CHAPTER XXX

THE GIRLS WIN.

Mrs. Graham looked uncomfortable—not ashamed or abashed. Doubtless the

conflict within her was between the cruelty of her nature and the fear

of financial reverses in consequence of that cruelty. She did not answer

the rebuke of her confederate attorney.

The latter drew a knife from his pocket and in a moment was severing the

rope that bound the child to the chair. After he had released the boy,

who looked gratefully toward him as a protector, the man threw cold

water on little Glen’s natural feeling of confidence toward him by

saying:

“Now, mind you, Mrs. Graham, my interference is not moved by any

sentiment of sympathy for the kid. I merely want to inform you that

things are coming to such a pass that I may be forced to drop out of

this game purely as a move of self-salvation. For instance, it appears

very unwise to make any further attempts to frighten that bunch of

girls. They simply don’t scare. See that?”

Langford indicated the object of his question by taking off his hat,

which he had neglected to remove when he entered the house, and

caressing gently with two or three fingers a badly swollen wound on the

side of his head almost directly over his right ear. Mrs. Graham looked

at it curiously, not sympathetically.

“Where did you get that?” she inquired.

“Those girls did it, or one of them, I presume. I thought my make-up

would paralyze them, but instead they nearly paralyzed me. I think they

fired some rocks at me, for something of that description struck my

head, and you see the result.

“I drove my machine into the timber a little farther up the road and put

on my ghost outfit. Then I walked through the woods to the girls’ camp

and stalked past them. You would have thought my appearance was enough

to freeze their veins and arteries. Well, they pretty nearly put mine in

cold storage for eternity. Now, what do you know about ‘first aid to the

injured?’ Will you get some cold water and alcohol or liniment? I’m

going to have a fierce swelling. I don’t suppose I can keep it down much

now, but I’m going to have an awful headache and I’d like to prevent

that as much as possible. Let the kid go to bed, and do something for

me.”

Glen took advantage of this suggestion and went into another room. Mrs.

Graham and the lawyer returned to the living room. Katherine and Hazel

watched them for about twenty minutes, but heard little more

conversation. Then Langford left the house and Mrs. Graham and her son

prepared to retire. As it appeared that they would be able to get no

further information of interest to them at the Graham cottage that

night, Katherine and Hazel and the other two girls who waited at the

edge of the clearing returned to their camp and reported the success of

their expedition.

* * * * *

Early next day, Miss Ladd, Katherine, and Hazel went by boat to Twin

Lakes and appeared before a magistrate and swore out a warrant for the

arrest of Mrs. Graham on a charge of cruel and inhuman treatment of a

child in her custody. Before leaving Fairberry she had been given

authority to take this move if in her judgment such emergency action

were advisable. She also asked that Glen Irving be removed from the

custody of the Grahams. Then Miss Ladd sent a telegram to Mrs. Hutchins

asking her to “come at once.”

Mrs. Hutchins arrived at Twin Lakes next day. Meanwhile Mrs. Graham was

arrested and the boy was taken temporarily as a ward of the court. When

she was confronted with the charges against her and the evidence of the

two Camp Fire Girls who had witnessed one instance of outrageous

cruelty, her cold resistance was broken and she promised to accede to

Mrs. Hutchins demands if the prosecution were dropped.

This seemed to be the best settlement of the whole affair, and it was

accepted. By order of court Glen was turned over to Mrs. Hutchins who

assumed the obligation of his care and custody.

Mrs. Hutchins remained with the girls a week at their camp at Stony

Point, and then all returned to Fairberry, where the tents were pitched

again in the broad and scenic ravine known as Fern Hollow. Here they

camped again for another week, summarized, tabulated, and classified the

achievements of the last few weeks, conferred honors, and finally

adjourned to their several homes, there to remain until the autumn

opening of school.

But the adventures of the year for this Camp Fire were not complete.

More of equally stirring character were in store for three of the girls,

and those who would follow these events should read the volume entitled:

CAMP FIRE GIRLS ON A HIKE;

or,

LOST IN THE GREAT NORTHERN WOODS.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A PRINCESS OF THE WOODS

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CONTENTS.

Chapter Page

I A LONG TIME AGO 1

II BROTHER AND SISTER 14

III FATHER AND DAUGHTER 27

IV A CALL OF STATE 40

V A TIMELY ARRIVAL 52

VI AT JAMESTOWN 64

VII UP THE CHICKAMOHINY 76

VIII PARTING COMPANY 89

IX HARD PRESSED 101

X A PRISONER 113

XI THE FRIEND IN NEED 125

XII CONCLUSION 137

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A PRINCESS OF THE WOODS

CHAPTER I.

A LONG TIME AGO

Now, will my readers be good enough to turn to their map of the United

States and look at the state of Virginia, one of the most important

members of the Union? You will notice the large inlet called Chesapeake

Bay, which reaches far to the northward and divides Maryland into two

sections, known as the Eastern and the Western shore. Down near the

mouth of this bay you will observe the broad outlet of a large river,

the James, named from James I., who succeeded Queen Elizabeth in 1603,

and ruled England until his death in 1625. Make a careful study of the

lower fifty or hundred miles of the James River, for the incidents I am

about to tell you occurred in that section of the country.

At the time I have in mind—the beginning of 1607—there was not a white

man in Virginia, nor in any of the present States to the northward. The

Spanish had gained a foothold farther to the south, and St. Augustine,

Florida, the first permanent white settlement in the United States, had

had a feeble existence for more than forty years. Of course, the

mountains, lakes, and rivers were the same as they are today; but there

were no cities, towns, or villages, only vast stretches of forest and

wilderness, where roamed wild animals and wild men or Indians. These

people had no horses or cattle. The large herds of wild horses which had

already begun to roam over the prairies and plains of the southwest,

were the descendants of the droves of the early Spanish explorers, but

not an animal of that kind was to be found in Virginia or to the

northward.

When the Indians wished to go from one place to another, they did so by

means of their canoes, or small birchen boats, if a stream was near; if

not, they tramped through the forest. They knew nothing of firearms, but

used bows and arrows, spears, tomahawks, and knives, with which they

killed bears, deer, buffaloes, and large game. Since they did not know

how to forge iron, they made their knives, tomahawks, and spearheads of

bone or stone. These wild men were divided into large tribes or

families, whose head or ruler was called _chief_, and whom all the

others had to obey. His men were called warriors, the women were squaws,

and the babies were papooses. The tribes were jealous of one another,

and often fought. Generally their captives were put to cruel deaths.

Some of the tribes numbered several thousand warriors, and in more than

one instance a number of tribes formed a confederacy. The Iroquois, or

Six Nations, whose headquarters were in the present State of New York,

was the most powerful union of this kind that ever existed among the

American Indians.

Although, as I have said there was not an English settlement in America

at the opening of 1607, you must not think no attempts had been made to

form such colonies. Away up in New England parties of men had landed and

tried to makes homes for themselves, but the climate was so rugged, and

the hardships they had to face so trying, that they gave up, and those

who did not die made haste to get back to Old England again.

The strangest fate of all attended the efforts of Sir Walter Raleigh to

plant settlements in America. He sent out several expeditions, the last

in 1587. It numbered one hundred and fifty men and women, who, landing

on Roanoke Island, off the coast of North Carolina, began building new

homes. There the first child of English parentage was born, her name

being Virginia Dare. I am sorry to say these people did not get on well

together, but seemed to be quarrelling all the time. Finally, Governor

White, who was the head of the colony, sailed for England to bring back

help.

When he arrived home a war with Spain was threatened, and he was unable

to return to Roanoke until after three years. He was very anxious to

rejoin the people, for he had left his daughter among the colonists;

but, strange to say, when he landed he was unable to find a single

member of the company. He came upon many signs, but not a living man or

woman. Sir Walter Raleigh did everything he could to learn their fate,

but was never able to gain any certain knowledge. Today one of the

strangest and most romantic incidents in the colonial history of the

United States is that of the “Lost Colony of Roanoke.” The mystery has

never been explained how so many men and women could disappear and leave

no trace behind them. But here is a theory which has always seemed

reasonable to me:

Among the Indians of that section you will find at the present time

quite a number who have light hair and blue eyes. What more probable

than that the surviving members of the Lost Colony married among the

natives, and that the odd-looking Indians of whom I have spoken are

their descendants?

It seems remarkable that more than a hundred years had passed since the

discovery of America by Christopher Columbus, without seeing the

planting of a single permanent English colony on this side of the

Atlantic. All this time, too, England laid claim to the whole continent,

because of the discoveries of John Cabot and his son Sebastian. Finally,

however, in 1606, two great companies were formed for the colonization

of America, one in Plymouth and the other in London. The efforts of the

Plymouth Company ended in failure, but the other corporation was

successful. In the depth of the winter of 1606, three vessels—the _Sarah

Constant_, of one hundred tons burden; the _Godspeed_ and the

_Discovery_, each of forty tons, started across the Atlantic, under the

command of Captain Christopher Newport. They carried one hundred and

five men, but no women, and intended to settle at Roanoke Island, where

the “lost colony” had disappeared some twenty years before; but they

were driven farther north by a storm, and, with no idea of where they

were, began hunting for a suitable place for settlement. They sailed

into the broad opening of Chesapeake Bay, and were still roving

northward when they were pleased with the appearance of a wide river,

which flowed into the bay from the mainland on the west. They turned the

prows of their little vessels into this stream, carefully studying the

shores in their quest for an inviting spot.

It was the radiant month of May, with mild skies and soft breezes, which

kept the craft steadily making their way against the gentle current.

These hardy men, standing on the decks of their little vessels, and

gazing at the shores, after being tossed about for months on the stormy

Atlantic, were sure they had never gazed upon anything so beautiful. The

banks were exuberant with brilliant wild flowers, whose sweet fragrance

was wafted across the smooth waters, while the green hills and mountains

in the distance were softened to the most delicate tints against the

blue sky. The craft moved so slowly that the calm current made only the

faintest rippling against the bows, and the bellying sails being once

set, remained as smooth and unruffled as if they were so much painted

canvas. All the attention needed was for the man at the helm to hold it

steady, so as to keep the boat near the middle of the great stream.

Rich, emerald vegetation and gorgeous flowers were not all that caught

the attention of the charmed Englishmen. There were men and women in

this new country, descendants of those who had lived there for unknown

ages. They were standing motionless on the shores, studying the

approaching vessels with much the same emotions that must have come to

the natives of San Salvador when they first caught sight of the caravels

of Columbus. One party, among whom several women could be seen, stood on

a slight eminence, a hundred or more yards back from the stream, as if

afraid to come any nearer. The warrior in the middle was fully a head

taller than his companions, and was observed to point one hand towards

the vessels, as if calling the attention of the others to some peculiar

features of the strange craft, the like of which none had ever looked

upon before.

On the margin of the river, where there was a natural clearing of an

acre or so, another party gathered, including also several women. They

were talking and gesticulating, and it would be interesting could we

know what they said to one another. When the _Sarah Constant_, which was

leading, and a hundred yards in advance of the smaller boats, came

opposite this group, two of the warriors were seen to fit arrows to

their bowstrings, aim carefully, and let them fly. The feathered

missiles could be easily traced as they curved upward in a beautiful

parabola, and then darted, head downward, into the clear current, not

having traversed half the distance between the land and the ship. The

men crowding the decks could well afford to smile at such efforts.

Captain Newport suggested that it would be a good thing to fire a volley

into the party, as they had done some days before near the mouth of the

river when greeted by a shower of arrows.

“No; we should cultivate their good will; we shall have need of their

friendship, and must not use our firearms so long as our lives can be

saved without doing so.”

This remark, in crisp, decisive tones, was made by a man standing at the

prow, with a spy-glass in his hand, which he turned now and then towards

the different groups. He was of sturdy build, dressed in the civilian

dress of the well-to-do citizen of those times, with a full, sandy beard

and a huge military mustache. His face was deeply tanned, he wore a

sword at his side, and his countenance showed resolution and firmness.

He was not yet thirty years of age, and no one could look at his figure

without seeing he possessed unusual strength and hardihood. It was plain

that mentally and physically he was above the officers and crew about

him.

This man was one of the most remarkable persons connected with the early

history of the United States, and the foremost individual in the

colonial period of the chief State. He was Captain John Smith, whose

great services won him the name of the “Father of Virginia,” and there

can be no question that he deserved the honor. That he was a great

boaster cannot be denied. Some of the stories he told of his adventures

in France, Egypt, Hungary, Turkey, and other countries were true only in

his imagination, recent researches having proved this to be the fact.

None the less, he was one of the bravest of men, unselfish,

enterprising, frank, and far-seeing; and it may as well be said at this

point, that the first English colony in America would have perished from

the earth but for the wisdom, energy, and self-sacrificing labors of

this famous native of Lincolnshire.

The Indians who had launched the useless arrows must have done so as an

indication of their feelings towards the white men who had dared to

invade their country. Now and then several of the warriors, bolder than

their companions, skirted the shore in their canoes, keeping abreast of

the vessels, and occasionally venturing for a little way towards them;

but they hurriedly withdrew again, as if they had heard something of the

terrible weapons which spouted fire and killed without anyone

understanding how, since no eye could ever detect the fatal missile. The

Indians in their boats, as a rule, kept close to land, so as to be ready

to take to flight the instant it became necessary. The result more than

once was amusing.

A canoe containing four warriors, after several timid ventures, headed

out in the river, as if they intended to board the strange craft. They

paddled slower and slower, until when twenty rods or so from land their

courage oozed away, and they dared advance no farther. They paused with

their long ashen paddles still, ready to dip them into the current at

the first sign of danger.

Without any command, the man at the helm pushed the rudder around, so

that the bow of the largest ship slowly swung about, and it headed

towards the canoe. The moment the occupants of the latter saw the

fearful thing bearing down upon them they bent to their work with

desperate energy, the craft skimming over the surface like a swallow.

Captain Smith, smiling grimly, made a tunnel of one hand, and emitted a

roar like that of an angry bull. The noise rolled over the smooth

surface with terrifying power. Two of the Indians, in a wild panic,

leaped overboard, and dived and swam in a frenzy of panic, while the

others outsped them in the headlong haste of their paddling. Then as the

panting fellows scrambled out on land, the _Constant_ began laboriously

swinging about again, and continued her course steadily up stream, most

of the men on board who had witnessed the incident breaking into

laughter, which had a strange sound at that time and in that place.

The three vessels had begun their voyage up the James the previous day,

so that now, while it was early in the afternoon, they were fully two

score mile from the mouth of the noble river.

They were approaching the peninsula where they were to make their final

pause, when the attention of all was turned up stream. Captain Smith, in

his interest brought his old-fashioned glass to his eye, and scanned the

object that had suddenly taken on such interest for all. Around a

sweeping bend in the broad river a single canoe shot into sight. The

strange fact about it was that the two persons in it who must have

discovered the ships the moment they came into their field of vision,

did not turn to the right or left, but came straight on, as if heading

for the largest boat, which kept in advance of its companions.

Only one of the Indians was swaying his paddle. He dipped the blade

first on one side and then on the other, and the sparkling of the water

was plainly seen in the bright sunlight, as the graceful craft remained

in the middle of the current.

Captain Newport, who also has a glass, came to within a few paces of

where Smith was standing, closely studying the object. Although he was

jealous of the plain spoken Smith, and had been, indeed, a party to his

arrest on an absurd charge, he used a certain friendliness of manner

which did not deceive the bluff fellow.

“Those two warriors have more courage than their friend,” remarked

Newport.

“There is only _one_ warrior in the canoe,” replied Smith, still keeping

the telescope to his eye; “the other is a woman, and——”

He hesitated as if waiting to feel sure before saying anything further.

When Newport had spent another minute or two in studying the boat he

said:

“You are right, and the woman is not an old one.”

“She is not a woman, but a girl.”

“Probably the daughter of the warrior.”

“That cannot be, for he is not much more than a boy—at most, he is only

a young man.”

“As young as _you_?”

There was sarcasm in the question, and it was marked by a grin, which

Smith did not see.

“He is younger in years than I, but not so young in wisdom as Captain

Newport.”

This remark was natural to Captain Smith, who had little respect for

those in authority when they deserved none. Moreover, the words were

spoken in such loud tones that twenty others heard them, and, while they

wondered at the boldness of Smith, they admired him the more. Still

further, their feeling were the same as his, for Christopher Newport was

much less a man in the true meaning of the word than John Smith.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER II.

BROTHER AND SISTER

Captain John Smith was right as to the persons in the canoe which was

coming down the James River and heading for the _Sarah Constant_. Seated

a little in front of the middle of the craft, swinging the paddle, first

on one side and then on the other, was a pleasing-looking Indian youth,

who certainly was not twenty years of age. While propelling the boat he

faced the vessels down the river. He had the usual long, coarse black

hair of his people, which dangled about his shoulders, and his face was

stained with the juice of the _puccoon_, or blood root. His chest was

bare, but his waist was clasped with a girdle of deerskin, a shirt

falling below to his knees, while leggings reached to his neat fitting

moccasins, which were ornamented with beads. He was finely formed and

must have been fleet of foot and a fine warrior, despite his few years.

The most interesting one in the canoe, however, was the sister of this

youth. She was not more than a dozen years old, and showed a regularity

of feature and beauty of countenance rarely seen among her race. You

will often hear Indian men and women spoken of as very handsome, but, in

truth, there are very few worthy of the compliment. I have traveled

among many tribes, and seen hundreds of the leading warriors and young

women, and among them all were not ten who could be truly called

attractive. I refer to their countenances, for their grace of form and

movement is striking. But the high cheek-bones give their faces a lumpy

appearance, their mouths are generally broad, and the features

irregular. Now and then, however, we meet one whose beauty is striking

because of its contrast with those around. Such was the fact in the

present case.

The best that could be said of the young man was that he was pleasing in

appearance. He had fine black eyes—as have all his race of pure

blood—regular, even teeth, and an expression of brightness and good

nature, but he could not compare with his young sister. Her features

were of almost classical beauty, and had she been a Caucasian she would

have been admired among any people.

Moreover, her dress was different from any that had caught the eyes of

the observant Englishmen. Sitting at the bow, with enough space between

her and her brother for their two long bows and quivers of arrows, she

had thrown back her outer clothing, which was a robe of doeskin, lined

with down from the breast of the wood-pigeon. She wore coral bracelets

on her wrists and ankles, and a white plume in her abundant hair.

Her skirt and leggings were similar to her brother’s, but the upper part

of her body was clothed in a close-fitting jacket of doeskin, which

covered her pretty, plump arms to the elbow. The comeliness of her face

was not marred by the crimson juice that her brother used, and which was

a favorite with most of her sex. This girl, who was growing fast, was a

natural athlete, who could speed like a deer through the woods, launch

an arrow with the accuracy of a veteran warrior, swim with the grace and

swiftness of a fish, and read the faint signs of the woods as we read

the pages of a printed book.

By and by I shall mention the name of this famous miss; until then I

shall let you see whether you can guess it. I am sure every one of you

has heard it many times in the course of your reading of the history of

my country.

Nantaquas, as the young man was named, and his favorite sister had left

their home a long way up the river, meaning to paddle down stream, and

probably call upon some of their friends, when, in rounding a bend in

the stream, they were startled by the sight of the three vessels, slowly

coming up the river with their white sails spread, and their decks

crowded by strangely-dressed men, studying the shores between which they

were gliding in their immense “canoes.”

The sight, as well may be supposed, filled the two with amazement.

Nantaquas stopped paddling for a minute or two, while both gazed at the

sight. To them, in their forest home on the banks of the James, had come

vague rumors of a people who lived far beyond the Great Water, whose

skins were of a much lighter color than their own, and whose canoes were

like giant birds, which were able to sail in safety when the storms

drove the craft of the red men to shelter. Runners from the tribes to

the far south had brought most of these stories. It is on record that

Captain John Smith once met a party of Iroquois who were exploring this

region. In their distant homes in Central New York they had heard the

same strange accounts of white men and their ships, and the Iroquois

brought the tidings to the tribes in Virginia.

So, as I have said, when Nantaquas and his sister saw the three vessels

coming up the James River they had a fair idea of their nature, and of

the meaning of this visit to the region which never before had known the

tread of the pale-faced race. The girl was lively, curious, and full of

faith in human nature—far more so than most of her people.

When she had looked for several minutes in silent amazement at the

craft, and noted the forms of men on the decks, she said:

“Why are they coming to the country of Powhatan?”

“I know not,” replied her brother, resuming the sway of his paddle, but

more gently than before, and turning his head as he spoke, that she

might hear him more plainly; “it may be they mean to take away our

hunting grounds.”

The other laughed.

“How can that be, when the warriors of Powhatan are like the leaves on

the trees, and they are eager to do his will? There is but a handful of

the pale-faces; surely we have nothing to fear from them; Nantaquas, let

us visit the big canoes.”

The proposal struck the youth so favorably that he increased the speed

of his craft, and, as has already been shown, drew rapidly near the

_Sarah Constant_, whose passengers and crew watched the approach of the

graceful birchen structure with keen curiosity. As Nantaquas sped down

stream, however, he was thinking hard, and he began to ask himself

questions, which showed a doubt of the wisdom of carrying out the wishes

of his sister. He believed that any people who were treated kindly, and

in whom confidence was shown, would give the same treatment to those

that were good to them. She would not have feared to climb the side of

the big canoe and welcome the white men. She knew they had much greater

knowledge than her own people; and, though she and her brother had no

food or presents to offer the visitors, they could show their friendship

towards them.

But Nantaquas was wise beyond his years. He recalled that the stories

which he had heard of the white men were not to their credit. Some of

them had slain Indians as though they were wild animals; they had

treated them with great cruelty, and repaid kindness with brutality. The

reason that such reports came to Nantaquas was that they were brought by

visitors from the south, where the Spanish had made settlements. The

story of their colonization of the United States and Mexico was stained

by many dreadful crimes, which might well make the youth hesitate to

trust himself or his sister in their power. They were likely, he

thought, to carry one or both off as prisoners or demand a large price

for their ransom. So it was, that as Nantaquas drew near the _Sarah

Constant_, he gradually slackened his speed, until he finally held his

paddle motionless, and allowed the canoe to come to rest with much space

still between the two crafts.

By this time everyone on the three vessels was intently watching the

little canoe and its occupants. Sails were still hoisted, and the

vessels kept moving slowly up stream, the tide being at its turn. On

either shore were gathered staring groups of Indians, men, women, and

even children, whose emotions were as stirring as those of the white men

on the larger craft. The face of the pretty young girl in the canoe

glowed, for never had she gazed upon so wonderful a picture. Scores of

men in their peaked hats, several of which were adorned with flowing

plumes, their short coats clasped about the waist with broad girdles,

with a huge buckle in front, the short breeches ending at the knees,

with the heavy stockings below, and, more than all, the tanned

countenances, some of which were covered with shaggy beards, made up a

picture that might well hold the two wondering spectators almost

breathless.

Nantaquas checked his boat when a hundred yards from the largest vessel.

Inasmuch as that kept moving, he dallied with his paddle just enough to

hold his graceful craft abreast. Captain John Smith, the famous

navigator, Bartholomew Gosnold, Wingfield, Newport, Ratcliffe, Martin

and Kendall—all of whom had been named as Councillors by King James—were

at the rail of the _Sarah Constant_, looking off and down at the

visitors, who, although they had come so close, hesitated to draw nearer

to the vessel.

Captain Smith called in his bass, resonant welcome:

“Welcome! Welcome! Will you not come that we may shake hands with you

and break bread together?”

Of course, not a word of this was understood by Nantaquas and his

sister, but the beckoning gestures of more than one man formed a

language whose meaning was plain. The girl asked her brother

impatiently:

“Why do you hesitate? They wish to greet us; you are ungrateful.”

There was decision in the tones of the youth: “They are strangers; we

have heard evil things of many of them; we shall go no nearer.”

She knew it was useless to argue with him when he was in such a mood.

She pouted, but said no more. Since the gestures gave a clue to the

meaning of the words of invitation, Nantaquas raised one hand, palm

outward, and waved it towards the ship. He meant it as a courteous

refusal to accept the invitation, and, that there might be no mistake as

to his meaning, he suddenly dipped his paddle deep in the water, and

sent the canoe skimming up stream. His companion continued in displeased

silence, and the men on the ship repeated their gestures of welcome,

though they knew they would remain unheeded.

Only one of the Englishmen noticed a peculiar thing at this moment.

Nothing seemed to escape the keen eyes of Captain Smith. Shifting his

glance from the little boat speeding up stream, he looked to the left,

or south. The shore was a long distance away, for the river is very wide

at this point, and he saw a thin column of smoke filtering upwards from

among the trees on a wooded elevation, a little way inland. It was not

an ordinary column of vapor, such as burning brushwood makes, but it had

a wavy motion from side to side. The same clear vision which noted this,

noted also that the column of smoke was broken so as to show two

distinct gaps between the base and the top, where it melted into the

clear atmosphere against the blue sky beyond.

There could be no question that a signal fire had been kindled on the

slight elevation, and that the peculiar look of the vapor was a message

sent by someone to someone else, who, probably, was far in the depths of

the wilderness. Who should read its meaning? No white man certainly,

though he for whose eyes it was meant would have no trouble in

understanding it.

Captain Smith glanced from face to face around him, and saw that none

had noticed the proceedings. He said nothing, for no one could instruct

him; but the shrewd fellow was certain in his own mind that, whatever

the message might be, it had to do with the white men who were sailing

up the great river, hunting for a spot upon which to find the first real

settlement in the New World.

Nantaquas plied the paddle like one who could never tire. He had been

trained in the ways of the woods from the time he was able to walk. He

had come a long distance down stream on this glowing day in May, and the

exercise of propelling the canoe might be kept up for hours without

weariness on his part. The same may be said of his companion, for she

had proved it many a time, and would have proved it in the present

instance, had her brother permitted; but he showed no such wish, and,

after passing above the bend which shut the strange picture from sight,

he kept up the same machine-like swaying of the arms, until they had

traversed a goodly number of miles, and the beauteous spring afternoon

was drawing to a close.

And, throughout this long interval, neither he nor his sister spoke. She

was displeased because of his refusal to take her aboard the big canoe,

and, though she loved him too dearly to feel anything in the nature of

real anger, she meant he should know that, in her opinion, he had acted

the churl. He understood her feeling, and wisely gave her time to rally

from it. Indian though he was, he shared with her a certain waggish

disposition which often showed itself. He did several things that may

seem strange in one of his race. The bow and stern of the canoe were

similar, so that it could go in one direction as well as the other. He

was seated just beyond the middle, facing the course it was following,

while the girl, having gathered her robe about her shoulders as the

chill of the coming evening made itself felt, was at the stern. As she

looked at her brother she saw his back, and noted the action of the

coppery arms as they swung the paddle with perfect skill.

She was gazing absently at the mass of black hair dangling about his

shoulders, thinking, no doubt, how “horrid” he had been, when he

abruptly paused, turned, looked straight into her face, and made a

comical grimace. He did not speak, and immediately resumed his paddling.

She pouted more than before, turned up her pretty nose, and stared to

the left at the wooded shore. Ten or fifteen minutes later he repeated

his action, except that he continued grimacing and chuckling, as if

determined to make her smile. She flushed and strove hard to keep her

cross countenance, but could not. She laughed, in spite of herself, but,

as he resumed paddling, she reached forward, caught hold of a strand of

his hair, and pulled it, taking pains to jerk _upwards_, so as to make

sure it hurt. It was a vigorous pull, but Nantaquas acted as if unaware

that anything of the kind had taken place, and the girl, as if sorry for

her petty outburst, sat back again and looked in a more kindly way at

the big brother whom she loved so dearly.

None the less she was planning how she could punish him for his

disregard of her wishes. By and by the sparkle of her black eyes told

that she had hit upon a scheme. She was impatient for the moment to

come, though, in the nature of things, it was already at hand.

Within the following half-hour Nantaquas turned the prow of the canoe

towards the northern shore, gradually slackening his work as it sped to

land. Just before touching the bank he made a long sweep with the

paddle, which turned the craft around, and then reversed the propulsion,

so as to land the girl first. Instead of stepping out before her, he

gave that honor, as was befitting to the imperious young woman.

And as he did so the same young woman, with a thrill of pleasure, saw

that her moment of revenge had come!

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CHAPTER III.

FATHER AND DAUGHTER

The canoe had not yet touched the land, when the girl leaped out as

lightly as a fawn, not pausing to pick up her bow and quiver, lying in

the bottom of the boat beside those of her brother. Facing about, she

grasped the front of the craft with both hands, as if to draw it up the

bank beyond reach of the action of the tide.

Almost at the same moment Nantaquas laid his dripping paddle beside the

implements, and rose partly to his feet, bending over to gather up the

bows and arrows. In the act of doing so, and while his body was in a

stooping posture, the girl gave a lightning-like, sideways jerk to the

boat, snapping it forward like a flash, for a distance of fully two

feet. The youth had no thought of anything of the kind, and yet, knowing

his sister as well as he did, he _ought_ to have been prepared. Thrown

so suddenly off his balance, he went backward over the side of the

canoe, which narrowly escaped upsetting; and, as his heels kicked in the

air and he vainly threw out his arms to save himself, he dropped out of

sight in water twenty feet deep.

The girl screamed with delight. Her scheme had worked to perfection; she

had punished her brother as she planned, and as he deserved. Down, down

he went, before he could right himself and get his bearings. Then his

head popped up, he blew the water from his mouth, and one or two

powerful strokes brought him to land. Scrambling to his feet, he made

for the laughing girl. He was not angry, for he admired her brightness,

but—wait till he could lay hands on the mischievous sprite!

But she was not yet caught. Brimming over with fun, she darted into the

wood, with him in headlong pursuit. Perhaps on the open plain, in a

straightaway chase, he might have overtaken her, though it is by no

means certain; but she was quicker than he in dodging, turning, and

doubling. With one hand outstretched, and seemingly about to grasp an

arm or shoulder, his fingers closed on vacancy, as she whisked to one

side, and, waiting until he repeated the attempt, she slipped again

beyond reach. Like a civilized girl, she kept screaming and laughing

while thus engaged, glancing continually over her shoulder, and baffling

her pursuer at the very moment that success seemed certain.

All the time she was heading toward her home, not far off in the woods,

while he, forgetful of the implements left behind in the canoe, kept up

his efforts to lay hands on her. He would not believe he could fail, and

she nurtured the self-delusion on his part, encouraging him once or

twice by allowing the outstretched hand to touch her robe, though it

could never grip it fairly.

Suddenly, just as he held his breath ready to leap forward and pounce

upon her, and it looked as if nothing could save the fugitive, she did a

very clever thing. She darted across a spot in the woods where the

ground was covered with many running vines. She did this, but he was too

earnest in the pursuit to notice danger. She led him on, and again his

hand shot out almost over her shoulder, when he caught his moccasin in

one of the vines, that was like so many yards of fine steel wire, and

sprawled forward on his face, with a force that drove the breath from

his body, and seemed to make the earth shake with the shock.

And then she could run no farther, from very excess of merriment.

Pressing one hand against the nearest tree-trunk to support her, she

laughed until she could hardly stand. He slowly climbed to his feet and

shook his head. She was not assured that he had given up the chase, and

held herself ready to bound away again, when both abruptly paused at the

discovery that a third party had appeared on the scene.

Two or three rods in advance, on the same line the two had been

pursuing, stood a tall Indian, fully six feet in stature, motionless,

and surveying the couple with an enquiring expression. He was three

score years of age, his long locks were sprinkled with grey, and his

face was stern and seamed by the passage of the many stormy years. He

was thin almost to emaciation, but the fire burned in the black eyes as

fiercely as when he first went on the warpath. He was dressed much like

the younger warrior, except that the upper part of his body was encased

in a jacket similar to that of the girl, and his countenance was

unstained. In the girdle about his waist were thrust a long knife and

the handle of a tomahawk, but he carried no bow and quiver. Standing

rigidly upright, with his coppery face like that of a stone image, he

looked sternly at the two.

Hardly had the girl caught sight of him, when she ran forward, and,

throwing both arms about his waist, called out in pretended panic:

“Father, save me from Nantaquas! He means to kill me!”

Laying one hand fondly on the wealth of hair about his chest, the parent

gazed at the young man and demanded:

“What is the meaning of these strange actions?”

Standing in his garments, still wet from his recent upset, the smiling

son pointed to his sister.

“She will tell Powhatan her story.”

The American Indian has the reputation of being stoical. It is true that

he will bear the most poignant anguish and torture without a sign of

suffering. He is trained to suppress his emotions, especially before

strangers, but there are no persons in the world who love their children

more affectionately; and when beyond the sight of strangers they often

indulge in expressions of that love.

The chieftain of whom I am now speaking was the most famous Indian

connected with the colonial history of Virginia. He was Powhatan, one of

the sternest and most unflinching leaders of his race. He ruled over

numerous tribes, nearly all of whom he had conquered and brought under

his sway. From Virginia to the far south none was his equal. He had

several homes, at each of which he lived a part of every year, and was

always surrounded when at any of them by a strong guard, numbering forty

or fifty of his tallest warriors.

Since you have learned that Powhatan was the father of the two who now

stood before him, there is no longer any excuse for keeping back the

name of the girl, for I am sure you guessed it long ago. She was

Pocahontas, pretty, bright, and kind hearted, and the favorite of the

terrible Powhatan, who permitted any liberties from her, and rarely

refused her a request which he could gratify. Nantaquas was another

favorite, though he had other sons who were well worthy of their

father’s fame.

Releasing herself from the embrace of her parent, Pocahontas stepped

back a couple of paces, and with sparkling eyes and glowing face told

Powhatan about the incident that had sent her flying from before her

brother. It would have done your heart good to see those iron features

relax as the sachem listened to the delightful story. Although well

advanced in years, and a stoic by training, he could not wholly forget

the time when he was such a youth as that son who stood a little way

back, with arms folded, listening to the words of his sister, and never

offering objection.

Powhatan extended his arms, and as Pocahontas stepped impulsively

forward, he placed a hand under each of her elbows, and tossed her like

a feather several feet up in the air. As she came down he caught her in

his grasp, held her closely to him, and fondled her hair and patted her

dusky cheek; while she, in turn, reached up and patted his wrinkled

face. No father and child could have loved each other more truly than

Powhatan and Pocahontas.

But the grim parent did not permit himself to indulge long in his

caresses of the one so dear to him. Again patting her head, he said:

“Let my child go to her home; Powhatan has something he would say to

Nantaquas.”

She obediently turned away. Her course carried her behind the sachem,

who had withdrawn all attention from her. Pausing an instant, she looked

at her brother, who was still standing with folded arms, and who turned

to glance at her the moment she halted, curious to learn the cause. He

was quickly informed, for standing thus, where no one else saw her, she

made the same comical grimace at him that he made at her when paddling

the canoe. He suddenly started towards her, but took only a step, when

she was off like a bird. Powhatan turned his head, but caught only a

glance of the handsome robe, the white plume, and the twinkling

moccasins, as they flitted from sight.

You will bear in mind that in giving the conversations between the

various Indians who pass before us, I use the utmost liberality in

translation. As a rule, their sentences are short, and often ornamented

with striking figures of speech. They sound stiff, and are sometimes

hard to understand by those not accustomed to them. It will be better,

therefore, to try to put their meaning in the form which you use in your

conversation.

Hardly had Pocahontas darted from sight, when the chieftain said to his

son:

“The pale-faces have come across the Deep Water to the hunting-grounds

of Powhatan and his people.”

“Yes; we met them on the river in their big canoes; they spoke words,

though we did not understand what they said, nor could they know the

meaning of our words. They have come to make their homes among us.”

The remark of the chieftain proved that the signal fire, of which

mention has been made, was not only meant for him, but that he read the

message. It seems strange that so much could be told by the fashioning

of the thin column of smoke rising from a small fire kindled on the

crest of a slight elevation; but such means of telegraphy have been used

by the American Indians for centuries, and the speed with which they

send tidings across wide stretches of country almost surpasses belief.

It is only a few years since that an important treaty was signed by the

United States Government agents with a number of tribes in the West. The

parties were so far removed from the nearest telegraph station that the

news did not reach Washington until three days later; yet it was known

to tribes four and five hundred miles distant the afternoon of the day

of signing, and within a few hours after the signatures were written.

The message was signalled from mountain peak to mountain peak, across

wide stretches of prairie, and hundreds of warriors discussed the matter

long before their chiefs set out for their distant homes.

So in the case of Powhatan, chief of many tribes, who knew of the coming

of the white men while they were sailing up the James, and for several

days before he saw any one of them. It is easy to understand how an

ordinary message, relating to simple affairs, can be carried by the

means named, but it is wonderful how news, unlike any that had ever

before been sent across an expanse of forest, could have been read by

the sachem and others for whom it was meant.

Powhatan left no doubt that he was deeply displeased by the appearance

of the white men, where they had never before set foot. They had come

into the heart of the country which belonged to him, and he was too wise

to fail to see the meaning of the visit.

“They will come to land, and build their wigwams; they will till the

ground, and hunt the game in the woods; by and by others will come and

make their homes beside them; and they will keep on coming, till they

are like the leaves on the trees; we have heard from the red men of the

south that they bring strange weapons; that they shoot fire, and slay

men who are far beyond the reach of our bows and arrows; all the

pale-faces are alike; they will kill the red men or drive them into the

sea, until none is left.”

“The words of Powhatan are wise,” said Nantaquas respectfully; “I am

afraid of them, and would not trust Pocahontas in their power.”

“My son did right; she is but a child; she must stay away from them.”

“And what shall be done with the pale-faces?” asked Nantaquas, who

understood the dark expression of his father. “Shall they be left alone

when they go ashore, that their numbers may increase—though I do not

think they have any women with them?”

“When the serpent is small, a child may crush it under the heel of her

moccasin, but, if left to grow, it will soon sting her to death.”

The meaning of these words was plain; Powhatan intended to destroy the

weak colony before the white men could send for other friends to sail

across the Great Water. Few even though they were, the work should be

hard and dangerous, when so little was known of the real nature of their

fearful weapons; but, no doubt, the thousands of warriors that Powhatan

could summon to the task would do it well, thus crushing the danger in

the bud.

Powhatan, like most of his race, was a man of few words. Having made

known his resolve, he ordered his son to lead the way to where the canoe

had been left on the bank of the stream. When it was reached he stepped

within, and, instead of seating himself at the stern, took his place at

the bow. It would have been sacrilege for Nantaquas to suggest that the

chieftain who is referred to by historians as “Emperor” should use the

paddle. No vassal could have been meeker than the son when he headed

down the river, handling the oar with the same skill that he had shown

earlier in the day.

By this time the afternoon was drawing to a close, but there was a

bright moon in the sky, which lit up the broad, smooth surface of the

James as if it were day. The sachem sat silent and erect, with no

appearance of curiosity, but the keen eyes, which pierced the gathering

gloom, did not let the smallest object escape them. Passing around the

long, sweeping bend that has been described, the large vessel and two

smaller ones came into view, lying at anchor, within a short distance of

shore. It might have been thought that the emigrants had come to rest,

to wait till the morrow before going farther up stream, had not smaller

boats been seen passing to and fro between the ships and the land. But

more still was soon learned.

Although from what Nantaquas and Pocahontas had told it would seem that

little was to be feared at present from these unwelcome visitors, the

life of Powhatan was too precious to permit any unnecessary risk to be

run. He ordered his son to go a little nearer, holding himself ready to

make instant flight when told to do so. Thus edging up, they were able

to see three or four tents on a small peninsula, jutting out from the

northern shore. The white men from across the sea had already landed and

begun the first lasting English settlement in the New World.

Nantaquas would have liked to visit the newcomers, now that his sister

was not with him, but Powhatan would not allow it, and, at his command,

he turned the head of the canoe up stream, before it had attracted

notice, and paddled hurriedly from the place. As before, the chieftain

did not speak, even after the boat had been run to land and drawn up the

beach. He stepped out, and, with the majesty that was rarely or never

absent, strode through the wilderness to his lodge or native “palace,”

with his son walking silently at the rear. Arrived there, he held a long

council with his under chiefs and leading warriors. The plans for the

destruction of the colony were fixed; but before he slept that night

Pocahontas drew from him all that had been agreed upon, and she did not

rest until he had given his promise to defer the fearful work. He would

not pledge himself to do more than postpone his purpose, but such

postponement was of the greatest importance to the welfare of the little

colony.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER IV.

A CALL OF STATE

The three small ships with their one hundred and five men sailed up the

James River, until they had reached a point some fifty miles from its

mouth, when their interest was drawn to a low peninsula, which put out

from the northern shore. It was a bad site for a settlement, because it

was half covered with water at high tide. Since those days it has become

an island; but it looked so pleasing to the men who had been tossed on

the stormy ocean for so many months, that it was taken as their new

home. Anchor was dropped, the smaller boats began taking the emigrants

and their belongings to shore, and there, on May 13th, 1607, was founded

Jamestown, which, as I have already stated, was the first lasting

settlement planted by the English in the New World.

Sad to say, nearly three quarters of a century later, when the colony

was torn by civil strife, Jamestown was burned to the ground, and never

rebuilt. All that remains are the ruins of an old church tower and a few

mouldering tombstones. These are rapidly crumbling; the waves dash

mournfully against the shore; the sea-fowl flit past; and ere many years

come and go all traces of the famous town will have disappeared.

As the English went ashore they pitched their tents, but the season was

so mild that they found it more agreeable to make their homes for the

time under the verdant foliage of the trees while building their cabins.

These were put up on the neck of the peninsula, and before long the

place took on the appearance of a community. It is a pleasure to recall

that these people were good churchmen, and from the hour of their

landing gave strict attention to the duties of religion. The first place

of public worship in America was a ragged tent. An awning was stretched

among the trunks of trees, and a bar, fastened between two of these,

served as a reading desk. At this Mr. Hunt read the Service morning and

evening, preached twice each Sunday, and, at intervals of three months,

celebrated the Holy Communion. When he was prevented through illness or

other causes, Captain John Smith or some of his associates read the

service.

As soon as the hurry of work was over, a structure was put up. Of

course, it was of modest size and build, but when Lord Delaware arrived

three years later, he records that this first religious edifice built by

Englishmen in America was sixty feet long and twenty four feet wide.

It would seem that the best of beginnings had been made, for trees were

felled, cabins built, and a church erected; but a woeful mistake lay in

the character of the men themselves. Very few had the least fitness for

pioneer work. When the box was opened in which King James had sealed the

names of the first seven Councillors, all but two of those selected

proved grossly unfit. These two were Bartholomew Gosnold and John Smith.

Gosnold soon died, and Smith had not been freed from arrest on the

charge of plotting against the colony. Edward Maria Wingfield was chosen

first president, but he was lazy, self-indulgent, and seemed to be able

to think of nothing except Smith and his plots for placing himself at

the head of affairs. The other Councillors were no better than he, and

the prospect of Jamestown was dark.

This sad unfitness was not confined to the rulers. More than half the

men were ranked as “gentlemen,” which in those times meant persons who

did not do manual labor. The wild rumors of the abundance of gold in the

New World drew them across the ocean. They believed that it would take

only a short time to load the three vessels with the yellow metal, when

they would return to England and live in luxury for the rest of their

days. You naturally find that most of those who toiled for a living were

jewelers and gold-refiners.

Sturdy, rugged, honest John Smith saw all this with anger and disgust.

He knew what was surely coming, and calmly waited for it to come.

Although shut out from the Council, he did not sulk, though he felt the

injustice. “By and by they will ask for me,” he thought, as he went

vigorously to work. He impressed upon his friends the necessity of

keeping on good terms with the Indians. The season was far advanced, but

corn was planted with the certainty that it would ripen fast in that

favoring climate and soil. But the food brought over the ocean would not

last more than two or three months, when it would be necessary to obtain

supplies from the Indians. If they chose to withhold it, it would go ill

with the white men.

Now if you will look at your map again, you will note the situation of

Jamestown on the northern shore. Tracing the course of the James River

towards its source, you will observe the city of Richmond, the capital

of Virginia, on the same side of the river, but well up in Henrico

county. Below the site of Richmond, in the direction of Jamestown, was

the principal residence of Powhatan, chief of thirty tribes, his own

immediate tribe being scattered inland and along the river to the south

and east. It was a two-day’s journey between the village of Powhatan and

Jamestown.

Distrustful of the old chief’s temper towards them, Captain Smith and a

party of his men took the first chance to sail up the river and pay a

formal visit to the Emperor of the country. The name of the town itself

was Powhatan, from which fact the same title has been given to the

famous chieftain, whose Indian name was different. The aboriginal

capital stood on a small hill, and numbered twelve houses, in front of

which were three small islands in the river. The “palace” was a large,

native structure of bark and skins, with a sort of bedstead at one side,

on which Powhatan sat. With his majestic mien, his robe of raccoon

skins, and the feathers in his grizzly hair, he suggested a king upon

his throne.

When Smith and two of his companions were brought into the presence of

this Emperor the scene was striking. Along each wall of the dwelling

stood two rows of young women at the rear, and two rows of men in front

of them. The faces and shoulders of all the females were stained with

the red juice of the puccoon, and a number wore chains of white beads

about their necks. Almost any man would have been embarrassed when

introduced into the presence of royalty of this character. Smith’s

companions were mute, but he was too much a man of the world to betray

any fear. He doffed his hat, made a sweeping bow, and addressed the old

chieftain with as much outward respect as if he had been, indeed, the

King of England.

One of the most marked proofs of the ability of Captain John Smith was

that during his brief stay in Virginia he had been able to pick up

enough knowledge of the Powhatan tongue to make himself fairly well

understood, being helped thereto by his gestures, of which he was

master. There had been Indian visitors from the first at Jamestown. All

were treated so well that several spent much of their time at the

settlement, studying the white men and their ways with never-ending

interest. Smith became a hard student, and was thus able to tell

Powhatan that he and the other pale-faces had come across the Great

Water with feelings only of love for him and his people. They had no

wish to take away their hunting-grounds, not to kill their game, nor to

do them harm in any way. He hinted that the whites might prove to be of

great help to Powhatan, for they brought strange and deadly weapons with

them, which they would be glad to use in aiding him to conquer other

tribes of Indians.

Captain Smith was a man of rare tact, but he blundered when he made this

offer to the old Emperor. It said, in truth, that Powhatan was not able

to do his own conquering of rebellious tribes. Such was the power and

self-confidence of this sachem, that any hint that he could need help in

carrying out his own will was an insult to him.

Smith was quick to see his mistake, and did what he could to correct it,

but he did not succeed. Powhatan was sour, and nothing was clearer than

that he felt no good will toward those who had dared to make their homes

in his country. He pretended not to understand the broken sentences of

his visitor, until after one of his warriors had helped to interpret

them. Having met with no success, Smith and his friends withdrew and set

sail down the river for Jamestown.

During the interview both he and his companions used their eyes in

searching for the youth and the girl who had met them when first on

their way up the James. But neither Nantaquas nor Pocahontas was

present, a fact which proved they were absent from the town, for, were

it not so, nothing would have kept them from the “palace” on such and an

interesting occasion.

The boat in which the Englishmen had sailed up the river had to lie by

for one cloudy night while on the way, and now the explorers found

themselves overtaken by darkness, when hardly half the return voyage was

made. But the sky was clear, and again they were favored with a bright

moon, which so lit up the stream that they kept on their course, with

the prospect of reaching home quite early the next day.

While one of the men held the old-fashioned tiller, with nothing to do

but to keep the boat well away from shore, Smith sat at the bow,

thoughtfully smoking a long-stemmed pipe which he had bought from one of

the friendly Indians who often visited Jamestown. The others of his

associates were doing the same at a little distance, for most of the

English were quick to learn the habit from the red men. The night was so

still that a single sail hardly felt the touch of the gentle breeze, and

only now and then did the faint ripple at the bow show that the boat was

making any progress toward Jamestown.

Captain Smith had many things to vex and trouble him. He was angry when

he thought of the injustice under which he suffered, and the

worthlessness of those named to rule the colony. With the coming of the

hot, sultry southern summer all prudence seemed to leave the settlers.

They drank deeply of the unwholesome water, and the mists that brooded

over the neighboring swamps were heavy with malaria, which had already

laid a number on their backs, with more than one fatal issue threatened.

Those who kept healthy thought it too uncomfortable to toil when the hot

sun was overhead, and as twilight and night drew near, the day was too

far gone to make it worth while to labour. They would not be roused

early enough in the day to do anything of account, though most of them

did make a pretense of hoeing the corn, of which several acres were

growing. Wingfield, the president, set the example of indolence, and

instead of being moderate in eating, acted as if there never could come

an end to the food that had been brought across the sea, and which was

already nearly exhausted. What the colony needed above everything else

was a stern, rigorous, wise head, and it is no reproach to Captain Smith

that he said to himself: “_I_ am the only man for the time; but they

have tied my hands, though they shall not be tied long.”

While the future looked so dark, he was more disturbed by the present,

or what might be called the near future. He saw in the glum, resentful

manner of Powhatan something more than displeasure with the presence of

the white men. Holding such great power as did the chieftain, he was not

likely to remain quiet much longer. He could not but know of the growing

weakness of the colonists, who were short of food, with much sickness

among them, and the certainty that before long they would be at the

mercy of the Indians.

Smith wondered why an attack had not been made upon the settlement long

before. With the vast body of warriors that Powhatan could summon at his

will, they would have been able to crush the little band of white men,

despite the dreaded firearms at their command. The pioneer had no idea

that the postponement of such an assault was due to Pocahontas, nor did

he learn the truth until years afterward.

He looked at the dark, frowning shores on either hand, stretching in the

distance many miles beyond the farthest extent of vision when the sun

was shining, and thought of the thousands of warriors who roamed and

hunted through those solitudes, fighting one another, when, had they

been wise enough to unite their strength, they could bid defiance to any

armed fleet that England might send across the ocean.

Suddenly a star-like gleam showed on the southern shore. That it had

been kindled by the Indians was not to be doubted. Watching it for a

minute or so, without seeing anything more than a glowing point, Smith

turned his face toward the northern bank. At the moment of doing so he

observed an answering signal, and was not surprised, for it was natural

that such a reply should be made.

“They are speaking to one another about our boat, but that is of no

concern to me, for I do not think we have anything to fear from them.”

He scanned the two shores in the expectation of seeing other signal

fires, but none showed. Meanwhile the boat made little headway against

the tide, for the gentle breeze hardly fanned one’s face. Smith rose to

his feet, and with pipe between his lips, gazed out on the moonlit

expanse of river, not expecting to discover anything unusual, and yet

something of that nature quickly appeared.

A peculiar flickering toward the northern shore caught his eye, and

while trying to learn what it meant he saw that the object was an Indian

canoe, in which he soon made out two persons, with the nearer one

swaying a paddle, while his companion sat quietly at the stern.

The Captain recalled the sight which greeted the ships when first coming

up the James. There was the small craft, driven in the same manner, and

with the same number of persons. Standing erect at the gunwale, he

watched it closely, and a minute or two later was certain that the two

were Nantaquas and Pocahontas. He had learned of their identity from the

friendly Indians who came to Jamestown, the plume worn by the girl being

a badge of royalty.

The canoe was passing the bow of the ship, a hundred yards away, making

no attempt to come nearer. Desiring a talk, Smith called in his resonant

voice:

“Nantaquas! Will you not come aboard?”

The youth appeared to say a few words to his sister, after which he

headed his craft in the direction of the larger one. A few minutes would

have brought him alongside, when he was checked by a startling

interruption. Through the stillness sounded a low booming sound, which

rolled up the stream and was heard faintly to echo between the shores.

There could be no mistaking its meaning: it was the report of one of the

small cannon on the _Sarah Constant_, and it meant danger to Jamestown.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER V.

A TIMELY ARRIVAL

Through the stillness of the summer night rolled the sound of the cannon

that had been fired in front of Jamestown, many miles down the river.

The report, which was not repeated, sent a thrill of alarm through

Captain Smith and his friends, for to them it could have but one

meaning: it had been discharged because of an attack upon the settlement

by Indians.

The boom, as it traveled up the broad stream, carried the same tidings

to the son and daughter of Powhatan, who were drawing near the large

boat in response to the invitation of him who was returning from his

visit of state to the dusky Emperor. Nantaquas plied his paddle with

renewed vigor, but instantly sheared away, and instead of keeping on as

he had started, made with all speed for the northern shore. It was

natural to think that the white men on the larger boat would undergo an

instant change of feelings when the alarming sound fell upon their ears.

Indeed, the youth expected a volley from the boat, but nothing of the

kind was in the mind of Captain Smith, who did not interfere while the

canoe and its occupants rapidly passed from sight.

Smith walked hurriedly to the stern, where the others had gathered about

the steersman.

“The settlement has been attacked,” said the captain in his quick, crisp

manner. “Listen!”

All stood silent and motionless for several minutes. The _Sarah

Constant_ had three such pieces on board, fitted for good service, and

Smith repeated that if it was necessary to discharge one of them, the

urgency was equally great for the firing of the remainder. Be that as it

may, the straining ears heard no second report, though the listening was

long, and was repeated at intervals for a couple of hours later.

Naturally, the certainty that there was grave trouble at Jamestown

intensified the impatience of Smith and his friends to reach the place

as soon as they could. If _their_ help was not needed, he knew _his_

was, and he could not get there too quickly; but the fates were against

him for the time. The wind, which had been dying out ever since sunset,

now wholly ceased, and the rising tide began to carry them back towards

the Indian capital. The anchor was dropped, and thus the craft lay at

rest, as it must remain for several hours, awaiting the turn of the tide

or perchance a rising of the wind. Two men were placed on guard, and

Smith and the others lay down to get such sleep as might come to them.

The calm lasted throughout the night, and when daylight came the surface

of the James was as smooth as a summer millpond. The tide had turned,

but moved so sluggishly that Captain Smith told his skipper to let the

anchor remain for a few hours, all agreeing that the weather signs

foretold a change at or before that time. They partook sparingly of the

coarse bread which they had brought with them, adding several mouthfuls

of cold fowl that the Captain had shot a few miles below the spot on

their upward voyage.

His next words caused surprise. He intended to go to the southern shore

with two of the men, to inquire into the signal fire that had first

caught his eye the night before. He hoped to learn something of the

trouble at Jamestown, though his chief hope was that he might find the

way to obtain a quantity of corn, of which his countrymen stood in sore

need. From what Smith had been told, he knew that a small Indian village

was not far inland. There was reason to hope that through barter, or

possibly, as a last resort, the display of force, the owners could be

made to part with a goodly supply of food.

A number of gaudy trinkets, beads, ribbons, fanciful little knives and

gewgaws were bundled up and put in the small boat, the three men took

their places, with the Captain at the stern, while each of the others

began to swing the oars in the fashion that has been common since time

immemorial. They were old hands, and rowed in unison, while the craft

headed toward the point which the Captain had pointed out before

starting. In the hope that some of the warriors would show themselves,

he keenly studied the shore, both above and below; but if there were any

red men in the neighborhood, they took care that none should see them.

When the boat touched land the three stepped out, the two who had used

the oars drawing the boat up the bank, and then awaited the orders of

Captain Smith.

Each man had a knife, a musket, and ammunition. The guns were of what is

known as the snaphaunce pattern, which took the place of the clumsy

firelock during the previous century. The weapons were the old style

flintlocks, heavy and cumbersome, but useful in the hands of those

familiar with them.

It was but natural on the part of Captain John Smith to feel certain of

his superiority in every respect over any and all of his associates.

This included even marksmanship and skill in the use of fire arms. It

was a common practice with him when engaging in a hunt to go away from

his companions. If asked for his reason, he replied that their presence

prevented his success; he could do much better when alone. As for them,

it did not matter, since they could never hope to be his equal.

So it was that at the present time he told his friends to move off

together, following the course of the stream, and never wandering so far

in the woods that they could not easily make their way back to the

water. If they met any Indians or made any important discovery they were

to halloo at the top of their voices, and he would make haste to them

and take charge of things. As for him, he would decide every question as

it came up. It becomes necessary for us to give our attention to the two

men, while we leave the doughty Captain for a time to himself.

The only sign of the recent presence of others on the spot was the heap

of ashes left by the signal fire. This had been kindled within a few

feet of the stream, where there was no vegetation to hide the rays. The

trinkets which all hoped could be used for barter were left in the boat.

Thus it will be seen that Smith did not mean that either he or his

friends should go far from the spot.

It was not strange that the name of one of the couple was also Smith,

for we know that the name is the most common among civilized people. I

know a city of my own country in which I read in the directory exactly

one hundred and five plain “John Smiths,” and I doubt not that there are

plenty of them in Great Britain. In the present instance, the Smith who

had helped row the boat was no relation of the Captain. His companion

was a cousin, remembered as Jack Bertram.

These two moved up-stream—that is, toward the village of Powhatan. There

was no reason to believe they would come upon anything of importance by

keeping near the river, where the walking was easy, so they pushed

inland for a number of rods, and then took a course parallel with the

James. The timber was dense, and the undergrowth so matted that it was

hard to force a passage. Smith took the lead, thus making the work less

for Bertram, who kept close behind him.

When they had pushed their way for a brief distance, Smith stopped.

“What good can come of this? Since no one has been over the land ahead

of us, we cannot overtake anyone.”

“They may be coming from the other way,” said his companion, less

discouraged because he was not doing such hard work in the way of

traveling.

“Little promise of that. I do not understand what Captain Smith hopes to

learn or do by this groping through the woods. If we knew the way to the

Indian village we should go there, and, if they would not give us corn,

take it from them. Ah! I did not look for this.”

That which caused this exclamation was the sight of a well-marked trail

leading over the course they were following. Both stopped to study it

more closely.

“It has been made by animals coming to the river to drink,” said

Bertram. “It can be of no help to us though it may be used also by

persons.”

Smith walked for a few paces, scanning the path, which soon turned to

the left, leaning farther inland. At the same time the ground sloped

gently upward, showing they were drawing near an elevation. Suddenly the

leader halted. Glancing up, Bertram saw the reason for it, and then was

as much astonished as his companion.

Standing in the trail, wonderingly staring at the couple, was the girl

whom they had seen when the ships were sailing up the James River weeks

before on their way to found the colony of Jamestown. There was no

mistaking her. She had the same rich robe about her shoulders, and the

same white plume curling over her mass of black hair that fell over her

pretty shoulders. She carried her long bow in one hand, and the top of

her quiver of arrows peeped from behind the left shoulder. Her hands and

moccasins were small, the latter ornamented with colored beads.

She caught sight of the white men before they saw her. She must have

been coming over the path, when she observed the figures and stopped in

amazement. On her comely face the emotion of astonishment was quickly

followed by that of pleasure.

“It is Pocahontas,” whispered Bertram, at the rear of his friend; “we

saw nothing of her yesterday at the lodge of the old chief, because she

was absent. I wonder what she is doing here alone?”

“Her friends can’t be far off. But I say, Jack, this is a godsend.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will see.”

The girl did not wait after observing that she was seen by the

strangers. She knew where these men had come from, and, shifting her bow

to her left hand as she walked, she came smilingly forward. She had

noticed the strange custom of the pale-faces when they met of clasping

their hands. Without pause she reached out her hand to Smith who was in

front, and said to him in broken words:

“How do? how do? Me friend; _you_ friend.”

Smith took the dainty palm, warmly pressed it, and then gave way to

Bertram, as he stepped up beside him and did the same. Pocahontas tried

to say something more, but she knew so little of the English language

that neither caught her meaning. It was amusing to note her sparkling

eyes and charming smile as she saw that too many of her words were

spoken in her own tongue for the men to understand them. Laughing in her

childish way, she gave up the effort, and stood looking inquiringly into

the bronzed faces before her, as if asking them to help her out of her

trouble.

“Jack,” said Smith in a low voice, “the Indians have attacked Jamestown;

we don’t know how many of our people they have killed; we need food;

let’s take this daughter of the old chief and hold her as a hostage. We

will give him the choice of letting us have all the corn we want, or of

having his pet daughter put to death.”

“I hardly know what to say to that; it may work the other way.”

“It can’t; Powhatan loves her so much that he will do anything to keep

harm from coming to her.”

Smith did not wait to argue further, but, taking a quick step toward the

smiling girl, grasped her upper arm. In answer to her questioning look,

he said:

“Go with us; we take to Jamestown; won’t hurt.”

The smiles gave way to an expression of alarm. She held back.

“No. no, no. Me no go; Powhatan feel bad—much bad.”

“You _must_ go!” said Smith, tightening his grip. “We not hurt you.”

Bertram stood silent throughout the brief minutes. While he hardly liked

the scheme that had been sprung so suddenly upon him, he thought it

might turn out well, and therefore, he did not interfere.

And then Pocahontas, child that she was, began crying and striving to

wrench her arm free from the iron fingers that had closed around it. She

drew back so strongly that her feet slid forward beside each other. Had

not Smith used much strength she would have got away from him. Impatient

over her resistance, he next tried to scare her into submission.

Scowling at her, he said in savage tones.

“Stop! Come with me, or I kill!”

This, it need not be said, was an idle threat, for the man had no

thought of anything of the kind, though he was ready to use more

violence to subdue the girl. Probably he would have struck her, for he

was a quick-tempered man, and was fast losing his patience. Pocahontas

would not stop her resistance, but as she found her moccasins sliding

over the slippery leaves she struggled harder than ever, with the tears

streaming down her cheeks. She begged and prayed but all her words were

in her own tongue. In her panic she could not stop to try to put them in

the language of which she had only slight knowledge.

Captain John Smith had gone but a little way down stream, when he

decided that he had taken the wrong course. He turned about and followed

after his companions, coming upon them at the crisis of the struggle

between his namesake and the young daughter of Powhatan. He paused only

an instant, when he angrily cried out:

“What is the meaning of this?”

The other Smith merely glanced around at his leader, and kept dragging

the captive along the trail. It was Bertram who hastily said:

“She is the daughter of Powhatan. We are going to take her to Jamestown,

to hold her as a hostage, and make the chief give us what corn——”

Without waiting for anything further, the Captain sprang forward,

calling angrily:

“Let go! Release her!”

Before the amazed fellow could comply, he was grasped by the back of the

collar. Captain Smith shifted his gun to his right hand, so as to leave

the other free. The fingers were as those of a giant, and the scared

Englishman let go of the sobbing prisoner. As he did so the Captain gave

a kick with his goodly right foot, which lifted his namesake clear off

the ground, and sent him tumbling on his face, his peaked hat falling

off, and his gun flying several yards away.

“I would do right to kill you!” called the leader, his face aflame as he

glared down on the fellow, who began climbing shame-facedly to his feet.

“Among all the Indians in Virginia there is not one so good a friend of

the English as that little girl.”

As he spoke he pointed towards the spot where she stood a minute before,

but she was not there. She had taken instant advantage of her release,

and fled beyond sight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER VI.

AT JAMESTOWN

Captain Smith’s burst of tempestuous anger was caused, in the first

place, by the unpardonable violence shown to the gentle Pocahontas, a

girl so young that she was not yet far in her “teens.” In the sweetness

of her nature she had shown perfect trust in the white men, and, early

as it was in the settlement of Virginia, all knew she had no feeling but

friendship for the people that had made their homes within the country

of her father, the great Powhatan. What a rude awakening was hers! What

injury it was likely to do to those who were in sore need of the good

will of the powerful tribes around them!

A second cause of the Captain’s wrath was the fact, clear to him, that

the outrage, apart from its wickedness, was the worst thing possible

when viewed as to its results to the white men themselves. Instead of

alarming Powhatan and forcing him to help them, it would have the

contrary effect. It would add to his ill will, and lead him to measures

that otherwise might have been averted. (This, as you shall learn, was

proved some years later, when Captain Argall stole Pocahontas, and came

nigh causing the complete destruction of Jamestown and the settlements.)

Not only that, but the immediate results were sure to be disastrous. It

was not to be supposed that Pocahontas was alone thus far from her home.

She certainly had friends near at hand, she was already fleeing with her

story; she would reach them in a brief while, and they would hasten to

punish her enemies.

These thoughts flashed through the mind of Captain Smith, while the

victim of his anger was slowly climbing to his feet. He took a step

towards his namesake, meaning to strike him to the earth again, but the

man shrank away, with no word of protest. The Captain checked himself

and said:

“We must hasten to the boat before we are cut off. Come!”

The fellow picked up his hat and gun, and Captain Smith led the way at a

rapid stride over the trail and through the dense undergrowth, till they

reached the margin of the stream, along which they hurried to the spot

where the prow of the craft had been drawn up the bank. He pushed it

free and stepped within. Instead of seating himself at the stern, he did

so at the bow, so that he faced the shore they were leaving, as did the

two who hastily sat down and caught up the oars. The one who was named

Smith was nearest the stern, his companion being between him and the

Captain, with all three, as has been shown, looking towards the shore

they were fast leaving behind them.

“Row hard,” said the Captain, “for you have no time to spare.”

Neither of the men had spoken a word since the rescue of Pocahontas, and

they bent to their oars with the utmost energy. They knew they had done

wrong, and naught was left but to obey the command of their leader,

which they did with right good will.

The tide was sweeping down stream so fast that the craft took a diagonal

position under the impulse of the oar, this being necessary to hold a

direct course to the waiting boat in midstream. The three had not

reached a point fifty yards from land, when a young Indian warrior

dashed through the undergrowth into the open space on the beach. He was

Nantaquas, and almost at his side was his sister Pocahontas. He held his

long bow, firmly gripped in the middle by his left hand, and had drawn

an arrow from the quiver behind his shoulder, which was partly fitted to

the string of deer-thong. The girl pointed excitedly to the man Smith

who was rowing, and who was nearer to them than either of the others.

She was showing the guilty man to her brother, who had probably asked

the question of her.

“Look out!” warned the Captain. “He means to shoot you!”

The endangered fellow was so flustered that he broke the regularity of

the strokes of the two, though Jack Bertram strove hard to catch it

again. He kept his eye on the young warrior, who rigidly straightened

his left arm, with the hand gripping the middle of the long bow, while

he drew the feathered arrow to its head, and sighted at the alarmed

oarsman.

Captain Smith watched Nantaquas, not allowing the slightest movement to

escape him. Suddenly he called:

“_Down!_”

The other Smith instantly flung himself forward on his face, so that he

was hidden by the low gunwale. Bertram, hardly knowing what he did,

dodged to one side. The Captain did not stir. He knew _he_ was in no

danger.

At the same moment that the oarsman went down Nantaquas launched his

arrow, which came with such swiftness that it made a flickering streak

in the sunlight which the eye could hardly follow. Captain Smith caught

a glimpse of something like the flitting of a bird’s wing, and the

missile flashed over the very spot where the intended victim had been

sitting an instant before, driven with such unerring aim that, but for

his quickness, the arrow would have been buried in his chest.

So great was the power with which the missile was fired that it seemed

to dart horizontally outward for nearly a hundred feet beyond the boat

before it dipped enough for the point to drop into the water, where it

turned rapidly over several times, and the flint-head sank below the

surface.

Brief as was the time, the oarsman partly regained his coolness. He

raised his head, but instead of drawing upon his oars he dropped them,

and reached for the musket at his feet. His companion kept toiling with

all his strength.

“Drop that!” thundered Captain Smith. “It would serve you right if you

were killed! _Use your oars!_”

The two men, in their flurry, forgot to hold the boat to the right

course, so that it took a more direct one than before. Had this been

done from the first, Nantaquas could not have launched his arrow without

endangering Captain Smith, since he would have been in the line of aim.

At any moment the Captain could have shot Nantaquas, who stood out in

the clear view, or either of his companions could have done the same,

but the leader would not allow it. He sympathized with the “prince,” and

though he did not care to have the offender slain, he would not permit

any injury to be done to Nantaquas.

The youth had fitted another arrow to his bow, and now drew it to the

head. The keen eyes of Captain Smith noted every movement. He saw that

after drawing his right hand half-way back, Nantaquas held it

stationary. He saw that if he fired again, and the man serving as his

target dodged, the arrow was likely to strike Captain Smith, unless he

was equally quick in eluding it. Moreover, the distance was increasing

so fast that every second added to the difficulty of the shot. He knew

which man had befriended Pocahontas, and eager as he was to slay the

criminal, he must forego that pleasure in order to spare the friend.

Holding the long bow poised for a few seconds, he slowly lowered it,

still keeping the notch of the arrow pressed against the string, as if

expecting a new chance to present itself. If the boat would turn

partially sideways toward him, as at first, he might still bring down

his man; but the oarsman had learned wherein their safety lay, and took

care to make no mistake.

All this time the boat was moving rapidly, and it was not long before it

passed beyond bowshot.

Nantaquas remained standing in full view on the shore, his sister beside

him, both watching the receding craft until it came alongside the large

one, and the three stepped aboard, leaving the small boat to be towed at

the stern. Then brother and sister turned about, and passed from sight

in the forest.

A brisk breeze was blowing, and Captain Smith and his companions had

hardly joined their friends when the anchor was hoisted, and they were

carried at good speed toward Jamestown, which they reached early that

afternoon. There they learned that the settlement had passed through a

trying experience during the absence of Captain Smith and his party.

Although the Englishmen arrived at the site of Jamestown rather late in

the season for planting, and although many of them were too indolent to

work, others did what they could to make up for the lost time. In the

rich soil, which had been cleared of trees, corn that had been obtained

from the Indians was planted, and quickly showed a vigor of growth that

promised the best results.

On the day that Captain Smith sailed up the James to make his call of

state upon Powhatan, more than twenty men were engaged in planting and

cultivating the corn already put in the ground. Without any warning, and

when no one dreamed of danger, the woods near by began raining arrows.

They came in bewildering showers, amid the shouts of the Indians, of

whom only occasional glimpses were caught, as they flitted from tree to

tree, while they used the trunks as shields. The English, stricken with

panic, dropped their implements and ran behind the stockades, which had

been finished only a short time before. Hurried as was their flight,

those who glanced behind them saw one man lying motionless on his face.

He was dead, pierced by so many arrows that he looked like a huge

porcupine. Nearly all the others had been struck, some of them two or

three times; and when they ran panting through the open gate the

missiles were still sticking in their bodies and clothing. Actual count

showed that seventeen men had been wounded, most of them slightly,

though three or four seemed likely to die of their hurts. Happily,

however, all recovered.

Instead of leaving, the Indians kept their places in the woods,

continually launching their arrows at the settlers. While these were

harmless when directed against the stockades, some of the warriors

showed great skill in curving them so that they dropped inside the

defences. It required keen watchfulness on the part of the defenders to

save themselves from being badly hurt, for, when a sharp-pointed missile

comes almost straight downward from a height of more than a hundred

feet, it is likely to do fatal damage. The Englishmen could protect

themselves from mishaps, but could do little in the way of driving off

their assailants while they were so well shielded among the trees.

Matters stood thus when the _Sarah Constant_ took a hand. Dropping a

little way down stream, so as to get clear range of the stretch of woods

in which their enemies shielded themselves while keeping up their

attack, she discharged two of her cannon that were loaded to the muzzle

with slugs. It is not likely that any of the warriors were hurt by the

missiles, but when they saw large limbs splintered and falling about

their heads, and heard the rattle among the leaves and twigs overhead

and about them, they were terrified, and scurried off in as headlong a

panic as that of the settlers when attacked by the red men.

Not another foe was seen during the day, though there could be no doubt

that more than one pair of black eyes were peeping from among the

vegetation, the owners, no doubt, wondering as to the nature of the

awful weapon that could tear the big branches from the trees. Some time

after dark, however, the sentinels heard sounds in the woods near at

hand, which showed that their enemies had returned, and, of course, were

plotting mischief. The larger vessel, which had held her place after

driving off the Indians earlier in the day, now fired another assortment

of missiles, and this ended all trouble of that nature for some time to

follow. It was the report of this cannon which had travelled up the

James to the boat where Captain Smith sat meditatively smoking.

The first attack on Jamestown brought good results. It was clear to all

that the settlement must have a vigorous head, and that he must be a

military man. Wingfield, as has been shown, had no qualification

whatever for the office. He must be displaced, or the colony would go to

ruin. Smith was determined on his removal, and as a first step he

demanded that a trial by jury should be given himself on the charges

made long before, and for which he was still under arrest.

Wingfield refused, and when Smith insisted he replied that he would send

him back to England to be tried by the authorities there.

“You will not!” said the angry Captain. “The charter provides for the

trial of all such charges in Virginia; it is my right, and I will not be

denied it!”

So, against his will, the Governor gave Smith his trial, which was the

first one by jury in America; and never did an accused man gain a

greater triumph. Every charge brought against him was shown to be false:

the witnesses broke down, and those who swore that Captain Smith had

plotted to obtain the mastery of the colony were proved to have sworn

falsely. He might have been boastful and overbearing at times, but he

was unselfish, and always thought of the real interests of those who had

crossed the ocean with him to found homes in the New World. Smith was

not only declared innocent of the shameful charges, but his chief

persecutor, a member of the Council, was ordered to pay a fine of 200

pounds. When this large sum was handed to Smith, he gave it to the

colony for the general use. Then all parties partook of the Communion,

declared themselves friends, and Smith took his seat as a member of the

Council.

He had no wish to be Governor or President, though he knew the day was

near when no one else would be able to save the colony. He had a freer

hand in certain matters while simply Councillor, and was willing that

the people should become tired of Wingfield before he stepped into his

shoes.

We cannot dwell upon the miseries of that first summer in Jamestown. The

sickness, caused by paying no heed to the laws of health, rapidly grew

worse. It looked for a time as if disease would carry off every man.

They lay groaning and fever-smitten in their cabins, until no thought

was given to the danger from the Indians. Had Powhatan, or any other

leader, chosen to attack Jamestown with only a score of warriors, he

would have had no trouble in destroying every man. Even Captain Smith,

who seemed safe against every disease and weakness, took the fever, but

refused to give up, and with the help of a few others he was able to

drag out and bury the dead. Among those who passed away were the good

Bartholomew Gosnold and Studley, the treasurer.

There remained, however, Wingfield, the corrupt and wicked President,

and the one who had been defeated in the trial of Smith. The two were

his bitter enemies, and they formed a plot which, if successful, would

not only ruin Smith, but would probably destroy the colony itself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER VII.

UP THE CHICKAHOMINY

When September came one-half of the Jamestown colony had passed away,

and most of the survivors were tottering with weakness and disease. I

have said that for weeks theses wretched beings could have hardly raised

a hand to keep off the Indians had they chosen to attack them; but

instead of that, Providence moved the hearts of the red men to pity, and

they brought corn to the sufferers, though the supply was so scant that

it could last but a short time.

Captain Newport had sailed for England several months before for food

and supplies, but could not be expected back for a long time to come. He

left one of the smaller boats for the use of the colonists, and

Wingfield and another plotted to seize it and sail to the Mother

Country. When they tried to do so, however, the others were so indignant

that they not only stopped them, but turned them out of the Council, and

chose John Ratcliffe as President. He was little better than Wingfield,

and the settlers now compelled Smith to take charge of the colony.

The Captain quickly proved his worth. He gave the people to understand

that every well man must choose whether to work or starve. He would have

no idlers, and he set the example by toiling as hard as the best of

them. On his return from an expedition down the river, where he forced a

surly tribe to trade corn with him, he arrived just as Wingfield and his

friend, who had again seized the pinnace, were about to sail. Smith

opened fire on them with a cannon, and would have sunk the craft had

they not surrendered. Their action was so base that they were tried by

jury. The life of Wingfield was spared, but all authority was taken from

him; while his companion, as the greater offender of the two, was

condemned to death and shot.

With the coming of cool weather a great improvement took place in the

health of the colonists. Disease abated, and on the appearance of frost

all fever disappeared. Those who had been ill rapidly regained their

health. The river abounded with fish and fowl, and the yellowing corn

could be made into bread. For the first time the future looked bright,

even though so many had died. Other immigrants were sure to arrive ere

long, and were believed even then to be on their way across the ocean.

How prone are we to forget favors done to us! No man of colonial times

earned a heavier debt of gratitude than Captain John Smith of Virginia,

and yet, when things improved, those whom he had been the means of

saving complained because he had not done more. He gave up the

Presidency as the best means of teaching the people his value to them.

Of course, you know that Christopher Columbus died under the belief

that, instead of discovering a continent, he had simply found the

eastern shore of India. The belief was held by nearly everybody during

more than a century that followed, that America was only a narrow strip

of land, beyond which stretched the “South Sea.” They thought that by

sailing up any of the large streams they would reach that vast body of

water. When Captain Henry Hudson passed up the noble river, named for

him, in 1609, he expected to keep on till his little ship entered the

South Sea. It was because of this universal belief that England, in

granting land to most of her colonists, made the western boundary the

Pacific Ocean, or South Sea, which I need not remind you was discovered

by Balboa in 1512.

Thus it was that the colony which settled Jamestown was ordered to hunt

for the South Sea. Captain Smith was reproached in Council for not

carrying out this royal command, and because of such neglect his surly

associates declared that the whole enterprise was a failure. I have

often wondered whether the sensible Captain had any faith in this wild

dream. Be that as it may, he replied to the fault-finding by declaring

he would set out at once in quest of the missing sea. I cannot help

thinking that when he was stung into making this answer, he was led to

do so by his disgust with affairs at home, but more by his love of

adventure. He must have felt that it would be a great relief to get away

from the quarrelling people, who would learn his worth during his

absence, while he would gain an experience for which he longed.

If you will glance at your map once more you will notice that a large

tributary empties into the James River from the north, about ten miles

west of Jamestown. It is the Chickahominy, and its sources are well to

the westward in the direction of the mountains which form the most

romantic section of Virginia.

It was on a clear, cold day, early in December, that Smith started on

his eventful voyage in a barge propelled by a crew of half a dozen

sturdy men, besides two friendly Indians. As he meant to ascend the

river, as far as possible, he trailed a smaller boat behind the

barge—the same that he used when he went ashore to learn the meaning of

the signal fire on the southern bank of the James. This craft promised

to be useful when he had gone as far as the barge could go, while it

could also be turned to account by himself in hunting for game that

would be scared away by sight of the larger boat, whose advance could

not be as well hidden as the smaller one.

The barge, as it was called, was provided with a sail, which must prove

of great help for a part of the time at least, while the small

half-cabin at the stern gave sleeping room for the “shift” when off

duty. There were plenty of blankets, though the size of the craft

allowed no use of a fire as a means of warmth. There were three

row-locks on each side, to be called into play when the wind was not

favorable, besides the numerous times when they would have to use the

poles with which to push the boat through the water. A scant supply of

“pone,” or corn bread, and venison was brought, but the main reliance of

the party was upon the fish that were to be taken from the stream, and

the fowl and game that could be shot along shore or in the woods.