AN hour's ride brought us to the block house standing within the forest,
midway between the white plantations at Paspahegh and the village of the
tribe. We found it well garrisoned, spies out, and the men inclined to
make light of the black paint and the seething village.
Amongst them was Chanco the Christian. I called him to me, and we
listened to his report with growing perturbation. “Thirty warriors!”
I said, when he had finished. “And they are painted yellow as well as
black, and have dashed their cheeks with puccoon: it's _l'outrance_,
then! And the war dance is toward! If we are to pacify this hornets'
nest, it's high time we set about it. Gentlemen of the block house, we
are but twelve, and they may beat us back, in which case those that are
left of us will fight it out with you here. Watch for us, therefore, and
have a sally party ready. Forward, men!”
“One moment, Captain Percy,” said Rolfe. “Chanco, where's the Emperor?”
“Five suns ago he was with the priests at Uttamussac,” answered the
Indian. “Yesterday, at the full sun power, he was in the lodge of
the werowance of the Chickahominies. He feasts there still. The
Chickahominies and the Powhatans have buried the hatchet.”
“I regret to hear it,” I remarked. “Whilst they took each other's
scalps, mine own felt the safer.”
“I advise going direct to Opechancanough,” said Rolfe.
“Since he's only a league away, so do I,” I answered.
We left the block house and the clearing around it, and plunged into
the depths of the forest. In these virgin woods the trees are set well
apart, though linked one to the other by the omnipresent grape, and
there is little undergrowth, so that we were able to make good speed.
Rolfe and I rode well in front of our men. By now the sun was shining
through the lower branches of the trees, and the mist was fast
vanishing. The forest--around us, above us, and under the hoofs of the
horses where the fallen leaves lay thick--was as yellow as gold and as
red as blood.
“Rolfe,” I asked, breaking a long silence, “do you credit what the
Indians say of Opechancanough?”
“That he was brother to Powhatan only by adoption?”
“That, fleeing for his life, he came to Virginia, years and years ago,
from some mysterious land far to the south and west?”
“I do not know,” he replied thoughtfully. “He is like, and yet not like,
the people whom he rules. In his eye there is the authority of mind; his
features are of a nobler cast “--
“And his heart is of a darker,” I said. “It is a strange and subtle
savage.”
“Strange enough and subtle enough, I admit,” he answered, “though I
believe not with you that his friendliness toward us is but a mask.”
“Believe it or not, it is so,” I said. “That dark, cold, still face is
a mask, and that simple-seeming amazement at horses and armor, guns and
blue beads, is a mask. It is in my mind that some fair day the mask will
be dropped. Here's the village.”
Until our interview with Chanco the Christian, the village of the
Paspaheghs, and not the village of the Chickahominies, had been our
destination, and since leaving the block house we had made good speed;
but now, within the usual girdle of mulberries, we were met by the
werowance and his chief men with the customary savage ceremonies. We had
long since come to the conclusion that the birds of the air and the fish
of the streams were Mercuries to the Indians.
The werowance received us in due form, with presents of fish and
venison, cakes of chinquapin meal and gourds of pohickory, an uncouth
dance by twelve of his young men and a deal of hellish noise; then, at
our command, led us into the village, and to the lodge which marked its
centre. Around it were gathered Opechancanough's own warriors, men from
Orapax and Uttamussac and Werowocomoco, chosen for their strength and
cunning; while upon the grass beneath a blood-red gum tree sat his
wives, painted and tattooed, with great strings of pearl and copper
about their necks. Beyond them were the women and children of the
Chickahominies, and around us all the red forest.
The mat that hung before the door of the lodge was lifted, and an
Indian, emerging, came forward, with a gesture of welcome. It was
Nantauquas, the Lady Rebekah's brother, and the one Indian--saving
always his dead sister--that was ever to my liking; a savage, indeed,
but a savage as brave and chivalrous, as courteous and truthful, as a
Christian knight.
Rolfe sprang from his horse, and advancing to meet the young chief
embraced him. Nantauquas had been much with his sister during those her
happy days at Varina, before she went with Rolfe that ill-fated voyage
to England, and Rolfe loved him for her sake and for his own. “I thought
you at Orapax, Nantauquas!” he exclaimed.
“I was there, my brother,” said the Indian, and his voice was sweet,
deep, and grave, like that of his sister. “But Opechancanough would go
to Uttamussac, to the temple and the dead kings. I lead his war parties
now, and I came with him. Opechancanough is within the lodge. He asks
that my brother and Captain Percy come to him there.”
He lifted the mat for us, and followed us into the lodge. There was the
usual winding entrance, with half a dozen mats to be lifted one after
the other, but at last we came to the central chamber and to the man we
sought.
He sat beside a small fire burning redly in the twilight of the room.
The light shone now upon the feathers in his scalp lock, now upon the
triple row of pearls around his neck, now upon knife and tomahawk in his
silk grass belt, now on the otterskin mantle hanging from his shoulder
and drawn across his knees. How old he was no man knew. Men said that he
was older than Powhatan, and Powhatan was very old when he died. But
he looked a man in the prime of life; his frame was vigorous, his skin
unwrinkled, his eyes bright and full. When he rose to welcome us, and
Nantauquas stood beside him, there seemed not a score of years between
them.
The matter upon which we had come was not one that brooked delay. We
waited with what patience we might until his long speech of welcome was
finished, when, in as few words as possible, Rolfe laid before him our
complaint against the Paspaheghs. The Indian listened; then said, in
that voice that always made me think of some cold, still, bottomless
pool lying black beneath overhanging rocks: “My brothers may go in
peace. The Paspaheghs have washed off the black paint. If my brothers go
to the village, they will find the peace pipe ready for their smoking.”
Rolfe and I stared at each other. “I have sent messengers,” continued
the Emperor. “I have told the Paspaheghs of my love for the white man,
and of the goodwill the white man bears the Indian. I have told them
that Nemattanow was a murderer, and that his death was just. They are
satisfied. Their village is as still as this beast at my feet.” He
pointed downward to a tame panther crouched against his moccasins. I
thought it an ominous comparison.
Involuntarily we looked at Nantauquas. “It is true,” he said. “I am
but come from the village of the Paspaheghs. I took them the word of
Opechancanough.”
“Then, since the matter is settled, we may go home,” I remarked, rising
as I spoke. “We could, of course, have put down the Paspaheghs with one
hand, giving them besides a lesson which they would not soon forget, but
in the kindness of our hearts toward them and to save ourselves trouble
we came to Opechancanough. For his aid in this trifling business the
Governor gives him thanks.”
A smile just lit the features of the Indian. It was gone in a moment.
“Does not Opechancanough love the white men?” he said. “Some day he will
do more than this for them.”
We left the lodge and the dark Emperor within it, got to horse, and
quitted the village, with its painted people, yellowing mulberries, and
blood-red gum trees. Nantauquas went with us, keeping pace with Rolfe's
horse, and giving us now and then, in his deep musical voice, this or
that bit of woodland news. At the block house we found confirmation of
the Emperor's statement. An embassy from the Paspaheghs had come with
presents, and the peace pipe had been smoked. The spies, too, brought
news that all war-like preparations had ceased in the village. It
had sunk once more into a quietude befitting the sleepy, dreamy, hazy
weather.
Rolfe and I held a short consultation. All appeared safe, but there was
the possibility of a ruse. At the last it seemed best that he, who
by virtue of his peculiar relations with the Indians was ever our
negotiator, should remain with half our troop at the block house, while
I reported to the Governor. So I left him, and Nantauquas with him, and
rode back to Jamestown, reaching the town some hours sooner than I was
expected.
It was after nooning when I passed through the gates of the palisade,
and an hour later when I finished my report to the Governor. When he at
last dismissed me, I rode quickly down the street toward the minister's
house. As I passed the guest house, I glanced up at the window from
which, at daybreak, the Italian had looked down upon me. No one looked
out now; the window was closely shuttered, and at the door beneath my
lord's French rascals were conspicuously absent. A few yards further on
I met my lord face to face, as he emerged from a lane that led down to
the river. At sight of me he started violently, and his hand went to his
mouth. I slightly bent my head, and rode on past him. At the gate of the
churchyard, a stone's throw from home, I met Master Jeremy Sparrow.
“Well met!” he exclaimed. “Are the Indians quiet?”
“For the nonce. How is your sick man?”
“Very well,” he answered gravely. “I closed his eyes two hours ago.”
“He's dead, then,” I said. “Well, he 's out of his troubles, and hath
that advantage over the living. Have you another call, that you travel
from home so fast?”
“Why, to tell the truth,” he replied, “I could not but feel uneasy when
I learned just now of this commotion amongst the heathen. You must know
best, but I should not have thought it a day for madam to walk in the
woods; so I e'en thought I would cross the neck and bring her home.”
“For madam to walk in the woods?” I said slowly. “So she walks there?
With whom?”
“With Diccon and Angela,” he answered. “They went before the sun was
an hour high, so Goodwife Allen says. I thought that you--” “No,” I
told him. “On the contrary, I left command that she should not venture
outside the garden. There are more than Indians abroad.”
I was white with anger; but besides anger there was fear in my heart.
“I will go at once and bring her home,” I said. As I spoke, I happened
to glance toward the fort and the shipping in the river beyond.
Something seemed wrong with the prospect. I looked again, and saw what
hated and familiar object was missing.
“Where is the Santa Teresa?” I demanded, the fear at my heart tugging
harder.
“She dropped downstream this morning. I passed her as I came up from
Archer's Hope, awhile ago. She's anchored in midstream off the big
spring. Why did she go?”
We looked each other in the eyes, and each read the thought that neither
cared to put into words.
“You can take the brown mare,” I said, speaking lightly because my heart
was as heavy as lead, “and we'll ride to the forest. It is all right, I
dare say. Doubtless we'll find her garlanding herself with the grape, or
playing with the squirrels, or asleep on the red leaves, with her head
in Angela's lap.”
“Doubtless,” he said. “Don't lose time. I'll saddle the mare and
overtake you in two minutes.”