began to experience a shortage of provisions. The grain which had lain
six months in the holds of leaky vessels was wormy and sodden, unfit
for horses and scarcely eatable by men. Nevertheless, for weeks after
Newport left, a small allowance of this formed the principal diet of
the unfortunate settlers. The woods abounded in game, it is true, but
they were yet unskilled in hunting and dared not venture far from their
palisades, whilst the unaccustomed sounds of axe and hammer had driven
every beast and most of the birds from the neighborhood. They must
have starved but for the sturgeon that they secured from the river.
On these they dined with so little variation that their stomachs at
last rebelled at the very sight of them. One of this miserable company,
describing their condition, says with melancholy humor: “Our drink was
water; our lodgings castles in the air.”
But lack of food was only one of the hardships which befell the poor
wretches. There were but few dwellings yet constructed, and being
forced to lie upon the low damp ground, malarial fever and typhoid
broke out among them and spread with such fearful rapidity that not
one of them escaped sickness. Hardly a day passed but one at least
of their number found a happy release from his sufferings in death.
Fifty in all--just half of them--died between June and September.
The unaccustomed heat aided in prostrating them, so that at one time
there were scarce ten men able to stand upon their feet. And all this
time the Indians kept up a desultory warfare and only refrained from
a determined attack upon the settlement for fear of the firearms. Had
they assaulted the stockade, instead of contenting themselves with
shooting arrows into it from a distance, the colonists could have made
no effective defence against them.
Shortly, the whole weight of authority and the entire charge of the
safety of the settlement fell upon Captain Smith. He was sick like
the rest, but kept his feet by sheer strength of will, knowing that
otherwise they would all fall victims to the savages in short order.
Gosnold was under the sod. Wingfield, Martin and Ratcliffe were on the
verge of death. Kendall was sick and, moreover, had been deposed from
his place in the Council. In fact, all the chief men of the colony
were incapacitated, “the rest being in such despair that they would
rather starve and rot with idleness than be persuaded to do anything
for their own relief without constraint.” In this strait the courage
and resolution of one man saved them as happened repeatedly afterward.
He nursed the sick, distributed the stores, stood guard day and
night, coaxed and threatened the least weak into exerting themselves,
cunningly hid their real condition from the Indians, and, by the
exercise of every available resource, tided over the terrible months of
July and August.
Early in September, Wingfield was deposed from the presidency. His
manifest incompetency had long been the occasion of discontent which
was fanned to fever heat when the starving settlers discovered that the
leader, who was too fine a gentleman to eat from the common kettle, had
been diverting the best of the supplies from the public store to his
private larder. The climax which brought about his downfall, however,
was reached when it transpired that the President had made arrangements
to steal away in the pinnace and return to England, leaving the
settlement in the lurch. Ratcliffe was elected to fill his place. He
was a man of no greater capacity than his predecessor, but it happened
that conditions improved at about this time and the undiscerning
colonists were willing to give him credit for the change.
Early fall brings ripening fruit and vegetables in the South. The
Indians, who fortunately had no idea of the extremity to which the
colony had been reduced, began to carry corn and other truck to the
fort, glad to trade for beads, little iron chisels or other trifles.
Wild fowl came into the river in large numbers and, with these welcome
additions to their hitherto scanty diet, the sick soon began to recover
health and strength. Smith, so soon as he could muster a boat’s crew,
made an excursion up the river and returned with some thirty bushels of
corn to famine-stricken Jamestown. Having secured ample supplies for
immediate needs, our hero, who was by this time generally recognized
as the actual leader of the colony, put as many men as possible to
work building houses and succeeded so far as to provide a comfortable
dwelling for every one but himself.
Our adventurers, convalescent for the most part, now experienced a
Virginia autumn in all its glory. The days were cloudless and cool.
The foliage took on magic hues and presented patterns marvellously
beautiful as an oriental fabric. The air, stimulating as strong wine,
drove the ague from the system and cleared the brain. The fruits of
the field stood ripe and inviting whilst nuts hung in profusion from
the boughs of trees amongst which fat squirrels and opossums sported.
Turkeys with their numerous broods wandered through the woods whilst
partridges and quail abounded in the undergrowth. Where starvation had
stared them in the face the colonists now saw plenty on every hand
and, with the appetites of men turning their backs upon fever-beds,
ate to repletion. With the removal of their sufferings, they dismissed
the experience from their minds and gave no heed to the latent lesson
in it. Not so Captain Smith, however. He realized the necessity of
providing a store of food against the approach of winter, without
relying upon the return of Newport with a supply ship.
The Council readily agreed to the proposed expedition in search of
provisions, but it was not in their mind to give the command to Captain
Smith. Far from being grateful to the man who had saved the settlement
in the time of its dire distress and helplessness, they were more than
ever jealous of his growing influence with the colonists. None of
them was willing to brave the dangers and hardships of the expedition
himself nor did they dare, in the face of Smith’s popularity, to
appoint another to the command. In this difficulty they pretended a
desire to be fair to the other gentlemen adventurers by putting a
number of their names into a lottery from which the commander should
be drawn. The hope was that by this means some other might be set up
as a sort of competitor to Smith. There were those among the gentlemen
who penetrated this design and had sufficient sense to circumvent it.
George Percy, a brother of the Earl of Northumberland, and Scrivener,
were among our hero’s staunch adherents. Percy contrived that he should
draw the lot from the hat that contained the names. The first paper
that he drew bore upon it the words: “The Honorable George Percy.”
Without a moment’s hesitation he showed it to Scrivener, as though for
confirmation, and crumpling it in his hand, cried:
“Captain John Smith draws the command,” and the announcement was
received with a shout of approval.
“Thou hast foregone an honor and the prospect of more,” said Scrivener,
as they walked away together.
“Good Master Scrivener,” replied the young nobleman, with a quizzical
smile, “one needs must have a head to carry honors gracefully and I
am fain to confess that I deem this poor caput of mine safer in the
keeping of our doughty captain than in mine own.”
It was early in November when Smith, taking the barge and seven men,
started up the Chickahominy. The warriors were absent from the first
village he visited and the women and children fled at the approach of
his party. Here he found the store-houses filled with corn, but there
was no one to trade and, as he says, he had neither inclination nor
commission to loot, and so he turned his back upon the place and came
away empty-handed. Now, if we consider the impression that must have
been made upon those Indians by this incident, we must the more keenly
regret that so few others were moved by similar principles of wisdom
and honesty in their dealings with the savages. In his treatment of the
Indian down to the present day the white man appears in a very poor
light, and most of the troubles between the two races have been due to
the greed and injustice of the latter. John Smith set an example to
later colonists which, had they followed it, would have saved them much
bloodshed and difficulty.
Proceeding along the narrow river, the expedition arrived at other
villages where the conditions better favored their purpose. The Indians
seem to have gained some inkling of the impoverished state of the
Jamestown store, for at first they tendered but paltry quantities of
grain for the trinkets which Smith offered to exchange. But they had
to deal with one who was no less shrewd than themselves. The Captain
promptly turned on his heel and marched off towards his boat. This
independent action brought the redskins crowding after him with all the
corn that they could carry and ready to trade on any terms. In order
to allay their suspicions as to his need, Smith declined to accept
more than a moderate quantity from any one band, but by visiting many,
contrived without difficulty to fill the barge and, as he says, might
have loaded the pinnace besides if it had been with him.
We will now leave Captain Smith and his party bringing their boat down
the river towards home and see what is going on at Jamestown in the
meanwhile. We shall find throughout our story that the master spirit of
the colony never leaves the settlement but that some trouble breaks out
in his absence. This occasion was no exception to the rule. One day,
shortly before the return of the expedition, Ratcliffe, the President,
fell into an altercation with the blacksmith, and in the heat of
passion struck the man. The blow was returned, as one thinks it should
have been, but in those days the distinction between classes was much
more marked than in these and the unfortunate artisan was immediately
clapped in jail.
To have struck a gentleman was bad enough, but the hot-headed
north-country blacksmith had raised his hand against the representative
of the sacred majesty of the King and that constituted high treason.
A jury of his fellows found him guilty and he was sentenced to be
hanged without delay. A gallows was quickly erected and the brawny
blacksmith, after receiving the ministrations of Mr. Hunt, was bidden
to mount. But the condemned man craved the usual privilege of making a
dying speech, and the request was granted. To the consternation of the
assembled colonists he declared that he was in possession of a plot
to betray the settlement to the Spaniards, and offered to divulge the
details on condition that his life should be spared. This was granted.
Indeed, it is difficult to understand how the colonists could have
entertained the design to hang almost the most useful man among them.
In order to appreciate the blacksmith’s revelation, we should
understand that although Spain had some years previously entered into
a treaty of peace with England, she remained keenly jealous of the
growing power of the latter nation and never ceased to employ underhand
methods to check it. Spanish spies were numerous in England and were
to be found among all classes, for some of the Catholic nobility were
not above allowing their religious zeal to outrun their sense of
patriotism. In particular was Spain concerned about the new ardor for
American colonization, of which one of the earliest manifestations was
the settlement at Jamestown, and it is more than probable that she had
sent several of her secret agents out with the expedition from England.
However that may be, Captain Kendall, erstwhile member of Council, was
the only one accused by the reprieved man. A search of the traitor’s
quarters disclosed papers that left no doubt as to his guilt.
The searching party had just returned to the Council room with the
incriminating documents when Captain Smith landed his party and entered
the fort to find the settlement in the greatest state of excitement.
He at once joined the Council and was in deliberation with the other
members when a man burst in upon them shouting:
“Captain Kendall hath seized the pinnace and is about sailing away in
her.”
The Councilmen rushed from the chamber without ceremony and made
towards the shore. There, sure enough, was the pinnace in mid-stream
and Captain Kendall hoisting her sail to catch a stiff breeze which
was blowing out of the river. The spectators stood open-mouthed in
speechless dismay, or bewailed the escape that they seemed to consider
accomplished. That was not the view of Captain Smith. He took in the
situation at a glance and as quickly decided upon counteraction.
Running back to the fort he had a gun trained on the pinnace in a trice
and shouted to its occupant to come ashore or stay and sink and to make
his decision instanter. One look at the determined face peering over
the touch-hole of the cannon sufficed the spy. He brought the boat
ashore and within the hour was shot.
XVI.
CAPTIVE TO THE INDIANS
Peace and plenty at the settlement--Smith sets out to discover the
source of the Chickahominy--He falls into an ambush and has a running
fight with two hundred warriors--Walks into a swamp and is forced to
surrender--Opechancanough the chief of the Pamaunkes--Smith is put to a
test of courage--He figures in a triumphal procession--Has suspicions
that he is being fattened for the table--He sends a timely warning to
Jamestown and diverts a projected attack by the Indians--Smith is dealt
with by the medicine men--A strange, wild ceremony enacted by hideously
painted and bedecked creatures.
The close of the year 1607 found the settlement in good circumstances.
The store was well stocked with maize, peas and beans, smoked venison
and fish, dried fruits and nuts. Warm coats and coverings had been made
from fur and feathers and a large quantity of wood had been cut and
stacked for fuel. There did not appear to be any danger of hardship
in Jamestown during the ensuing winter, although such a careless
and incompetent lot as our settlers were apt to create trouble for
themselves out of the most favorable conditions. There were only
three persons in authority--Ratcliffe, Martin and Smith. The first
was a man of mean ability and doubtful integrity. Martin, honest and
well-meaning, was a constant invalid and incapable of any degree of
activity. Smith was by this time recognized by all as the true leader
of the colony and the only man in it who could secure obedience and
maintain discipline. When he was in Jamestown, order prevailed and
work progressed. When he left, the settlers scarcely pretended to heed
the orders of the other members of the Council. Indeed, Percy and
Scrivener, who were known to be in full accord with Smith, had greater
influence with the rank and file than Ratcliffe or Martin. In fact the
north-country nobleman and the Londoner played the part of faithful
watchdogs during the Captain’s absence, and it was arranged that one at
least of them should always remain at Jamestown when Smith went abroad.
As we know, inaction was positively abhorrent to our hero and,
the settlement being now thoroughly quiet and quite prepared for
the winter, he determined on an expedition designed to trace the
Chickahominy to its source. Exploration was one of the chief duties
of the colonists and Smith, as he tells us, hoped that he might soon
discover “some matters of worth to encourage adventurers in England.”
The Indians along the river had been so friendly during his foraging
trip the month before that he felt safe in making the present journey,
but his military training and natural prudence would not permit him
to relax his usual precautions. But there was one important feature
of Indian tactics with which the American colonists had not become
familiar. They had yet to learn how large bodies of redskins would
watch a settlement, or track a party on the move, for days and weeks
without allowing their presence to be known. Ever since their landing,
the settlers had been under the sleepless eye of spies lying hidden in
grass or behind trees, and from the moment Captain Smith left Jamestown
his progress had been flanked by a body of savages moving stealthily
through the woods.
[Illustration: THE SETTLERS HAD BEEN UNDER THE SLEEPLESS EYE OF SPIES
LYING HIDDEN]
The barge proceeded fifty miles up the river without incident, but
presently the stream became too shallow to admit of its going farther.
A canoe was secured from a village in the vicinity, with two Indians to
paddle it. In this Smith decided to push on to the head of the river,
taking with him two of his men. The remainder he left in the barge,
instructing them not to go on shore and to keep a sharp lookout until
his return. Twenty miles onward the canoe travelled when an obstruction
of fallen trees brought the party to a halt. It seemed probable that
the source of the stream could be but a few miles beyond and Smith
determined to seek it on foot accompanied by one of the Indians. The
other and the two Englishmen he left in the canoe, cautioning them to
keep their matches burning, and at the first sign of danger to fire an
alarm.
Smith had hardly gone a mile through the forest when he was suddenly
startled by a shrill war-whoop. He could see no one and he had not
been warned of danger by his men as agreed. He concluded, therefore,
that they had been surprised and killed with the connivance of the
guide. Even as the thought flashed through his mind he grappled with
the Indian beside him and wrenched the bow from his grasp. It was done
in an instant, and as quickly he bound an arm of the savage to his own
with one of his garters. He had not completed the act when an arrow
half spent struck him on the thigh and a moment later he discerned two
dusky figures drawing their bows upon him. These disappeared at the
discharge of his pistol, and he was congratulating himself on having
routed them so easily when two hundred warriors, hideous in paint and
feathers, rose from the ground in front of him. At their head was
Opechancanough, the chief of the Pamaunkes.
The situation would have suggested surrender to the ordinary man.
There could be no use in Smith’s contending against such numbers and
to retreat to the river would be no less futile, since his men in the
canoe must have been captured. It was not, however, in our hero’s
nature to give up until absolutely obliged to do so. He could see
no possibility of escape but he proposed to make it as difficult as
possible for the savages to capture him. With this thought he placed
the guide before him as a shield and prepared, with a pistol in each
hand, to meet an onrush of the warriors. But they had no mind to rush
upon those fearful fire-spitting machines and kept off, discharging
their arrows from a distance that rendered them harmless. Seeing this,
Smith began to retire, keeping his face towards the enemy and holding
his human buckler in place. The Indians responded to this movement by
cautiously advancing and at the same time they sought to induce the
Englishman to lay down his arms, promising to spare his life in case he
should do so. Smith positively declined the proposition, insisting that
he would retain his weapons but promising not to make further use of
them if he should be permitted to depart in peace; otherwise he would
use them and kill some of his assailants without delay. The Indians
continuing to advance upon him, Smith let go both his pistols at them
and took advantage of the hesitation that followed to retreat more
rapidly.
Of course this combat was of the most hopeless character and our hero
must ultimately have been shot to death had not an accident suddenly
put an end to his opposition. Still stepping backward and dragging his
captive with him he presently walks into a deep morass and reaches the
end of his journey in more than one sense, for it is in this swamp that
the Chickahominy rises and he has fulfilled his undertaking to find
the head of the river. It was at once clear to the dauntless explorer
that he must yield, and that quickly, for he and his Indian were fast
sinking in the icy ooze of the bog. He threw his pistols away in token
of surrender and his savage adversaries rushed up and extricated him
from his perilous situation.
It was with feelings of curiosity and interest on either side that
Captain John Smith, the leader of the colonists, and Opechancanough,
the chief of the Pamaunkes, confronted each other. Both men of noble
bearing and fearless character, they must have been mutually impressed
at the first encounter. The chief’s erect and well-knit frame towered
above the forms of his attendant warriors and, together with the
dignity and intelligence of his countenance, marked him as a superior
being. In later years he played an important part in colonial history
and met a shameful death by assassination whilst a captive in the hands
of the authorities of Virginia.
Smith, whose presence of mind never deserted him, immediately addressed
himself to the task of diverting the chieftain’s mind from the recent
unpleasant circumstances and with that end in view produced his pocket
compass and presented it to the savage. The Pamaunke was readily
attracted by the mystery of the twinkling needle which lay in sight but
beyond touch, and when our hero showed how it pointed persistently to
the north, the wonder of the savage increased. Having thus excited the
interest of his captors, Smith went on to hold their attention with a
more detailed explanation of the uses of the instrument. He described,
in simple language and with the aid of signs, the shape and movement
of the earth and the relative positions of sun, moon and stars. This
strange astronomical lecture, delivered in the depths of the forest,
at length wearied the auditors and they prepared to set out on the
return journey, for they had no thought of killing the captive at that
time. He was a man of too much importance to be slain off-hand and
without learning the pleasure of the great Powhatan in the matter. They
did, however, tie him to a tree and make a pretence of drawing their
bows upon him but, as the paleface met the threatened death without
so much as blinking, the savages derived little satisfaction from the
amusement. Before taking the march, Smith was given food and led to a
fire, beside which lay the body of Emery, one of the men he had left in
the canoe, stuck full of arrows.
The return of Opechancanough to the settlement of the Pamaunkes was in
the nature of a triumphal procession. As the band approached a village
they gave vent to their piercing war-whoop and entered it chanting
their song of victory. In the midst of the procession walked the Chief
with Smith’s weapons borne before him and the captive, guarded by eight
picked warriors, following. A ceremonial dance took place before the
party dispersed to their various lodgings for the night. The captive
was well treated and had an excellent opportunity to study the natives
and their habits, for Opechancanough carried his prize on a circuit of
many villages before finally bringing him to the capital of Powhatan.
Nor did the peril of his situation prevent our hero from exercising his
usual keen powers of observation, for he has left us a minute account
of his strange experiences during these weeks of captive wandering.
Every morning bread and venison were brought to the Englishman in
sufficient quantity to have satisfied ten men. His captors never by
any chance ate with him and, remembering the reluctance of Eastern
peoples to partake of food with those whom they designed to harm,
this fact excited his apprehensions. These Indians were not cannibals
but he had not that consoling knowledge, and the insistent manner in
which they pressed meat upon him raised a disagreeable suspicion that
they were fattening him for the table. The thought of death--even
with torture--he could endure calmly, but the idea of being eaten
afterwards caused him to shudder with horror. We can not help thinking,
however, that the sinewy captain might have visited his enemies with a
posthumous revenge had they recklessly subjected him to such a fate and
themselves to such grave hazard of acute indigestion.