged with turkey feathers which were fastened with a glue made from deers' horns. They often carried bark shields into the fray, which were woven together with thread, and to make these round in shape, a file was used, which was fashioned from a beaver's tooth set in a forked stick. War clubs were of round stones, pointed at the ends, and held by a long wooden handle, while bow strings were of deer hide and sinews. Thread was made by the women from bark, deer sinews, or from grass.

There were three nations in the country which extended from the Atlantic seacoast to the Alleghenys, and from the southern waters of the James River to the Patuxent (now in the State of Maryland), and each nation was a confederacy of larger and smaller tribes, subdivided into towns, families, and clans. These were the Mannahoaks, the Monocans, and the Powhatans; the first two being highland, or mountain Indians who lived on the banks of various small streams which course through the hilly country between the falls of the rivers which ran to the Atlantic and the Allegheny ridge.

The Powhatan nation comprised a much larger number of tribes than the others and inhabited the lowland nation of Virginia from North Carolina, on the south, to the Patuxent on the north, occupying a territory of approximately 8,000 square miles; there were about 2,400 warriors in all and about 8,000 women and children, not a large number, by any means, for such a great extent of territory.

Their great chief Powhatan had been a splendid warrior in his younger days, and, although he was hereditary chief of but eight tribes, through conquest his dominions had expanded until they reached from the James to the Potomac River, and included thirty or forty tribes. He was called "King" or "Emperor," his principal warriors were lords of the Kingdom, his wives were queens, his daughter was a princess.

He was a tall and well-proportioned man, and, when the English settlers at Jamestown first saw him, was nearly sixty years of age, sinewy, strong, his head somewhat gray, with a thin beard, and a sour look on his countenance. He lived sometimes at a village called Powhatan, near where Richmond now stands, and sometimes at We-ro-woco-moco, on the York River.

Pocahontas, Powhatan's favorite daughter, was born about the year 1594 and was one of eleven girls and twenty sons. We know nothing about any of his sons except Nateguas, whom the English claimed to be the handsomest, comeliest and boldest among all the savages. Powhatan had many wives—exactly how many is difficult to state—and when tired of one he would present her to that one of his subjects whom he considered to be the most deserving.

At each of the villages was a house built like a long arbor for Powhatan's especial reception, and when he visited one of his towns, a feast would already be spread in this reception hall, so that he could immediately seat himself, with his companions, and partake of what was in store for him. Besides these he had a hunting lodge in the wilderness called Orapax, and a mile from this, deep in the woods, he had another arbor-like house, where he kept furs, copper, pearls, and beads—treasures which he was saving to be placed in his grave at the time of his burial.

A large number of canoes, or "dug-outs" were also a part of Powhatan's possessions, and of these he was very proud. The boats were manufactured from trees which were felled by fire and were hollowed out by means of burning and scraping with shells and tomahawks.

Forty or fifty warriors were always in attendance on this powerful monarch, as his body guard, while every night four sentinels stood at the four quarters, or ends, of his cabin and every half hour they would, in turn, utter a shrill war whoop, made by placing the finger upon the lips and halloing. If one should go to sleep, or fail to answer the whoop of his companion, an older warrior would soon issue from Powhatan's cabin and flail the offender with a stout wooden cudgel.

The Indians seem to have had a sort of idea that there was some superior spirit, God, or creator, who watched over their actions, and they worshipped an idol, or Okee, who represented, not a good spirit, but an evil one. Numerous priests, or medicine men, were always to be found in these Virginia tribes, and they were supposed to cure the sick by means of divinations and conjurations which were very noisy and grotesque. These medicine men did not work, themselves, and lived a life of indolent ease, but they were of great value, as the savages dared not steal from one another, fearing that these priests would reveal the theft by means of their conjuries, and then bring the offender into such disrepute that he would be driven out of the tribe. Their Okee, or God, was kept in a temple fashioned from boughs and branches, and it was surrounded with posts on which hideous faces were carved from soft pine wood and painted blue, white, and vermilion.

The Indian year was divided into five seasons—budding time, roasting ear time, summer time, the fall of the leaf, and the season of cold or winter. The savages amused themselves with sham fights, or with dances, and most hideous sounding noises, or war whoops, as they charged forward and retreated backward, around in a circle. Their musical instruments consisted of a reed cut to form a pipe, a drum made of wood with deer's skin stretched on the end, and rattles made of gourds or pumpkins. These made a terrible noise, which frightened more than delighted the first white settlers. When they had a distinguished visitor, they first spread a mat upon the ground for him to sit upon and then sat opposite him upon another. Then all present would join in a tremendous shouting to bid him welcome, after which two or more of the chief men would make an oration in which they testified their love and admiration for the visitor. After this a meal would be served and a pipe of peace would be passed around.

English adventurers had attempted to form a colony at Roanoke Island, just off the Virginia Coast, but it had been such a failure that the ardor of English voyageurs had been dampened and little effort had been made to gain a foothold in Virginia. But the Spaniards—their great rivals and enemies—had made numerous successful explorations in the New World, so that the pride of the Anglo-Saxons was piqued and their cupidity was aroused by the wealth the Spanish gold-seekers brought back to their own land. Thus, at the beginning of the reign of James I, it was determined to send ships and settlers to America, where they were to found a colony, search for gold, and ship it, when discovered, home to the mother country. There were several promoters for this scheme; one was a London merchant named Wingfield, another a clergyman named Hunt, still another, Bartholomew Gosnold, who had made a successful voyage to the coast of New England several years earlier. The most important was Captain John Smith, a gallant soldier-of-fortune, who had been in numerous adventures of a startling nature; had made many journeys in Europe; had been held captive by the Saracens, and who was a lover of all that was hazardous and full of danger. He was now twenty-eight years of age, strong, vigorous, handsome and energetic.

While a slave in the Crimea Smith had an iron collar fastened about his neck, was clothed in the skin of a wild beast, and was beaten and kicked about like a dog, until his life was nearly unbearable. But one day he seized a flail for separating wheat from chaff, broke his master's skull with it, and then put on his clothes and fled to Poland. Here he was aided by friends until he reached Morocco, where he joined an English man-of-war, and, after a sanguinary sea battle, arrived in England in time to aid the adventurers setting sail for the shore of Virginia. They left Blackwall, and dropped down to the Thames in December, 1606, with three ships, one of which, the Discovery, was a mere sail boat of but twenty tons, manned by an equal number of staunch souls, sailing over unknown seas to unknown lands.

It took them five full months to cross the Atlantic to the shores of the New World, and jealousy, discord and mutiny had played havoc with the spirits of the crew by the time that land was sighted. The ships loitered along, and at the Canary Isles and the West Indies had remained so long that the provisions were well nigh exhausted. At one time it was proposed to hang the restless Captain John Smith to the yard-arm because he railed at their delay and declared the majority of the crew, "merely projecting, verbal and idle contemplators," who expected to find "feather beds and down pillows, taverns, ale-houses in every breathing place," and not the "dissolute liberty that they had expected." As luck would have it, a storm drove the vessels into the mouth of the James River, Virginia, and past two jutting promontories of land which they called Cape Henry, after the Prince of Wales, and Cape Charles, for the second son of the reigning English Monarch—afterwards Charles I.

All were overjoyed to see the long-sought-for Continent. A landing was made on Cape Charles by thirty men, but they were suddenly attacked by five Indians, who dangerously wounded two of the soldiers and drove the rest back to the ships. In spite of this, the spirits of the adventurers were mightily cheered by the sight of the beautiful bay, encompassed by a fruitful and delightful land, and covered with forests which were magnificent with the blossoms of red wood and dog wood. A place was soon selected for a settlement, called Jamestown, which was on such low ground that it was not considered wholesome by many, and thus a famous debate ensued. Finally it was decided to here build a blockhouse, and all turned to with some will to erect the first habitation of white settlers among Powhatan's people. Gosnold had strongly opposed the selection of this place, while Captain John Smith had approved of it, but the former's advice was correct, as the current of the river has turned the peninsula of Jamestown into an island, and now, only a ruined church tower remains to mark the situation of the first colony of Englishmen in the United States.

Although the whites fell to, with spirit and enthusiasm, to build up their town, unfortunately most of them were "gentlemen" and unaccustomed to any form of work or sustained labor. There were ruined spendthrifts, broken tradesmen, fortune-hunters, tipsters, and gamblers, in excess of some real workmen in the shape of four carpenters, one bricklayer, one blacksmith, and one sailor. A barber also figured in the rolls, a tailor, a drummer, and four half-grown boys. The majority expected to find nuggets of gold lying around in profusion, and not danger, disappointment, severe toil, starvation, and malaria.

When upbraided by Captain John Smith for not showing more enthusiasm in their labor, some said, "We did not come here to work, but to explore and find gold."

"Then you shall not eat," answered the quick-tempered Captain, "for the labor of a few industrious men shall not be utilized to support idle loiterers like yourselves."

A number of these settlers were also most profane, and so the Captain kept a daily account of every man's oaths, and, as proper punishment, had a can of cold water poured down an offender's sleeve for each foul word. This had some effect, but Smith was well disgusted with their lack of ability to do anything, and wrote to the company in England who had furnished the resources to the colony: "When you send again, I entreat you to send thirty carpenters, husbandmen, gardeners, fishermen, blacksmiths, or diggers-up of roots, who would be better than a thousand of such as we have."

The Indians meanwhile had become aware of the purposes of the whites to dispossess them of their territory, so they turned treacherous, and, although they entered into no open hostilities, began to skulk about the fort. After bringing in presents of corn and venison, they would often steal anything which they could safely carry off. They showed by their looks and dispositions that they were extremely jealous of the whites, and, when exploring parties were sent into the interior, suddenly attacked the fort with about two hundred braves. These were driven away by means of the guns of the ship, after an hour's fight, and after subjecting the defenders of Jamestown to a loss of eleven men wounded and one boy killed. The noise of the cannon really frightened the attackers away, and for some days they hung around the stockade, so that it was not safe to venture beyond the range of the muskets, unless one wished to be tomahawked by some lurking savage.

Powhatan had received word of the coming of the whites through scouts and runners, and he was soon to make the acquaintance of the hardiest and most enterprising of them all, an acquaintance that was to mark the turning point in his career of undisputed sovereign over tide-water Virginia; for the adventurous and ambitious spirit of Smith had prompted him to make several expeditions both along the coast and into the interior of this densely wooded country. A few months after the settlement of Jamestown came a time of threatened starvation, but the gallant Captain discovered the tribe of Chickahominy Indians, and from them gained a large store of corn which revived the fainting spirits of those in the little fort upon the malarial peninsula.

In spite of this there were many who decried what Smith had done and said that he should have gone to the headwaters of the Chickahominy River and should not have returned without discovering the source of this stream. The idle and unruly in the colony complained that he had accomplished very little, and not sufficient to be applauded. Stung by their taunts, the spirited Captain again set forth (in the winter of 1607-8) to ascend the waters of the river. He took with him a crew sufficient to manage a good-sized barge, to which was attached a small "tender," or jolly-boat, which could go over shoal water and into bays and coves along the banks of the stream. With these he ascended the Chickahominy as far as possible, and then, leaving the barge in a broad cove where lurking Indians could not steal it, he pushed still farther up the stream in the tender, accompanied by two other white men and two friendly Indians. Those left behind were strictly urged not to go ashore.

But the sound advice was ignored by the foolish fellows in the barges, and, as soon as the bold Captain was out of sight, they scrambled to land and proceeded to explore the country. Their rashness came near being the cause of their annihilation, as fully two hundred and fifty Indians were lying in wait for them in the thicket. Under the direction of Opechancanough—Sachem of the Pamunkies and reputed brother of Powhatan—they made a sudden rush for the white men, but, although the attack was unexpected, they only succeeded in capturing one George Cassen, whom they compelled to tell them which way Smith had gone. After securing this information, they put the unfortunate captive to death in a cruel manner, and struck off through the tangled undergrowth in pursuit of the adventurous English colonizer.

The bold Captain had gone twenty miles up the river to the source of the Chickahominy, and, after poling through several marshes, had waded ashore with his Indian guide, to secure some game with his musket for supper. The two Englishmen who were with him had hauled up their boat and were lying down to sleep near a fire, when they were suddenly set upon by the Indians, who shot them full of arrows and killed them. Then the crafty braves spread through the woodland in search of Captain Smith, whom they soon overtook and surrounded, but the brave settler was not to be captured without a struggle, so, when he perceived that it would be useless for him to escape, he tied the young Indian who was with him to his arm (what happened to the other friendly Indian who was with him is not known) and, holding him in front of him as a shield, fired at the enemy and soon had three of them dead. He wounded so many others that they did not seem over-anxious to approach him. Meanwhile the savages kept up a vigorous fire with their bows and arrows; wounded the Captain slightly in the thigh, and shot many shafts into his clothes, but he still kept them off and walked in the direction of the shore. As luck would have it, he suddenly slipped and fell into the bed of a quagmire which he had not noticed as he kept his eye upon the foe. Sinking in the mud up to his armpits, and discovering at last that he was becoming benumbed with cold, he threw away his sword, musket, and pistol, and made signs that he would surrender. The Indians soon approached, drew him out, carried him to a fire, and carefully rubbed his body until he was able to stand up, for the cold quagmire had so benumbed him that he could not use his limbs.

Meanwhile the Englishman was devising some means of escape, and asked to see the leader of the Indians. Opechancanough was pointed out to him, and, with quick presence of mind, Smith drew forth the only trinket which he had with him, a round, ivory compass with a double dial, and presented it to the Indian Chieftain with a low and courteous bow. The savages all crowded around with eager curiosity and were perfectly astonished when they put forth their hands to touch the trembling needle and could not do so. Smith, meanwhile, lectured to them upon geography and astronomy, telling them that the sun continually chased the moon around the earth, that the earth and skies were round, and many other stories which were then current and were, of course, as wide of being the truth as were the Indians' own ideas. However, the savages stood amazed with admiration, and, although apparently pleased with what the Captain had told them, made preparations to execute him and tied him to a tree. As many as could stand in range now took aim at him with their bows and arrows. At this moment Opechancanough held up the ivory compass as a signal for clemency, and the Indians threw down their bows and arrows and gave up all attempts to put an end to the brave Englishman.

Now, forming in Indian file, the prisoner was carried to the village of Orapax by the savages, and, upon approaching the town, they were met by all the women and children, who stared at the white man in wonder and amazement, for it was the first "paleface" that they had ever seen. A war dance was next begun around the terrified Captain, and the savages screeched, sang, and yelled so wildly that the Englishman was sure that he had fallen among demons. But this affair was soon over, the Captain was taken into a long house, and here was guarded by full forty Indians, while corn bread and venison was brought to him that would have been sufficient to have fed forty men. He was given a warm mantle, as it was extremely cold, and each morning three women presented him with three platters of fine bread and more venison than ten men could eat. Thus he spent his days quietly, his mind intent upon an escape as soon as the proper opportunity should present itself.

The gallant Captain now astonished the Indians greatly by writing a letter to Jamestown, for how anyone could communicate to another by means of marks upon a piece of paper was a marvel to the simple-minded braves. He had torn a sheet from his memorandum book and had written to the Colonists, informing them that the Indians were contemplating an attack and giving them instructions to terrify the bearers of the note and to send him several articles. The Indians undertook the journey, although it was in the bitter cold of an unusual winter. When they neared Jamestown and saw the soldiers come out from the stockade, as Smith said that they would do, the fulfillment of his prophecy so frightened them that they fled panic-stricken, but left the note behind them on the ground. As night fell, they crept stealthily to the spot where Captain Smith had told them they would find an answer, and, there, indeed, were the very articles which he had promised them they would discover. The savages were surprised and awed by this show of what they supposed to be divine fire, and, giving up all idea of attacking Jamestown, led Smith from village to village until, at length, he was carried to We-ro-woco-moco, the residence of the great chief Powhatan, situated on the Pamunkey (York) River, in Gloucester county, about twenty-five miles below the mouth of the stream and at this time the great chief's favorite habitation. He afterwards retired to Orapax as he did not desire a residence near the English.

After his arrival at the village, Smith was kept waiting while more than two hundred warriors stood wondering at him as if he were a monster, and until Powhatan could make ready to receive him. After the old warrior had decked himself in his greatest bravery, the Englishman was admitted to his presence, while the Indians hailed his entrance with a tremendous shout. The Emperor was proudly lying upon a bedstead a foot high, raised upon ten or twelve mats. His neck was hung with chains of pearls, and his body was covered with raccoon skins. A woman sat at his head and another at his feet, while, on each side, upon the ground, were ranged his chief men, ten in rank, and behind them as many young women, each having a chain of white beads over her shoulders and with her head painted red. The Queen of Appomattuck was appointed to bring the Captain water in which to wash his hands, while another brought a bunch of feathers, instead of a towel, to dry them with. Many of Powhatan's retainers had their hair decked with the white down of birds, and none were without an ornament of some kind.

Two accounts of what now occurred were published by Smith in London. In the first Pocahontas is not mentioned; in the second, he tells a long story to the effect that she saved his life. The first account was written shortly after the gallant Captain returned to England in the year following; the second, sixteen years later, and after he had had time to reflect and to color his narrative in proper contemplation and leisure. Doubt has, therefore, been cast upon the second story, but I shall give you them both and allow you to select your own conclusion.

In the first narrative the Captain says that, "Powhatan kindly welcomed me with good words and great platters of sundry victuals, assuring me of his friendship and my liberty within four days. He promised to give me corn, venison, or what I wanted to feed us. Hatchets and copper we should make for him, and none were to disturb us. This I promised to perform, and thus having, with all the kindness he could devise, sought to content me, he sent me home."

In the second account, the valiant Smith states that, "Having feasted him (Smith) after the best barbarous manner they could, a long consultation was held, but the conclusion was, two great stones were brought before Powhatan; then as many as could lay hands on him dragged him to them and thereon laid his head, and, being ready with the clubs to beat out his brains, Pocahontas—the King's dearest daughter—when no entreaty could prevail, got his head in her arms and laid her own against his to save him from death; whereat the Emperor was contented that he should live in order to make him hatchets, and her, bells, beads, and copper, for they thought him as well capable of all occupations as themselves." This version has usually been accepted by historians.

When Powhatan asked Smith why the English had come, the keen-witted Captain was very careful to let him know that they had not arrived to settle in the country, but stated that there had been a fight with the Spaniards and that the English had been forced to retreat in their vessels; that finally adverse weather had driven them ashore in Virginia, and here they were only to remain until an opportunity presented itself for a safe return. Smith was a ready talker, but there is no evidence that Powhatan believed him.

Two days after the trial for his life, Powhatan had the captive removed to one of his arbor-like dwellings in the woods and there left him alone upon a skin in front of the fire. The house was curtained off in the centre with a thick mat, and soon a doleful noise came from behind it, and Powhatan, disguised in a strange manner and painted black, entered the room with two hundred Indians, likewise painted with this color. After dancing around the amused Captain for a while, Powhatan told Smith that they were friends, and that he would presently send him home, but that he must promise him that after he arrived in Jamestown he would send him two great guns and also a grindstone. In return for this he was promised the country of Capahowosick, and he was told that he would be considered Powhatan's son. The Captain promised to deliver the requested supplies, and consequently he was sent to Jamestown with twelve guides, who delayed on the way, although the distance was short, so that Smith feared every hour that he would be put to death. But, at last, he was conducted to the fort, where he treated the savage guides with great hospitality, and gave to Rawhunt (a trusty servant of Powhatan) two cannon carrying nine-pound shot, and a mill-stone, to present to the chief. For their benefit the Captain had the guns loaded with stones and fired at some trees whose boughs were covered with icicles. The crash and fall of stones and ice so frightened the savages that they fled into the forest and it was several hours before they could be induced to return. At last, their spirits became reassured, presents of beads and trinkets were given them for Powhatan and his family, and they started back to the great chief, well satisfied.

The conditions at Jamestown were appalling, for a number of men were about to desert, seize the smallest vessel, and make off for England. But Smith was equal to the occasion, forced the mutineers to remain at home at the mouth of a cannon, and, although he himself was tried for the death of Robinson and Emry—the two men who had been killed in the expedition up the Chickahominy—he was set free by the intercession of Captain Newport, who soon whipped the squabbling colonists into some sort of order. Meanwhile their despairing spirits were buoyed up by accounts of Powhatan's bounty and treasure, while every four or five days little Pocahontas with her attendants would cross the river and come to the fort with provisions of bread and corn. This was all that stood between the wrangling "gentlemen" and starvation.

Powhatan, meanwhile, seems to have regarded the English with no particular suspicion or hatred. When Newport and Smith visited him during the winter, he exerted himself to the utmost to give them a royal entertainment. The Indians shouted with joy when next they saw Smith; orations were addressed to him and a bounteous repast of roasted corn, bread, and venison was spread before the company. Powhatan, himself, received the Englishmen, reclining upon a bed of mats, dressed in a handsome fur robe, and leaning upon a pillow embossed with brilliant embroidery of shells and beads. The chief men of the village were assembled before him and four or five hundred of the tribe stood on guard behind them. A proclamation was made to the effect that upon pain of death no Indian should offer any discourtesy to either of the whites, while Powhatan renewed his acquaintance with Smith with much show of apparent affection. An English boy, named Savage, was given to the Indian Emperor at his request, and he returned the favor by presenting to Captain Newport an Indian youth called Nomontack, who was one of his most trusted servants, and who was told to spy upon all methods and customs of the English. Three or four days were passed in feasting, dancing, and trading, in which the old Sachem exhibited so much dignity and discretion that his guests had a high admiration for his talents. His shrewdness was well exhibited when Newport endeavored to barter with him for some corn.

The English Captain had brought with him a number of trinkets, glass beads, and pewter spoons which he expected to trade very easily for corn, and, indeed, the poorer Indians traded very readily with him. But they dealt upon a very small scale as they had not much to spare, so Newport became most anxious to drive a trade with the Emperor, himself, and endeavored to do so.

"Captain Newport," said Powhatan, "it is not agreeable to my greatness to truck and peddle for trifles. I am a great Werowance and I esteem you the same; therefore lay all your trading commodities down together and what I like I will take, and in return you shall receive what I consider to be a fair value therefore."

As Newport could not speak the Indian tongue, this was interpreted to him by Smith, who told him, at the same time, that he must be most careful in trading with the crafty Indian, and should not be too free in his dealings with him. But Newport was a vain fellow and felt that he could easily hold his own with the Emperor and gain any request that he might make, so he placed all of his goods before Powhatan, who coolly selected those which he liked most, and gave him, in return, only a few bushels of corn when he had expected to obtain twenty hogsheads. "At this rate," interposed Captain Smith, "we might have purchased our corn in Old Spain, but now let me see if I cannot traffic with his excellency," and, so saying, he took out various trinkets which he flashed before the eyes of the aged Indian, in the light, so that they shone with an extraordinary lustre.

Powhatan's eyes rested upon a string of blue beads, and he became anxious to obtain them.

"These are such as only Kings and Nobles wear in our country," said Smith, "and of immense value. For a string of beads you must give me three hundred bushels of corn."

"That I cannot do," answered Powhatan, "but so desirous am I of having them that I will give you two hundred bushels."

"For two hundred and fifty bushels you can have them," answered Smith.

And so they haggled, until, in the end, the witty Captain Smith obtained somewhere between two and three hundred bushels of corn for a small and insignificant string of beads. Shortly afterwards the cunning Englishman made a similar trade with Opechancanough at Pamunkey, stating to him that these beads had in them the color of the sky and that they were composed of a most rare substance. This Indian likewise fell before the lure of the Captain's plausible and ready speech, and several hundred bushels of corn were secured for a pound or two of these beads, which now grew into such estimation among the Indians, far and near, that none but the great Werowances and their wives and children dared to be seen wearing them. They were considered to be imperial symbols and of enormous value.

Although tricked in this transaction, Powhatan was bright enough to see that the English possessed a vast advantage over his own men whenever it came to a conflict, for they had swords and muskets, whereas his savage followers only possessed bows, spears, and arrows. He knew that if he obtained possession of these he would be able to place himself upon an equal footing with the Colonists and would also be able to domineer over the less fortunate Indian tribes of Virginia. Consequently when he learned that Captain Newport was to leave for England, he sent him twenty-five turkeys and requested, in return, the favor of an equal number of swords. Newport was sufficiently inconsiderate to furnish them to him, but these were not enough for Powhatan, who, soon afterwards, sent a number of turkeys to Smith. The Captain was keen enough to see through the trick of the old gentleman, and, although he thanked him for his kindness with a courteous note, he sent no swords in return. Powhatan was highly offended at this and told his followers to steal the Englishmen's swords whenever they could—an order which they began to obey with such good effect that Smith ordered every Indian caught stealing to be tied, severely whipped, and kept captive. The Emperor of the Virginia savages now saw that the game was a desperate one and so sent Pocahontas into Jamestown with various presents and kind speeches to excuse himself for the injury done by his disorderly warriors and to request that those who were captives might be liberated. Smith took this under consideration and finally granted the Emperor's request, "for the sake of Pocahontas, his daughter," dispatching the captured warriors back to Powhatan's village, where the Indian counsellors were much offended at what they considered to be the cruelty of the white man, and adjured Powhatan to seek revenge. The Emperor affected to be satisfied and would take no action.

Newport had sailed for England, and in September, 1608, arrived with a second supply for the colony and a paper authorizing him to make an expedition of exploration for gold among the Monocan Indians, who resided in the Blue Ridge. For this a barge was brought out from England which could be separated into five parts and thus carried around the falls of the Potomac, and thence convey the explorers (as was supposed in England) to the South Sea. It had been decided by the London company, in England, to crown Powhatan and present him with a basin and ewer, a bedstead, bedding, and various other costly novelties. Captain Smith offered to carry them to Powhatan at We-ro-woco-moco and to invite him to visit Jamestown, for Newport was anxious to obtain a quantity of corn in order to feed his followers in search for the South Sea.

Starting for We-ro-woco-moco by boat, Smith landed, and, with four companions, went through the woods for about twelve miles, until he arrived at Powhatan's village. He found that the renowned chief was absent, but he soon returned and listened with great gravity to the speech of the subtle Englishman, who not only invited him to come to Newport, but also to join with the whites in a campaign against the Monocans. To this the King of the Powhatans replied:

"If your King has sent me presents, I also am a King and this is my land. Here I will stay eight days to receive these gifts. Your Father must come to me, not I to him, nor yet to your fort. I will not bite at such a treacherous bait. As for the Monocans, I can avenge my own injuries. As for Atquanachuck, where you say your brother was slain, it is a country away from those parts you say it is, and as for salt water behind the mountains, the stories which my people have told you to this effect, are false." Whereupon he began to draw the geography of these regions upon the ground with a stick, and, after further talk, Smith returned to Jamestown and told Newport to bring the presents to We-ro-woco-moco.

The various gifts from King James were therefore sent to the Indian village by water, while the Captain with a guard of fifty men went by boat. The day following the arrival of the whites was agreed upon for the coronation and so the presents were brought ashore, the bed and furniture were set up, and, in spite of his struggles, the scarlet cloak and other apparel was put upon the unwilling Powhatan. He feared, indeed, that it would injure him, but his servant Namontack, who had been to England with Newport, assured him that no harm would come to him, and so he allowed the clothing to be hung upon his body, although he absolutely refused to kneel and receive the crown upon his head. Finally the patience of the Englishmen became exhausted, one leaned upon his shoulder so as to cause him to stoop a little, and three more clung to him and pushed him downward, while one had the crown in his hand. Suddenly it was slapped on his head, a pistol shot rang out, and, in token of the coronation, the soldiers discharged their muskets in salute. Immediately Powhatan leaped upright with an expression of terror and fear upon his countenance, for he believed that an attack was to be made upon him, but, seeing that all was well, he recovered his usual composure, generously gave his old shoes and deerskin mantle to Newport in acknowledgment of appreciation for these presents, and, turning to him, told him that he absolutely refused to lend him any of his men, except Namontack, to go against the Monocans. He was most courteous and civil, and presented Newport with seven or eight bushels of corn ears in recognition of his kindness and politeness.

Little was now heard of Powhatan, but it became evident that he was not on friendly terms with the English, as the neighboring tribes refused to keep up their trade with those at Jamestown, some stating that they had been so advised by the great Emperor.

This naturally made Smith very angry. At one time he contemplated falling upon We-ro-woco-moco by surprise and seizing all of the stores of corn which he would find there, but, feeling that discretion was the better part of valor, he restrained his wild intentions and in December, 1608, accepted an invitation of Powhatan's to visit him. The Emperor had asked him to assist in building a house and requested him to bring a grindstone, fifty swords, a few muskets, a cock and a hen, and a quantity of beads and of copper. Forty-six Colonists accompanied the bold Captain on this expedition, and at the first stopping place, Werrasqueake, the chief Sachem of the place, endeavored to dissuade the Englishmen from continuing the trip. "Powhatan will use you kindly, but he has sent for you only to cut your throat," said he. "Trust him not and give him no opportunity to seize your arms." In spite of this the unhesitating Englishmen kept on, and when at length they arrived at We-ro-woco-moco and asked for provisions, they were promptly supplied with bread, venison and turkeys, while the Emperor stated, with some energy, that he and his people had very little corn, though if the English would present him with forty swords he felt that about forty baskets could be collected. Smith found that Powhatan would take nothing but guns and swords in exchange for provisions and that he valued a basket of corn higher than a basket of copper, and thus became quite angry when he saw how anxious the savage was to secure possession of the arms of the whites. "I will spare you what corn I can," said the Emperor, "and that within two days, but, Captain Smith, I have some doubts as to your object in this visit. I am informed that you wish to conquer more than to trade, and, at all events, you must know that my people must be afraid to come near you with their corn, as long as you are armed with such a retinue. Lay aside your weapons, then. Here they are needless. We are friends. All Powhatans."

"You mistake our intentions," said Smith. "We come not to conquer, but to gain provisions."

"I am old, Captain Smith," answered the great chief, "and I know well the difference between peace and war. I wish to live quietly with you, and I wish the same for my successors. Now the rumors which reach me on all sides make me uneasy. What do you expect to gain by destroying us who provide you with food? And what can you get by war if we escape you and hide our provisions in the woods? We are unarmed, too, you see. Do you believe me such a fool as not to prefer eating good meat, sleeping quietly at home, laughing and making merry with you, having copper and hatchets and anything else, as your friend, to flying from you as your enemy, lying cold in the woods, eating acorns and roots and being so hunted by you meanwhile, that if but a twig break my men will cry out, 'There comes Captain Smith!' Let us be friends then. Do not invade us with such an armed force. Lay aside these arms!"

But Smith refused to accede to this request, for he feared that he was about to be attacked by the followers of Powhatan who were clustered about, and so gave secret orders for hauling his boat ashore through the ice and landing many of his men who were on board. In the endeavor to detain Powhatan, he started a vigorous conversation with the old Sachem. Appreciating Smith's ruse, the witty warrior left two or three of his women to talk with him while he left the house in which they were very hurriedly, with all of his attendants. Captain Smith now found himself completely surrounded by Indians. Fearing an attack, he drew his sword, and, brandishing it about his head, cut his way through the crowd of savages, who, as soon as he fired his pistol, fled in all directions.

In spite of this show of hostility upon the part of Smith, the Indians again flocked around him, while Powhatan sent a large and handsome bracelet by the hand of one of his chief orators, who made a long speech, full of complimentary remarks and excuses for their conduct. The savages also furnished baskets for carrying the corn, and offered to guard the Englishmen's firearms, an offer which was of course declined, as Smith feared they would steal these necessary possessions. As the fall of the tide made it impossible for them to continue their journey that night, the English knew that they must remain where they were. It was true that there was treachery afoot, for Pocahontas soon came to Smith's quarters in the woods and told him that her father Powhatan was collecting all of his men to make an assault upon his force, unless the Indians who would bring in the supper should themselves be able to kill him.

The Captain was consequently on his guard an hour afterwards, when ten, strapping, big fellows came into camp bearing great platters of venison and other victuals. They asked the English to put out the matches of their muskets, for the smoke of them was most annoying. But Smith appreciated their ruse, made them taste every dish that had been brought in, so that if there was any poison inside it would first take hold of those who brought it, and, telling them to inform Powhatan that the English were all prepared for him whenever he wished to start hostilities, he sent them back to the chief of the most powerful tribe in Virginia. There was no attack, so the English sailed away on their journey of exploration, leaving behind them one Englishman to kill game for Powhatan, and two or three Germans to assist him in building a house.

Today, on a high hill near the spot where once stood the town of We-ro-woco-moco, is a stone chimney called "Powhatan's Chimney," and, according to tradition, this is the chimney of the house which the German artisans erected for the great Virginia Sachem.

The English pushed onward in search of corn, for they were sorely in need of it for the colony at Jamestown, and at length came to the lodges of Opechancanough, king of the Pamunkies, and a younger brother of Powhatan. From him Captain Smith secured a certain amount of supplies, only after a severe personal scuffle. Thus, after an absence of six weeks, the Colonists reached Jamestown with a cargo of four hundred seventy-nine bushels of corn and two hundred pounds of deer suet, in exchange for which they had given but twenty-five pounds of copper and fifty pounds of iron and beads.

The Powhatans seemed also to be on fairly good terms with the English and traded with them most amicably until Smith departed for England. Then, realizing that their most intelligent adversary had left, they fell upon the six hundred settlers who remained behind, with such success, that at the end of six months, only sixty men, women, and children were alive at Jamestown. These were almost reduced to starvation and were living on roots, herbs, acorns, walnuts, berries and an occasional fish, when supplied by two ships which arrived at Jamestown early in 1613 with some food-stuffs for the colony. But what they brought was insufficient for the needs of the starving people, and so Captain Argall, who commanded, sailed up the Potomac to trade with the natives for corn. Powhatan was now extremely hostile to the colony; his men had captured and stolen many English arms and had secured a number of white prisoners.

Meanwhile Pocahontas had left her father's home and had gone to reside temporarily with the Potomacs—a friendly tribe which had its hunting ground upon the Potomac River. Contemporary historians differ as to the reason for this; one account being that she had gone there merely upon a visit among friends; another that she had been sent by Powhatan to trade with them; and still another that her father did not like her friendship for the whites and so dispatched her there to get her away from any possible intimacy with them. At any rate when Captain Argall had been informed by friendly Indians that Pocahontas was near by, a plan for making peace with Powhatan immediately suggested itself to his unscrupulous mind. He, therefore, sent for one of the Indian chiefs and told him that if he did not give Pocahontas into his hands they would no longer be "brothers and friends." And when the Potomacs, fearing war with Powhatan, seemed unwilling to do this, Captain Argall assured them that he would take their part if any war should occur.

But how could he secure the Indian maiden, for she appeared to manifest no desire to go on board the vessel? This was indeed a problem, and, after thinking the matter over for some time, he decided that he would make use of a little strategy in order to gain his end. So he offered an old Indian, called Japazaws, the irresistible bribe of a copper kettle, if he would bring Pocahontas to the ship. This was too much for the old Indian to withstand. With the aid of his wife, who begged her husband to allow her to go aboard, he managed to get Pocahontas to visit the anchored vessel, an accomplishment which was effected by appealing to the tender heart of the Indian girl, who was so moved to pity when she saw Japazaws refuse to take his wife aboard unless she had some female with her, that she offered to accompany her to the English ship. The old Indian and his wife were highly pleased at the success of their stratagem; so much so, that all through dinner they kept treading on the toes of Captain Argall and laughing aloud. But after supper the Captain sent Pocahontas to the gun room while he pretended to have a private conversation with Japazaws. He soon recalled the Indian Princess and told her that she must remain with him and that she could not again see her father, Powhatan, until she had effected a peace between his noble sire and the English. Japazaws and his wife immediately set up a great howling and crying, but Pocahontas was exceedingly pensive and downcast. She even shed a few tears as the old people who had betrayed her were rowed to shore, happy, smiling, and holding tightly their copper kettle and other trinkets which the witty Captain had given them.

Soon afterwards the English sent an Indian messenger to Powhatan and informed him that his dear daughter Pocahontas was a prisoner, and that, if he would send home the Englishmen whom he had detained in slavery with such arms and tools as his subjects had stolen, and also a great quantity of corn, then his daughter would be restored to him; otherwise she would be kept and treated with kindness and consideration. Powhatan loved his daughter dearly, but he apparently had still greater love for the English weapons that he possessed, for, although he replied that he would perform the conditions laid down by the English so that he might regain his daughter, he did not do so, and it was a very long time before anything was heard of him.

After three months of silence seven Englishmen were sent to the Governor of Jamestown, three muskets, a broad-axe, a whip-saw, and a canoe full of corn, and, accompanying them was a message to the effect that if Pocahontas were returned, a large quantity of corn would be dispatched to the Colonists. But this did not entirely meet with the approval of Argall.

"Your daughter shall be well used, but we cannot believe that the rest of our arms are either lost or stolen from you, and, therefore, till you send them we will keep Pocahontas with us," said he to the emissaries.

To this answer the sagacious Powhatan did not reply, and it was a long time before anything was again heard of him. Finally, as he remained silent for such a length of time, Sir Thomas Dale, with one hundred and fifty men, embarked in the Colonists' vessels for a visit to the Emperor. Pocahontas was taken along, and when the party sailed up the York River, Powhatan was not to be found, while those followers of his who did appear received them with scornful threats, taunts, and open hostility. The English replied with musket shots, and, after a sharp fight, some of the Indian houses were burned to the ground.

This angered Powhatan greatly, and when they asked why it had been done, the English answered by asking why they had shot at them with their arrows. To this the savage replied that they had meant no harm, that they were the white man's friends, and that the blame lay upon some straggling savage. A peace was, therefore, declared and messengers were sent to Powhatan in the persons of Mrs. John Rolfe and Mrs. Sparks, who were kindly received and hospitably entertained, but were not admitted to the great Sachem's presence. Instead, his brother Opechancanough saw them and promised to do the best that he could to persuade Powhatan to negotiate a treaty, and that "all might be well." This was slight satisfaction indeed, but, as it was now April and time to sow corn, the English were obliged to return to Jamestown.

Pocahontas went with them with great unwillingness and not without tears. For a year she was a prisoner at Jamestown, and, as her feelings had always been warm for the white strangers, they treated her with the greatest friendliness and kindness. She was now about eighteen years of age, with an oval, pleasant, interesting face, large black eyes and straight, black hair. Mr. John Rolfe—a young Colonist of honesty and purpose—took a great interest in her, and, in the endeavor to convert her to Christianity, fell in love with this sweet and simple Indian Princess. Pocahontas adopted Christianity, and, when marriage was suggested by good John Rolfe, readily accepted his proposal. Powhatan, himself, seemed to be well pleased with the match when informed of it, and within ten days of this announcement an old Uncle of Pocahontas and two of her brothers arrived at Jamestown as deputies from Powhatan to witness the marriage of his daughter and to show the amiability of the father. Pocahontas was first baptized, was christened Rebbeca, and, as she was a King's daughter, was known sometimes thereafter as the Lady Rebbeca, sometimes as the Lady Pocahontas. The ceremony took place about April the first, 1618. In the little Colonial Church at Jamestown, with its wide-open windows, the cedar pews, and its plainly hewed pulpit, with a canoe-like front, the copper-hued Princess was united in marriage to John Rolfe, while Colonists and three Indians looked on in solemn but cheerful silence, amid the scent of wild flowers, the trilling of birds, and the soft wind-gusts from the river.

From now on friendly intercourse and trade was re-established with Powhatan and his people. Thus the marriage was of great import to the Colonists, for it relieved them from worry and alarm. And in another way, also, the marriage of this sweet Indian maiden benefitted the colony, for the nearest neighbors of the English—the Chickahominys—were powerful, free from the yoke of Powhatan, and had taken advantage of the feud between the Colonists and the Great Sachem to keep independent of both. Now they began to have doubts of their own liberty, when the English were at peace with Powhatan, so they sent a deputation to Sir Thomas Dale, and concluded a treaty with him, to the effect that they would furnish three hundred men in case of a Spanish attack upon the Colony, bring a tribute of corn at harvest time (for which they were to receive payments in hatchets) and that each of the eight of their chief men, who were to see to the performance of this treaty, should have a red coat and a copper chain with the picture of King James upon it, and be called the King's noblemen.

The marriage of the good Pocahontas to John Rolfe seems to have put an end to aggressive interference with the Colonists on the part of Powhatan. From that moment until his death, a few years later, Indian warfare was at an end, and serious difficulty between the white settlers and the savages did not again break out until the reign of Opechancanough, King of Pamunkies, and Powhatan's successor. The Indian tribes are democracies and he who rules must acquire and sustain his influence by his absolute ability and energy. The head Sachem had to be brave, hardy, patient, indefatigable, and had to show talents for controlling the fortunes and commanding the respect of the community which he governed. Powhatan had every requisite for success, and Opechancanough, who succeeded him, possessed the same characteristics. Numerous sons of the great chief could have stepped into his shoes, had they had sufficient ability to do so.

Powhatan exacted implicit obedience from his subjects, and, as an old writer says, "His will was law and had to be obeyed." His followers esteemed him not only as a king, but as half a God. What he commanded they dare not disobey in the least. At his feet they presented whatever he gave orders for, and, at the least frown of his brow their great spirits trembled for fear. He possessed great tact and diplomacy, and his long and artful conversations with Captain Smith in order to gain time; the promptness with which he refused the proposal to march with the English against the Monocans; and his refusal to listen to the proposal of two German deserters who fled to him from Jamestown with the offer of bringing Captain Smith to him securely bound; shows him to have been a man of no small honesty. To the Germans he replied that, "Men who betrayed their captain would betray their emperor," and forthwith ordered the scoundrels to be dispatched with war clubs.

It is on record that no acts of thieving or aggression against the white settlers at Jamestown were done by the Powhatans, until Smith, driven to use aggression upon his own part because starvation stared him in the face, intimidated the Indians by a show of armed force, and made them give him boatloads of corn by threatening an attack unless they delivered the much-needed provisions. From then on the Indians became more suspicious of the whites, more aggressive, and more troublesome. There is no doubt that the more hot-headed spirits would have openly attacked the settlers on more than one occasion, had not Powhatan's restraining voice held them in check. At the beginning of the settlement at Jamestown the savages could have put an end to every white man in Virginia had they so wished and had Powhatan so ordered. But these Indians met the whites peaceably, gave them, at first, plenty of provisions, and not until they appreciated that the men with "thundering-sticks" (muskets) had come to remain among them and to gradually despoil them of their land, did they show that resentment, vindictiveness, or cruelty, which afterwards characterized their actions toward the settlers. And, as has always occurred, the red men gave way before the all-compelling advance of the whites.

When Sir Thomas Dale, who had been governor of Virginia for five years, left for England, he took with him Pocahontas, John Rolfe—her husband—and Tomocomo, one of Powhatan's chief men, who had been told by the Emperor to count the people of England and give him an exact idea of their strength. The Great Indian Emperor had a strong suspicion, also, that England had no corn or lumber, because great shiploads of both these commodities continually left the James River for the Mother Country, and so Tomocomo was requested to observe whether or no the white men had trees or grain fields. The vessel reached Plymouth on June 12th, 1616, and, on leaving the vessel, Tomocomo prepared a long stick upon which he was to cut a notch whenever he saw a man. He kept this up for a day and then said, "Ugh! Ugh! Too many! Stick not long enough." He also saw that England was not lacking in either lumber or grain fields.

The popular interest in Pocahontas was very great. Persons followed her about for hours, and crowds attended her every appearance. She was presented at Court to King James Ist, and his Queen, and made a most satisfactory impression; for all were charmed by her kindness, simplicity, and sweetness of manner. But the noise, confusion and smoke of London tired the timid Indian girl, so she was moved to Brentford, where Captain John Smith—who had returned to England because of a wound—went to see her very often and talked to her of Virginia, of Powhatan, and of the great sweeping waters of the Chesapeake Bay. It could be easily seen that the kind-hearted Princess was homesick. After the birth of a son, whom they christened Thomas Rolfe, she longed to return to her native land and to once more see her people, her father, and the waving cornfields of the Powhatans, the Potomacs and the Pamunkies. So preparations were made for her journey. She accompanied her husband to Gravesend where a vessel was being fitted for Virginia, but, catching a severe cold, she died on the very eve of her departure, and at the early age of twenty-two. No one showed more sorrow at her unexpected demise than did the gallant Captain Smith whom she had saved, whose followers she had often warned of impending danger, and whose kind intervention in behalf of the starving Colonists had, on many occasions, moved the fierce distrust of Powhatan to compassion and to concessions of the life-sustaining and much needed corn.

One year later, in 1618, her father—the Great Powhatan—also went to "the happy hunting grounds," as the Indian says of those who have departed to another world. Peace reigned in Virginia; his own tribe was on friendly terms with both the neighboring Indians and with the white settlers, who were gradually taking possession of plantations upon the James; his cornfields were being well tilled; and his people were contented and happy. As a warrior he undoubtedly had been of superior mettle in his youth, for without this he could never have arisen to the position which he held. As a counsellor, director, and advisor of the destinies of his people, the fact that he kept them contented, rich, and prosperous, is sufficient tribute to his ability as a great Sachem. His dealings with the English were not treacherous, save where he expected aggression on the part of the whites; and honesty, integrity and intellectuality governed his words and public utterances. For an Indian he was notable, and, had he been brought up in the same civilization and refinement which surrounded the white invaders of his territory, there is no doubt that he would have been as much respected by the first settlers at Jamestown as he was by his own people, who gave full credit to the talents of any man of superior ability. His self-command and chivalrous courtesy were quite worthy of the best of Englishmen, and thus his title to greatness is secure.

OPECHANCANOUGH: THE SCOURGE OF VIRGINIA

Sir George Yeardley, Governor of the Virginia Colony in 1616, stood before the door of his cabin at Jamestown, busily engaged in conversation with a stout yeoman, who was clad in rough clothes, with a breastplate upon his chest, and a round iron helmet upon his head.

"We are in need of corn, Captain Brown," said he, "and we must, as heretofore, collect it from the Indians."

"But they have refused to give it to us," answered his military companion. "They are growing insolent and disrespectful."

"Have you tried Opechancanough?"

"Yea, and he had put me off with smiles and grimaces."

"Have you tried the Chickahominies?"

"Yea, and they have refused, point blank, to aid us."

"Then we must collect it by force or we shall starve. Therefore gather one hundred soldiers. We will march upon them tomorrow, and if they will stand, we will give them a right smart drubbing. At any rate, corn we must have and corn we shall get."

Next morning a force of soldiers marched out from the stockade and soon filled the many canoes, near by, by means of which they were carried up the river. They were armed with long swords, muskets, and knives. Their bullet pouches were well filled, their breastplates were newly polished, and the sun gleamed from their shining helmets and steel weapons. They laughed and chatted gayly, for they knew that the affair could have but one outcome, and that would be in their favor.

After a merry journey, the homes of the Chickahominies were seen in the distance, and, forming for the assault, the soldiers were soon beset by hundreds of painted warriors, whose yelping and screeching sounded wildly through the leafy thickets. "You dare not come on," cried one of the braves who had learned to speak English upon his visits to Jamestown, and as he spoke he fired an arrow at the oncoming whites, which struck one of the men full in the breastplate. "On, on," shouted Sir George Yeardley. "Give these red devils a lesson which they will not soon forget. Move cautiously, my men, and do not charge among these wild fellows until I give the signal." So, carefully and steadily, the troops moved forward in regular alignment, firing at intervals, and occasionally striking one of the screeching, jumping Indians with a bullet. They soon drove them beyond the village, seized enough corn to satisfy their needs, and turning toward home, beat a safe and slow retreat through the forest, being repeatedly fired upon by the savages.

As they neared Jamestown, Opechancanough—the younger brother of Powhatan—met them in the forest. He had succeeded to the position of Chief Sachem which his relative had held before him, and was apparently upon as friendly terms with the whites as his honored brother had been. With much show of warm friendship, he approached the leader of this successful foraging party, and, bending to the ground, said:

"You now have been fighting with the Chickahominies. I see that you have gathered much corn. You will need to make peace with them, now, or there will be much fighting. Ugh! Ugh! Let me make peace with these people for you. They are a great nation. They can do you much harm. Let me see that the peace pipe is smoked between you."

"Your suggestion is a good one," answered Yeardley. "I shall think it over," and motioning for his men to proceed, they were soon on their way to Jamestown.

Not many days after this, Opechancanough—with Yeardley's consent—went to the Chickahominies to secure a peace. He pretended that he had used great pains and solicitation to secure this, and so impressed this fact upon these Indians, that they proclaimed him king of their nation, and flocked from all sides with beads and copper presents to give to the new Sachem. From this time on the brother of Powhatan was content to be called the King of Chickahominy, and thus—of their own free will—a brave and resolute people came to be his subjects. For many years they had made a successful resistance to all attacks of other Indian tribes, and had frequently given the English a stout fight.

Opechancanough saw that the whites were increasing in Virginia in alarming proportions, and in his heart began to smoulder a longing to drive them out of the country of his forefathers. He was polite and civil to the settlers whenever he saw them, and no one could tell by talking to him that he meditated any attack upon the Colonists, but he was brooding over the situation at all times, and was determined that, when the time was ripe, he would take upon himself the duty of expelling the English from Virginian soil. No better preparation for war could have been made on his part than he effected when he secured the submission of the Chickahominies to his rule. It has even been thought that he, himself, stirred them up to open rebellion when the English had demanded corn from them, so that his own influence over them would be greater. For they knew of his hostile feelings towards the whites, and marvelled, when they appreciated that he could still be on such friendly terms with them that he was admitted to their councils.

In 1618 these Indians murdered several settlers, and although Opechancanough was asked to give satisfaction, he did not do so. He was requested to send in the heads of the offenders as a proof that they had met the fate which was due them, but although he promised to acquiesce to this demand, the English waited for months, and no word came from him. Thus a few of the more cautious of the Colonists began to fear that trouble was brewing with the politic, shrewd, and diplomatic King of the Chickahominies.

These fears had no evidence of being well grounded, from the actions of Opechancanough, for the artful Chieftain gave the English no open cause of offense, or any evidence of hostility. It is true that the white men suspected treachery, for one of the Jamestown Colonists writes, in 1620, "Now Opechancanough will not come to treat with us which causes us to greatly suspect his former promises that he is friendly to us and to our interests." But this slight uneasiness was soon forgotten, for when Sir Francis Wyatt succeeded Governor Yeardley a few years later messengers were sent to the Chief of the Chickahominies, and he received them with kindness, expressed the hope that the new President would have a pleasant time in Virginia, and renewed his former league with the colony, with apparent cheerfulness.

"I am much pleased to hear that the English are inhabiting this country," said he to one of the messengers, "and I think it would be well if some of your white families would settle among my people, and some of my Indians should settle at Jamestown. I confess that my own religion is not as perfect as that of you English, and I shall be glad to be baptized into the Christian faith. God loves you whites better than he does the red men, and he has given you knowledge of guns which spit fire, which we have never had. In proof of my love for my white brothers I shall give you guides to show you to rich mines far up the river, where you can get precious metals to send to your Mother Country in exchange for sheep, oxen, and provisions."

The English were naturally delighted with such talk, and, without the least suspicion that this wily Sachem was plotting murder in his heart, sent some of their best men to him to be guided to the mines. While they were away upon this expedition, Opechancanough dispatched a few of his followers to the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay to secure a quantity of poisonous herbs which grew there and which he wished to use in getting rid of the English. "We would know your feelings towards these whites," said his ambassadors to the red inhabitants of this country. "Are you friendly to these English invaders, or would you care to see them exterminated?"

"We are friendly. We need their trade. They do not harm us, nor do we intend to harm them," answered the spokesman of the Indians of the eastern shore.

"But they will soon take all the land which you have inherited from your forefathers, and will drive you into the sea. Come, join with us in exterminating these white invaders."

"No, no. We will remain at peace," said the men of the eastern shore, and so there was no hope of their aid in the insurrection which Opechancanough was planning. The storm was slowly gathering, and it was to soon burst upon the unsuspecting settlers like the tempestuous current of Niagara.

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.

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.

When the signal for attack was given, the hidden warriors poured forth from the forest, and swept down upon the plantations like a flight of locusts. As in the massacre many years before, the Colonists were totally unprepared for this sudden advance, and, at first, hundreds of them fell before the raiding parties of the bloodthirsty red men. Five hundred men, women, and children perished under the tomahawks of the followers of Opechancanough: the scourge of Virginia. Many others were carried away in captivity. Their log houses, supplies of corn, household utensils, farming instruments, and live stock were destroyed. Their houses were burned with all that they contained. Only a few, who lived in the remotest plantations, were able to make an escape to the more thickly populated portions of Virginia and warn the inhabitants that the Indians were again upon the war path. Dissensions among the Colonists were speedily forgotten. Under the dread of a frightful slaughter, the settlers, who had been warring with each other, determined to march together against the red men. Their ploughs were left in the furrows. All who were able to bear arms were enrolled in a militia in defense of the Colony, and a chosen body, under the command of Governor Berkeley, marched into the enemy's country. Blood was in their eyes, and in their hearts was the one word—revenge.

The fighting which now occurred was bloody. No historian has left a record of it, but we can well imagine how the infuriated Englishmen fell upon the followers of Opechancanough when they found them. The Indians were checked in their advance upon the peaceful settlers. They were beaten back, defeated again and again, and were forced to give up their invasion. Berkeley's troops were light-armed and lightly dressed, so that they could move with speed against the little warriors of the forest. Some of them had horses and on these they could often head off the flying redskins and effect their capture. They did great damage and often routed the followers of Opechancanough when the battle which they were fighting with the English was very even.

As for Opechancanough, himself, he had become extremely feeble and decrepit from old age and was unable to walk. Borne about on a litter by four stout braves, he directed the fighting of his warriors and, although weak in body, still possessed a proud and imperious spirit. His flesh became macerated, his sinews lost their elasticity, and his eyelids were so heavy that he could not see, unless they were lifted up by the hands of his faithful attendants. In this forlorn condition he was directing the course of a battle, when Berkeley's horse burst through the thicket in the rear of his men, and, terrified by fear of capture, his own attendants were forced to run away. The great Chief was left upon the ground, and soon a cheering body of Colonists stood around him, howling with the pleasure of having taken—after years of attempt—the bold, resolute Chief of the Chickahominies and their allied tribes. By special command of Governor Berkeley he was carefully carried to Jamestown, where people crowded around in wonder to see the fallen monarch of the Virginian wildwood.

The English had now lost their vindictive hatred for this wily monarch. They saw the man who had inspired such terror in a forlorn and abject condition. Shattered by age and misfortune, he presented a sorry appearance, as he lay, half dead, upon the litter of boughs and deerskins which his own people had fashioned for him. To the honor of the Colonists, they treated the distinguished captive with tenderness and the respect which his appearance and talents demanded, while he, himself, was as proud and haughty as a Roman Emperor. He uttered no complaint or showed no uneasiness at his capture. Fearing that he would be tortured, he showed no humility, and was imperious, defiant, and spirited in his language and demeanor. So, he lay, curiously gazed upon by the gaping Colonists, and eagerly watched by the soldiers who had effected his capture.

Opechancanough reclined thus for several days attended by his affectionate Indian servants, who had begged permission to wait upon him. He was near ninety years of age, and it is said that Governor Berkeley proposed to take him to England, as a living argument to counteract the representations made by some persons in that country, that Virginian climate was too unhealthy for any one to gain long life who resided there. The great Chief was reserved and silent, and, as if anxious to show his English enemies that there was nothing in their presence to even arouse his curiosity, he rarely allowed his attendants to raise his eyelids. Thus he was lying, when one of the soldiers set to guard him raised his gun, and, in a spirit of revenge for all the suffering which the great Chieftain had caused, shot him through the back. He was grievously wounded, but did not die immediately.

To the last moment of his life, the haughty Opechancanough preserved the dignity and serenity of his bearing. He made no murmur of pain or fear and stolidly awaited the end which was rapidly approaching. Only a few moments before he expired he heard an unusual amount of noise in the room where he lay, and requesting his attendants to raise his eyelids, saw a number of Colonists crowding around him in order to gratify their curiosity and amazement. The dying Chieftain raised himself weakly upon one arm, and, with a voice and air of authority, asked that Governor Berkeley be immediately called in. When the latter made his appearance, Opechancanough cried out, in a thin and trembling voice: "Had it been my fortune, sir, to have taken Sir William Berkeley prisoner, I should never have exposed you as a show for my people."

A few hours later the mighty Sachem breathed his last, amid the weepings and lamentations of his Indian attendants. He had been an implacable enemy to the whites; he had led two fairly successful insurrections against them, and he had been the cause of untold misery and suffering. Yet, he felt that his cause was a just one; he saw that he must either exterminate the English or they would exterminate his own people, and he fought for the preservation of his race. His own countrymen were more under his control than under that of Powhatan, himself, and they considered him to be in no way related to Powhatan, but represented him as a prince of a foreign nation, come from a great distance somewhere in the southwest: probably Mexico. He has been called by some a politic and haughty prince, and one English statesman has named him the Hannibal of Virginia. At any rate he was a man of influence, power, and ability. His record is a good one for an Indian, and had his followers been possessed of the knowledge of civilization and warfare which the white men held, there is little doubt that Virginia, for many years, would have been the exclusive habitation of the redskins. Peace to the ashes of misguided and unfortunate Opechancanough of Virginia. He fought for a cause which, from his viewpoint, was as just as that of his conquerors. He was never captured in battle until old age made it impossible for him to escape, and he died by a foul and unexpected blow, from one of a race which should be well ashamed of such a deed.

SASSACUS AND UNCAS: RIVAL CHIEFTAINS OF THE PEQUOT REBELLION

The English are an adventurous people and none were more so than burly Captain Stone, a hardy mariner, who, in the summer of 1633, made a coastwise trip from Maine to Virginia in a little schooner. Attracted by the broad harbor of the Connecticut River, he sailed by the rocky bluffs at the entrance and was soon gliding between the green hills which roll back from either side of the sparkling waters of the stream. Charmed by the peaceful scene, he kept on drifting up the winding water course, until he finally dropped anchor beneath a headland covered with the sweet-scented bushes of the sumach and wild plum.

"It seems that this is a likely place for the partridge or grouse," said one of the seamen, as the ship lay peacefully at anchor on the quiet water. "What say you, good Captain, if I and two others go ashore with our fowling pieces to look for game?"

"Good," answered the stout Captain, "and if you see a deer, be sure and bring it down, for we are much in need of fresh meat upon our vessel."

"All right, we will go at once," said the seaman, and, quickly selecting two companions who armed themselves with flintlocks, the sporting sea-dogs were soon ashore. That night they did not come back, but, thinking that they had wandered off in the quest of venison, Captain Stone did not give the matter a second thought.

When morning dawned, a canoe, filled with Indians, was seen coming from the shore. "How! How!" said the red men, when the canoe came near the ship. "We bring presents to white man. We want to see big house on water."

A Sachem of the Pequot Indians was in the bow of the birch-bark boat, and, as he smiled in a friendly fashion, the Captain gave orders that he should be allowed to come on board with all his dozen men. Not long afterwards, he was agreeably conversing with them in his cabin. The crew were in the cook room, getting their luncheon, when, overcome by the drowsy heat of the day, and with no suspicion that the redskins were other than peaceful braves, the Captain fell asleep in his bunk.

Silently the Indians sneaked to the cupboard—where the muskets were kept—and seized them. Then, when all were passed to the waiting braves, the Sachem crept over to the sleeping Captain Stone, and, with one swift blow, brained him with his hatchet. Immediately his followers rushed to the small room where the crew were peacefully eating, and, aiming at them through the window, shot at those who were nearest. All leaped to their feet and made a rush for the door in order to grapple with their assailants. Three lay groaning upon the floor, as the rest rushed upon the vindictive savages who, using their knives and spears, cut at the sailors with cruel vengeance. A desperate struggle commenced.

The whites and Pequots struggled back and forth upon the narrow deck, which now grew slippery with blood. More than one savage was knocked overboard, but, as they outnumbered the crew, it was plainly evident that the outcome of the struggle would be in their favor. Suddenly, a loud report was heard. The decks flew asunder from the force of an explosion below. The splitting timbers belched outwards upon the blue waters of the quiet stream, and, with a muffled roar, both red men and white were shot into the water. Some clung to the wreckage, some hung on to the canoe and boats, as—in lurid flames and black smoke—the remains of the little schooner were burned to the water's edge. But, although hurled into the water, most of the Pequots escaped, were picked up by their companions, and paddled back in the canoes and ship's boats to complete the massacre. When night came, only a few charred timbers, floating upon the surface of the Connecticut, were left to mark the scene of the tragedy.

This was in 1633, when the Puritans were well established at Plymouth and Boston, and were continually pushing into the interior to find good farm lands. Sassacus was Chief Sachem of the warlike Pequots, and, in spite of this massacre, sent a messenger to the Governor of Massachusetts—in the year following—to gain his friendship and alliance. His emissary brought two large bundles of sticks with him and a large quantity of wampum. "I will give as many skins of the beaver and otter as I send pieces of wood," was the message which King Sassacus sent to the Chief Executive of Massachusetts, "and I wish your friendship and allegiance. Will you sign a treaty with me?"

"I return you a fine moose-skin coat," answered the Governor to this request, "but I cannot make a treaty with you unless you send proper warriors for me to treat with, and enough of them. Furthermore, your men have murdered Captain Stone, my friend, and I can make no peace with you until you deliver to me the Pequots who killed him and his men."

Sassacus was a warrior of high renown. He had twenty-six sachems, or war captains, under his control, and could muster—at any time—seven hundred warriors. His residence was upon the Atlantic, at Groton, Connecticut, and near the Mystic River he had a splendid stronghold, situated upon a verdant eminence, which gradually descended to the waters of the sparkling stream. He and his men looked upon the English as intruders, who had no right to come to the soil of Connecticut. But, as the intrepid Sassacus had warred with the Dutch at New York, so that they had cut off his trade with them, he wished to now gain the good will of the English, near Boston. The Pequots were men of the utmost independence of spirit and had conquered most of the smaller tribes lying around them. They called these people whom they captured "women" and "cowards."

"Your Captain Stone took two of our men," said the emissary from Sassacus. "He detained them by force and made them pilot him up the river. The Captain and the crew then landed, taking the guides on shore, with their hands bound behind them. The Pequots next fell upon the white men and killed them. The vessel, with the remainder of the crew, was blown up, I do not know why, nor wherefore."

This was a pretty good story, and as the Governor of Massachusetts could not substantiate his own side, he was inclined to believe it, for he had no means of proving its falsity. So a treaty was concluded, with the following terms:

I. The English to have such land in Connecticut as they needed, provided they would make a settlement there; and the Pequots to render them all the assistance that they could.

II. The Pequots to give the English four hundred fathoms of wampum, forty beaver and thirty otter skins, and to surrender the two murderers whenever they should be sent for.

III. The English to send a vessel immediately, to trade with them, as friends, but not to fight them, and the Pequots would give them all their custom.

Having signed this document, the emissary from Sassacus and his companion started back on their five days' journey to the habitation of their Chief. But, unfortunately for them, the Pequots were then at war with the Narragansetts, and a party of about two hundred and fifty warriors of the latter tribe had come as far as Neponset (the boundary between Milton and Dorchester) for the avowed purpose of waylaying and killing the two Pequots on their way home. Learning of this, the Governor sent an armed force to request a visit from these Narragansett braves, and two Sachems—with about twenty men—obeyed the summons. "We have been hunting around the country," said they, "and came to visit the Indians at Neponset, according to old custom. We meant no harm to the Pequots. They can go home in safety." And they kept good this promise, so that the two Pequots made their return trip in perfect security.

For two years white settlers moved into Connecticut, and took up farms in the most fertile places. But the Indians were soon unfriendly. An Englishman named Oldham, who had been trading in Connecticut, was murdered by a party of Block Island braves, several of whom were said—by the frontier settlers—to have taken refuge among the Pequots, who gave them ample protection. When the Governor of Massachusetts heard of this, he was exceedingly wroth, for Oldham was a resident of Dorchester and was a friend of his. So, ordering Captain Endicott of the State Militia to appear before him, he said:

"I commission you, good sir, to put to death the redskins of Block Island, with ninety of our soldiers. Spare the women and children, but bring them away and take possession of the Island. Then go to the Pequots and demand the murderers of Captain Stone, Oldham, and other Englishmen who have been killed, and one thousand fathom of wampum for damages. Also get some of their children as hostages, which, if they refuse, you must take by force."

Endicott was not long in starting upon his mission, and soon had captured Block Island and burned the villages of the natives. He then sailed for Pequot Harbor, where a warrior of the army under Sassacus came out in a canoe to demand who the intruders were. The River Thames, where now the rival crews of Yale and Harvard struggle for supremacy on the water, emptied into this harbor, and upon either bank were the homes of the Indians.

"I wish to see Sassacus, your Chief," said Endicott.

"He has gone to Long Island," the Indian replied.

"Then I wish to speak with the next in authority," continued the leader of the Massachusetts troops, "and I wish to have the murderers of Oldham given up to my care."

The Pequot brave did not reply and paddled to the shore, followed by the English troops, who landed and stood—fully armed—a short distance from the beach. The Indians in numbers gathered around them, but the head Sachem did not put in an appearance. "He will come," said the fellow who had been in the canoe, "if you English will lay down your arms. We will, at the same time, leave our bows and arrows at a distance."

But Endicott grew angry at this, as he believed it to be a pretext for gaining time. "Begone, you Pequots," he thundered. "You have dared the English to come and fight you, and we are ready." The Indians withdrew to a short distance, and then the leader of the whites ordered his men to advance. A shower of arrows poured upon them, as they did so, but the English discharged a hot volley which killed several and wounded fully twenty of the redskins. At this they fled, while the troops pressed on to their village and burned it to the ground.

At night the little army returned to the five ships which had brought them, and next day they went ashore upon the west side of the river and burned all the wigwams and smashed all the canoes of the Pequots' families who lived upon the bank of the Thames. The Indians shot at them from behind rocks and trees, but their arrows did little damage, and so, with the loss of not a single man, the troops set sail for Boston. "They came home all safe," says a historian, "which was a marvelous providence of God, that not a hair fell from the head of any of them, nor were there any sick or wounded in the little army."

Sassacus was now infuriated with the whites. In retaliation for this attack upon his people, he ordered war upon the white settlers of Connecticut. The forts and settlements of the English were assaulted in every direction. No boat could pass up and down the Connecticut River in safety. The hard-working farmers could neither hunt, fish, nor cultivate their lands. People went armed to their work in the fields and to church on Sunday, while a guard was stationed outside the meeting houses during service. At the mouth of the Connecticut River, the English had a fortification, called Fort Saybrook. In October five of the garrison were surprised and killed, as they were carrying in some hay from a field near by. Not long afterwards several vessels were captured, and the sailors were tortured by the Pequots. Saybrook Fort was besieged, the outhouses were burned, and the few cattle that were not killed often came in at night with the arrows of the Pequot warriors sticking in their sides. Early in March four of the garrison were caught outside the walls of the fort and massacred, while a horde of red warriors surrounded the stockade on all sides, challenging the English to come out and fight in the open, mocking them with catcalls, groans, hisses, and imitations of the screams of those whom they had captured, and boasting that the Pequots would soon drive all the English into the sea. They would often rush up to the gate in the endeavor to gain an entrance, but a discharge of grapeshot from a cannon made them retreat into the timber.

It is said that a Puritan, or a New Englander, is slow to anger, but once get him aroused and he will fight as no other man can fight on earth. This is what put an end to Sassacus. For when the savage marauders threatened Agawam (Springfield), Hartford and Windsor, and carried off several women from Wethersfield, the Massachusetts colony sent an army of ninety men to Saybrook Fort, commanded by Captain John Mason, an experienced and able soldier. A body of Mohegan Indians, under Uncas, joined them here, for they were unfriendly to Sassacus, as he and his savage Pequots had often killed the members of this tribe. They were to prove of little value in the campaign, but their presence added a spirit of confidence to the English soldiers.

At the head of the Mystic River, where now is the thriving town of Stonington, Connecticut, Sassacus had his principal fortification. It was really a large Indian town, surrounded by a stout palisade, and was crowded with men, women and children. Mason decided to attack it, but, being a good soldier, determined to throw the watchful Pequots off his scent. He, therefore, first sailed down to the Pequot (Thames) River, and pretended to land at its mouth. The savages were closely watching him, and when, instead of landing, he bore away to the southward and coasted along the Narragansett Bay, the natives thought that he was in retreat. "Ugh! Ugh!" said the warriors. "He little heart. He no fight! We brave men. We can beat all the English in the country!"

But Mason was a shrewd campaigner, and dropping anchor at a point in the bay, where he was protected from the prying eyes of the Pequot scouts, he lay to for some time, and then landed his soldiers through the heavy surf which was then raging. Marching inland, he stopped at a fort of the friendly Narragansetts, under Canonicus and Miantonomo, who were cold and distrustful, saying: "We doubt that such a small body of you English can carry the strong palisades of Sassacus. But we will help you when you advance upon them tomorrow." Mason had so little confidence in the word of these allies that he surrounded the fort, that evening, with a strong guard, fearing that the Indians would betray his approach to the Pequots.

Next day the little army of white soldiers pushed on through the woods in the direction of the great Pequot stronghold, where the followers of Sassacus were resting in fancied peace and security. It was a hot day—the 25th of May—and the warriors were much oppressed by their heavy armor breastplates and the weight of their ponderous flintlocks. They forded the Pawcatuck River and camped at a place called Porter's Rocks, at the head of the Mystic River, which was but two miles from the Pequot encampment. Scouts crept near the palisades that evening, and heard the sounds of songs and laughter within, for the redskins were having a big feast. Perfectly unconscious of the peril that lurked so near them, some of the braves were boasting that the English had fled without striking a blow to avenge the death of thirty white settlers whose scalps hung in the wigwams of the Pequot braves. They danced, sang, and caroused until late in the night.

Mason passed among his men, and said: "Sleep lightly. Arouse yourselves at the first flush of dawn. When you strike the Indians, fight like bloodhounds. Give no quarter, for they have given no quarter to our people."

Deep sleep hung over the Indian camp, as at daybreak the Puritan army started for the stockade. Guided by Uncas—the Mohegan chief—and Wequash, a Pequot who had turned traitor to his tribe, they were soon led to the outskirts of the sleeping village. A hush of deep quiet hung over the habitations of Sassacus and his people. Robins piped from the trees. Song-sparrows trilled from the verdant underbrush, and the flute-like call of thrushes came from the depth of the wood, now beautiful with the fresh green of early spring. It hardly seemed possible that scenes of dreadful carnage would soon be enacted in the midst of this quiet beauty, but silently and cautiously the men with iron breastplates surrounded the circular stockade. Behind them, their Indian allies formed a circle, but advanced with no show of courage or enthusiasm. The garrison slept peacefully on, when suddenly a dog barked, and a Pequot warrior, leaping to his feet in alarm, cried out, "Owanux! Owanux!"—"Englishmen! Englishmen!"

In front of Mason was a barricade of brush heaps at one entrance to the village. Opposite this was another opening, and, as the stout yeomen rushed in one doorway, led by Mason, an equal body penetrated the other, cheered on by Underhill. The Pequot braves seized their bows and arrows in a vain endeavor to stem the onslaught, while the women and children—in terror—endeavored to hide themselves beneath anything that would cover them, or to escape between the lines and gain the protection of the forest. Hoarse cries rose in the misty air. Muskets crashed, children screamed, and, with exultant war whoops, the followers of Uncas shot their arrows into the Pequots, who huddled together like sheep, in confusion and dismay. "We must burn them!" shouted Mason, now full of the heat of battle, and seizing a glowing brand from some smouldering ashes, he thrust it between the sticks of a wigwam. In a moment the mats, with which it was covered, were alight, and the tepee blazed upwards in smoke and fire. Many soldiers followed his example, so that soon the yelling mass of warriors were surrounded by black smoke and curling flames.

In an unyielding circle, the English pressed in upon the Pequot braves. The flames crackled, women shrieked, children cried, and above the rattling of the firearms sounded the vindictive yelping of the followers of Uncas. Seventy wigwams were soon black in smoke, while fully five hundred Pequots were struck down as they endeavored to get past the line of the Puritan troops. The broad swords of the soldiers thrust this way and that with terrible ferocity. Back, back, they pressed the cringing and desperate redskins, who again and again threw themselves upon the ranks of the Puritans in a vain endeavor to get through to the safety of the forest. Sassacus, himself, was not there, but his people were receiving an awful chastisement for attacking the peaceful settlers of Connecticut. They battled desperately for their lives. They strove manfully to penetrate the cordon of steel which pressed in upon them, but it was in vain. Within an hour's time fully six hundred of them lay dead or dying upon the sod, while only seven escaped and seven were taken captive.

News of the disaster was quickly brought to Sassacus, who, fortunately for himself, was in the next Pequot stronghold, some miles distant. Dispatching immediately three hundred warriors to the scene of carnage, they pursued the English very closely for six miles, on their march to their ships, which had sailed to the mouth of the Pequot (Thames) River. The Narragansett warriors who had come on with Mason's men had already deserted. Uncas and his Mohegans still remained faithful, and helped to carry the wounded back to the ships. Underhill protected the rear of the white army as it retreated, and, according to his own account, killed and wounded near a hundred of the ferocious Pequots, who burned to avenge the slaughter of the morning. A third of Mason's men were used up from wounds or exhaustion, but all arrived safely at the ocean side, where not only were the ships, but also a reinforcement of forty men from Boston. Before night closed in, all were on board and safe from the attacks of the Pequots, who shook their fists at them from the shore and yelled vindictively at them, as the white sails filled in the gentle breeze.

The war was not over by any means. All through the summer skirmishes were had with the Indians. Uncas and his Mohegans, with a few English, were scouring the shores near the sea for the purpose of cutting off stragglers, when they came upon a Pequot Sachem and a few of his men, not far from the harbor of Guilford, Connecticut. They pursued them, and, as the south side of the harbor is formed by a long neck of land, the Pequots went out upon it, hoping that their pursuers would pass by. But Uncas, who saw the stratagem, ordered some of his Mohegans to give chase, which the enemy observed and so jumped into the water and swam over to the mouth of the harbor. There they were captured by the English soldiers, who ran around to head them off. Uncas, himself, is said to have shot the chief sachem with an arrow, to have cut off his head, and set it in the crotch of a large oak tree near the water. The skull remained here for many years, and thus the name of Sachem's-Head has ever since been given to this beautiful harbor.

A large number of the Pequots now deserted Sassacus to his fate and took refuge among the Indians of New York. Some even threatened to destroy him for bringing down upon them the anger of the white settlers, and nothing but the entreaty of his chief counsellor prevented him from being killed by his own people. Realizing that he could no longer hold his own against the whites, he destroyed his fort, and, with several hundred of his best men, retreated towards the Hudson River. To kill or capture him was the main object of the Colonists, and, two captured Pequots having had their lives spared on condition that they would guide the English to him, a good-sized force now pushed on towards the retreating members of the once powerful Pequot tribe. At last the Indians were overtaken near Fairfield, Connecticut, and a fierce fight took place in a swamp. The red men fought with the courage of despair, and sixty or seventy succeeded in forcing their way through the ranks of their assailants; but about two hundred were captured. Sassacus, himself, escaped. Those Pequots who had not been slain were hunted like wild beasts by the other Indians of the Narragansett and Mohegan tribes, and weekly their heads were brought in to Windsor and Hartford. Finally, the entire tribe was obliterated, and the few remaining braves were permitted to live with those tribes which they had called "cowards" and "women."

Sassacus was driven from swamp to swamp, by night and by day. Even his own men hunted him and endeavored to take his life. One Pequot who was freed by the English, on condition that he would find and betray this great chief, finally succeeded in finding him. Creeping upon him in one of his solitary camps, he was about to fire his musket, when he was overcome by the majestic look of the great Sachem. "I could not pull the trigger," he told the English, "for my chief looked like all one God. I could not touch a hair of his head." Thus the once powerful redskin escaped and fled to the Mohawks in New York, where he arrived with five hundred pounds of wampum and several of his best captains and bravest men. But here there was to be no peace for the fugitive. He and his men were treacherously murdered by a party of warlike Mohawks, and his scalp sent to Connecticut as a present to the English. A lock of his hair was soon carried to Boston, where it was exhibited in a window upon the streets, as a sure proof of the death of this once powerful enemy to the whites.

Uncas—the Mohegan ally of the Connecticut settlers—continued to live at peace with the Colonists, although granting nearly all his land away for a very small consideration. Thus, in 1641, he gave away several thousand acres for the possession of four coats, two kettles, four fathoms of wampum, four hatchets and three hoes. In 1659 he gave all his lands, with all his corn, to his old comrade and friend, Major John Mason, with whom he had stormed the Pequot fort on the Mystic. He lived to be a very old man, and a remnant of his tribe still exists today near Norwich, Connecticut, and are the only natives still lingering upon the soil of the state.

Sassacus defied the English and was exterminated. Uncas befriended them and lived a peaceful existence. Of the two, he led the more quiet life, but one cannot but admire the fierce, fighting spirit of Sassacus and regret that he met such a miserable end. No direct descendants of either now exist, for, upon an old Indian gravestone at Mohegan, a genial carver has left the following inscription:

"Here lies the body of Sun-seeto
Own son to Uncas, grandson to Oneko,
Who were the famous Sachems of Mohegan:
But now they are all dead.
I think it is Werheegen" (which means "all is well" or "good news" in the Mohegan language).

Certainly, the whites were glad to see the race exterminated. It left the country to their own civilization, and they developed it according to their own desires. Now brick and wooden houses, great factories, and roaring mills stand where the red men once had their thin wigwams; and where they once battled furiously with the stout Colonists, jangling trolley cars rush by in cheerful indifference to the dim records of history.

MASSASOIT: THE GREAT SACHEM OF THE WAMPANOAGS AND FRIEND OF THE PURITANS

While the English were gradually settling their plantations on the James River in Virginia and were encroaching upon the land held by the Indians, other Englishmen, driven from home by religious persecution, and wishing to found a colony in the newly discovered country, had crossed the blue Atlantic to the rocky shore of Massachusetts, where they had landed, built their log houses, and had begun to wrest a living from a stern and unproductive soil. They were Pilgrims and were of a religious sect called Puritans, which was most unpopular in their native country. All were men of sturdy, vigorous natures.

These adventurers first went ashore upon the fifteenth day of November, and a few walked up and down until the sun began to draw low, when they hastened out of the woods in order that they might enter their boat which was drawn up upon the beach. By the time that they reached it, it was nearly dusk, so, after setting a watch, those who had landed lay down to rest.

About midnight they heard a great and hideous cry from out the woodland, and their sentinel called out, "Arm! Arm!" So they leaped to their feet, and, seizing some muskets which were beside them, shot them off. As they did so, again the terrible wail sounded from the forest.

"Woach! Woach! Ha-Ha-Ha-Hack—Woach!"

But this soon ceased, and all was quiet in the sombre woodland.

Nothing more occurred until about five in the morning, when one of the Puritans came running to the camp, shouting: "Men are coming to attack us! Indians! Indians!" And, as he spoke, a cloud of arrows came flying into the encampment. One savage was soon seen who fired at them from behind a tree, and an old Puritan took three shots at him with a musket.

The red man continued to shoot his arrows until suddenly he gave a terrific yell, showing that he had probably been hit. At any rate he retreated into the dense forest with the other braves, and nothing more was seen, or heard, either from him, or from them.

The Pilgrims breathed a sigh of relief, picked up the arrows—eighteen in all had fallen among them—and marveled at their make. Some were curiously headed with the horn of a buck deer, and others with the claw of an eagle. So they kept them, and, when the good ship Mayflower sailed for England, they sent these warlike tokens back with her to their friends upon the other side of the Atlantic. The Indians who had made this assault were Nansets, of whom Aspinet was the chief, but whether or not any of them were slain in the conflict does not appear in the ancient record of this combat.

After this affair the sober Puritans made their abode and sailed carelessly along the coast, looking for a good landing place, until December 11th, when they reached a spot which had a good harbor and some high ground beyond the beach which offered an excellent situation for a redoubt. So here they landed, built a long log house, and began their first settlement upon New England soil. They called their first home Plymouth.

With great toil and hard labor they erected other habitations for the settlers. Their first winter here was one of extreme hardship and suffering. Many died of starvation and exposure, and when spring came the survivors were so enfeebled that an attack by a strong band of Indians could easily have annihilated the entire settlement.

On March 16th, 1621, the chief men of Plymouth had assembled to discuss various matters of interest in connection with the welfare of the country, when an Indian was seen approaching. With long strides he walked down the village street, and, as the wary Puritans sprang to their guns, he held out his hands, and cried, "Welcome, Englishmen! Welcome!"

He was a tall, straight man, the hair on his head was black—short before and long behind—his countenance was open and friendly, while his carriage was graceful and imposing. He was thinly clad in deer skins, which must have afforded small warmth for the cold air of spring, and his moccasins gave scarcely any protection to his hardened feet. The Colonists laid aside their guns, when they realized that the savage was not armed, and grasped the outstretched hand of the friendly neighbor.

"We are glad to see you," spoke one of the hardy Englishmen, "and, as you have shown yourself to be friendly, we too shall be friendly."

"Come, seat yourself among us and partake of our humble fare!

"Ugh! Ugh!" grunted the savage, squatting down upon the ground, "I am Samoset, Pemaquid chief. My hunting ground on Island Monhegan, a day's sail toward the rising sun. Five days if go by land, near Penobscot River. Welcome, Englishmen, to country of Massasoit. I learn your tongue from white fishermen who come here not long ago."

This speech sounded as if it were true, so, feeling compassion for the poor, naked child of the woods, the settlers presented him with a hat, a pair of stockings, shoes, a shirt, and a piece of cloth to tie around his waist. They learned that the country around them was called Pawtuxet, and that, four years before their arrival, a terrible pestilence had swept off all the tribes which had inhabited this district, so that, as none were left to claim the soil, it would be perfectly possible for the English to do so. Samoset also told them that their nearest neighbor was a powerful Sachem called Massasoit, who was chief of the Wampanoag tribe, as well as head sachem of the Pokanoket Confederacy of thirty allied tribes. This mighty chieftain was disposed to be friendly, continued Samoset, but neighboring Indians, called Nansets, had been greatly angered by the English, because some years before, a certain Captain Hunt had kidnapped over twenty of their number and sold them into slavery. It would, therefore, be well for the settlers, said the obliging Samoset, if they had no dealings with this particular clan, but restricted their trade and intercourse with the followers of Massasoit. After a lengthy discussion of the climate, the country, and the people, the friendly savage departed with smiles and bows, which showed that he was apparently much pleased with the reception which the English had given him.

The unwarlike visitor soon returned with four others, who also professed to be friendly, and who sang and danced in an open space before the settlement to amuse the sturdy and determined Puritans. Among them was Squanto, an Indian who spoke excellent English, because he had been among those whom the English, under Captain Hunt, had kidnapped and sold into slavery in Malaga, for eighty pounds (four hundred dollars) each, but had been ransomed and liberated by kind-hearted monks and sent to England. Here, at Cornhill, he learned to make himself understood in very good English, and obtained the friendship and sympathy of a wealthy merchant, who housed him, fed him, and eventually shipped him back to his native shore in a sailing vessel, commanded by Captain Thomas Dermer. This stout old sea-dog found that all of Squanto's race had died of a pestilence (probably smallpox) and, therefore, delivered him to Massasoit, whose loyal subject he became, and with whom he was now living. The Indians disposed of a few skins and fish, and then departed, telling the settlers that the great chief Massasoit, with his brother and all his warriors, was near at hand.

The first appearance of the Chief of the Wampanoags was upon the 22d of March, 1621, when he arrived upon a hill opposite Plymouth, with sixty warriors gaudily arrayed in their best deerskin raiment. Massasoit is described by one of the settlers as being "a very lusty man, in his best years, with an able body, grave of countenance and spare of speech." In his attire he differed little from the rest of his followers, save that he wore a large chain of white bone beads about his neck which had suspended from it behind a little bag of tobacco. His face was painted a darkish red, and both his head and face were so oiled that he looked very greasy. The only weapon upon his person was a long knife swinging from his bosom by a string; although his attendants carried war clubs, knives, and bows and arrows. Some of his followers—all tall, strong men—were painted black, others red, yellow, and white. They were dressed in furs or skins of various kinds, and made a very good showing—such a good showing, indeed, that the English feared an attack and stood prepared for any sign of violence that the Wampanoags might offer.

The Indians seemed to be unwilling to approach any nearer, and, as they hesitated, the English determined to find out why they would not advance. As luck would have it, Squanto was in Plymouth, so he was dispatched to ascertain their designs, and they gave him to understand that they wished to have some one sent to hold a parley with them. So Edward Winslow was selected to go over to their position with presents to the sachem and with directions to endeavor to patch up a treaty of peace. Winslow was an excellent diplomat; he addressed them in a speech of some length, and, although the Wampanoags listened with much gravity, it is doubtful whether or not they understood it thoroughly, although an Indian interpreter explained the gallant Winslow's words, after he had spoken. The Englishman told them that King James of England sent his best and kindest regards to Massasoit, his brother, and that he hoped to have him as his friend and ally. Furthermore, that the Governor of Plymouth wished to see him and to treat with him upon terms of the greatest friendliness. Massasoit listened with polite attention, and seems to have made no special reply to this harangue, but to have gazed upon the sword and armor of the Captain with envious eyes.

"I wish to buy your iron breastplate and your war instruments," said the old chief, through the interpreter, as Winslow paused for breath. "What do you wish for them?"

The Captain smiled with good humor. "They are not for sale, my friend," said he. "For I need them sorely in my duties among my own people."

"I will go among them," said Massasoit, rising. "And I will leave you with my brother, while I and twenty of my men walk over to the English camp."

So saying, he crossed the brook between him and the English, taking twenty of the Wampanoags, who were directed to leave their bows and arrows behind them. Captain Miles Standish and another Puritan, with six armed men, met him beyond the water, exchanged salutations with the majestic Indian, and took him to one of the best houses in the village. A stone arch has, in late years, been thrown over this brook to show where this first meeting between the great chief and the whites took place, while the hill upon which the Indians camped—called "Strawberry Hill"—is still pointed out to those who are interested in the history of America.

In the cabin to which Massasoit was conducted a green rug was placed upon the floor and three or four cushions were piled upon it, in order to make it comfortable. After the noted chieftain had gone inside, the Governor of Plymouth entered the house, followed by several soldiers who beat a drum loudly and blared upon a trumpet, which delighted and astonished the Wampanoags. The Governor hurried up to the Sachem, and seizing him in his arms, kissed him upon the cheek, a salutation which was immediately returned by the chief, and, considering the fact that he was covered with both grease and red paint, it could not have been a very satisfactory affair for the Englishman. He made no grievance, however, and commanded that all seat themselves at a long table, upon which a feast was spread. After a sumptuous repast, in which "strong waters, which the savages love only too well," were served, a treaty was concluded, with the following terms:

1st. That neither Massasoit nor any of his people should do any hurt to any of the English.

2d. That if any Indian should injure an Englishman, the offender would be sent to Plymouth in order that he might be punished.