WHEREIN THE PEACE PIPE IS SMOKED
The sun had some time passed the meridian when the party saw through the
widening glades of the forest the gleam of a great river, and upon its
bank an Indian village of perhaps fifty wigwams, set in fields of maize
and tobacco, groves of mulberries, and tangles of wild grape. The
titanic laughter of Laramore and the drinking catch which Sir Charles
trolled forth at the top of a high, sweet voice had announced their
approach long before they pushed their horses into the open; and the
population of the village was come forth to meet them with song and
dance and in gala attire. The soft and musical voices of the young women
raised a kind of recitative wherein was lauded to the skies the virtue,
wisdom and power of the white father who had come from the banks of the
Powhatan to those of the Pamunkey to visit his faithful Chickahominies,
bringing (beyond doubt) justice in his hand. The deeper tones of the men
chimed in, and the mob of naked children, bringing up the rear of the
procession, added their shrill voices to the clamor, which, upon the
booming in of a drum and the furious shaking of the conjurer's rattle,
became deafening.
The chant came to an end, but the orchestra persevered. Ten girls left
the throng, formed themselves into line, and advancing one after the
other with a slow and measured motion, laid at the feet of the Governor
(who had dismounted) platters of parched maize, beans and chinquepins,
with thin maize cakes. They were succeeded by two stalwart youths
bearing, slung upon a pole between them, a large buck which they
deposited upon the ground before the white men. There came a tremendous
crash from the drum, and a discordant scream from a long pipe made of a
reed. The crowd opened, and from out their midst stalked a venerable
Indian.
"My fathers are welcome," he said gravely.
"Where is the half king?" demanded the Governor sharply. "I have no time
for these fooleries. Make them stop that infernal racket, and lead us to
your chiefs at once."
The Indian frowned at this cavalier reception of the village civilities,
but he waved his arm for the music to cease, and proceeded to conduct
the visitors through a lane made by two rows of dusky bodies and staring
faces, to a large wigwam in the centre of the village. Before this hut
stood a mulberry tree of enormous size, and seated upon billets of wood
in the shade of its spreading branches were the half king of the tribe
and the principal men of the village.
Their faces and the upper portions of their bodies were painted red--the
color of peace. They wore mantles of otter skins, and from their ears
depended strings of pearl and bits of copper. To the earring of the half
king were attached two small, green snakes that twisted and writhed
about his neck; his body had been oiled and then plastered with small
feathers of a brilliant blue, and upon his head was fastened a stuffed
hawk with extended wings.
To one side of this group stood a band of Indians, two score or more in
number, who differed in appearance and attire from the Chickahominies.
The iron had entered the soul of the latter; they had the bearing of a
subject race. Not so with the former. They were men of great size and
strength, with keen, fierce faces; their clothing was of the scantiest
possible description; ornaments they had, but of a peculiar
kind--necklaces and armlets of human bones, belts in which long tufts of
silk grass were interwoven with a more sinister fibre. They leaned on
great bows, and each sternly motionless figure looked a bronze Murder.
The chief of the Chickahominies raised his eyes from the ground as the
Governor and his party entered the circle. "My white fathers are
welcome," he said. "Let them be seated," and looked at the ground again.
The "white fathers" took possession of half a dozen billets, and waited
in silence the next move of the game. After a while, the half king
lifted from the log beside him a pipe with a stem a yard long and a bowl
in which an orange might have rested. An Indian, rising, went to where a
fire burned beneath a tripod, and returning with a live coal between his
fingers, calmly and leisurely lighted the pipe. The half king, still in
dead silence, lifted it to his lips, smoked for five minutes, and handed
it to the Indian, who bore it to the Governor. The Governor drew two or
three tremendous whiffs and passed it on to Colonel Verney, who in his
turn transferred it to the Surveyor-General. When the monster pipe had
been smoked by each of the white men, it went the round of the savages.
An Indian summer haze began to settle around the company. Through it the
patient gazing throng on the outskirts of the circle became shadowy,
impalpable; the face of the half king, now hidden in shifting smoke
wreaths, now darkly visible, like that of an eastern idol before whom
incense is burned. There was no sound save the wash of the waters below
them, the sighing of the wind, the drone of the cicadas in the trees.
The Indians sat like statues, but the white men were more restive. The
elders managed to restrain their impatience, but Laramore began to
whistle, and when checked by a look from the Governor, turned to Sir
Charles with a comically disconsolate face and a shrug of the shoulders.
Whereupon the latter drew from his pocket, dice and a handful of gold
pieces. Laramore's face brightened, and the two, screened from
observation by the Colonel's shoulders, which were of the broadest, fell
to playing noiselessly, cursing beneath their breath. Mr. Peyton leaned
his elbow on his knee, and his chin upon his hand, and allowed the
dreamy beauty of the afternoon to overflow a poetic soul.
At length, and when the patience of the whites was well-nigh exhausted,
the pipe came back to where the half king sat with lowered eyes and
impassive face. He laid it down beside him and rose to his feet,
gathering his mantle around him.
"My white fathers are welcome," he said in a sonorous voice. "Very
welcome to the Chickahominies is the face of the white father, who rules
in the place of the great white father across the sea. Their corn feast
is not yet, and yet my people rejoice. Our hearts were glad when my
father sent word that he would this day visit his faithful
Chickahominies. Our ears are open: let my father speak."
"I thank Harquip and his people for their welcome," said the Governor
coldly. "I have ever found them full of words. They profess loyalty to
the great white father beyond the seas, but they forget his good laws
and disobey his officers. I am weary of their words."
"Tell me," said Harquip, with a sombre face, "are they good laws which
drive us from our hunting grounds? Are they good laws which take from us
our maize fields? Does the great white father love to hear our women cry
for food? or is his heart Indian and longs for the sound of the war
whoop?"
"That is a threat," the Governor said sternly.
The Indian waved his hands. "Have we not smoked the peace pipe?" he said
coldly.
"Humph!" said the Governor then, "I am not come to listen to idle
complaints. Your grievances as to the land shall be laid before the next
Assembly, and it will pass judgment upon them--justly and righteously,
of course."
"Ugh!" said the Indian.
"I am here," continued the Governor, "to ask certain questions of the
Chickahominies, and to lay certain commands upon them which they will do
well to obey."
"Let my father speak," said the Indian calmly.
"Why did you shelter in your village the man with the red hair? Word was
sent to all the tribes, to the Nansemonds, the Wyanokes, the Cheskiacks,
the Paspaheghs, the Pamunkeys, the Chickahominies, that he should be
delivered up if they found him among them. Why did the Chickahominies
hide him?"
"In the night time, the red fox came to the village of the
Chickahominies and burrowed there. The eyes of my people were closed:
they saw him not."
"Humph! Why did you not carry your guns to the Court House when the
tribes were ordered to do so, a fortnight ago, and leave them there,
taking in exchange roanoke and fire-water?"
"My fathers asked much," said the half king gloomily. "My young men love
their sticks-that-speak. They love to see the deer go down before them
like maize before the hail storm. My fathers asked much."
"How many guns has your village?"
"Five," was the prompt reply.
"Humph! To-morrow you will deliver ten guns to the captain of the
trainband at the court-house. When do these men," pointing to the
stranger band, "return to their tribe?"
"They are our friends. They wait to dance the corn dance with us. Then
will they return to the Blue Mountains, and will tell the Ricahecrians
of the great things they have seen, and of the wisdom and power of my
white fathers."
"When is your corn feast?"
"Seven suns hence."
"They must be gone to-morrow."
The face of the half king darkened, and there was a slight, instantly
repressed movement among the circle of braves.
"My father asks very much," said the half king with emphasis.
"Not more than I can, and will, enforce," said the Governor sternly, and
getting to his feet as he spoke. "You, Harquip, shall be answerable to
me and to the Council for these men's departure to-morrow. If by sunrise
of the next morning their canoes are far up the river, headed for the
Blue Mountains, if by the same hour the guns which you have retained in
defiance of the express decree of the Assembly, be given up to those at
the Court House, then will I overlook your hiding the man with the red
hair, and the Assembly will listen to your complaints as to your hunting
grounds. Disobey, and my warriors shall come, each with a
stick-that-speaks in his hand. I have spoken," and the Governor beckoned
to the servants who held the horses.
The half king rose also. "My white father shall be obeyed," he said with
gloomy dignity. "He is stronger than we. Otee has been angry with the
red men for many years. He is gone over to the palefaces and helps their
god against the red men. My young men shall take their guns back to the
palefaces to-morrow, and shall bring back fire-water, and we will drink,
and forget that the days of Powhatan are past and that Otee fights
against us. Also when the Pamunkey is red with to-morrow's sunset, my
brothers from the Blue Mountains shall turn their faces homewards. My
father is content?"
"I am content," said the Governor.
"There is a thing which my brothers have to say to my white fathers,"
continued the half king. "Will they hear the great chief, Black Wolf?"
The Governor pulled out a great watch, glanced at it, and sighed
resignedly. "Gentlemen, have patience a moment longer. Harquip, I will
listen to the Ricahecrian until the shadow of that tree reaches the
fire. What says he?"
The half king spoke to the strangers in their own tongue--their ranks
broke, and an Indian stalked forward to the centre of the circle. His
tall, powerful, nearly nude figure was thickly tatooed with
representations of birds and beasts; he wore an armlet of a dull,
yellow metal ("Gold! by the Eternal!" ejaculated the Governor to Colonel
Verney); over his naked, deeply scarred breast hung three strings of
hideous mementoes of torture stakes; the belt that held tomahawk and
scalping knife was fringed with human hair; beside his streaming
scalplock was stuck the dried hand of an enemy. The face beneath was
cunning, relentless, formidable. He spoke in his own language, and the
half king translated.
"Black Wolf is a great chief. In his village in the Blue Mountains are
fifty wigwams--the largest is his. There are a hundred braves--he leads
the war parties. The Monacans run like deer, the hearts of the
Tuscaroras become soft, they hide behind their squaws! Black Wolf is a
great chief. Seven moons of cohonks have passed since the Ricahecrians
sharpened their hatchets and came down from the mountains to where the
waters of Powhatan fall over many rocks. There they met the palefaces.
The One above all was angry with his Ricahecrians. They saw for the
first time the guns of the palefaces. They thought they were gods who
spat fire at them and slew them with thunder. Their hearts became soft,
and they fled before the strange gods. Some the palefaces slew, and some
they took prisoner. Black Wolf saw his brother, the great chief Grey
Wolf, fall. The Ricahecrians went back to the Blue Mountains, and their
women raised the death chant for those whom they left stretched out on
the bank of the great river.... Seven times had the maize ripened, when
Black Wolf led a war party against a tribe that dwelt on the banks of
the Pamunkey where a fallen pine might span it. The waters ran red with
blood. When there were no more Monacans to kill, when the fires had
burnt low, Black Wolf looked down the waters of the Pamunkey. He had
heard that it ran into a great water that was salt, whose further bank a
man could not see. He had heard that the palefaces rode in canoes that
had wings, great and white. He thought he would like to know if these
things were true, or if they were but tales of the singing birds. To
find out, Black Wolf and his young men dipped their oars into the water
of the Pamunkey, and rowed towards the moonrise. In the morning they met
twenty men of the Pamunkeys in three canoes. The Pamunkeys lie deep in
the slime of the river; the eels eat them; their scalps shall hang
before the wigwams of Black Wolf and his young men. In the afternoon,
they drove their canoes into the reeds and went into the forest to find
meat. Black Wolf's arrow brought down a buck and they feasted.
Afterwards they caught a hunter who saw only the deer he was chasing.
They tied him to a tree and made merry with him. When he was dead, they
drew their boats from out the reeds, and rowed on down the broadening
river. The next day, at the time of the full sun-power, they came to
this village. Many years before the palefaces came, the Chickahominies
were a great nation, reaching to the foot of the Blue Mountains, and
then were they and the Ricahecrians friends and allies. When Black Wolf
showed them the totem of his tribe upon his breast, they welcomed him
and his young men. That was ten suns ago. Black Wolf and his young men
have seen many things. When they go back to the Blue Mountains, the
Ricahecrians will think they listen to singing birds. They will tell of
the great salt water, of the boats with wings, of the palefaces, of
their fields of maize and tobacco, of the black men who serve them, of
their temples, werowances and women. They will tell of the great white
father who rules, of his power, his wisdom, his open hand--"
"I thought it would come at last," quoth the Governor. "What does he
want, Harquip?"
"The Ricahecrian starts for his wigwam in the Blue Mountains to-morrow
as my father commands. He says: 'Shall I not return to my people with a
gift from the great white father in my hand?'"
The Governor laughed. "Let one of your young men go to the court-house.
I will give him an order for beads, for a piece of red cloth, and yes,
rat me! he shall have a mirror! I hope he is satisfied!"
The half king's eyes gleamed covetously. "My father gives large gifts.
He has indeed an open hand. But the Ricahecrian desires another thing.
He says: 'Seven years ago, at the falls of the Powhatan, Black Wolf saw
his brother fall before the stick-that-speaks of the palefaces. Grey
Wolf was a great chief. The village in the Blue Mountains mourned very
much. Nicotee, his squaw, went wailing into the land of shadows. His son
hath seen but seven moons of corn, but he dreams of the day when he
shall sharpen the hatchet against the slayers of his father.... The
Chickahominies have told Black Wolf that his brother was wounded and not
slain by the palefaces. They brought him captive to their great board
wigwams. There they tied him not to the torture stake; they knew that a
Ricahecrian laughs at the pine splinters. They tortured his spirit. They
made him a woman. The great chief of the Ricahecrians no longer throws
the tomahawk--the guns of the palefaces are about him. He dances the
corn dance no more--his back is bowed with burdens. His arrow brings
not down the fleeing deer, he tracks not the bear to his den--he toils
like a squaw in the fields of the palefaces. Black Wolf says to the
white father: "Give back the Sagamore to the Ricahecrians, to his son,
to the village by the falling stream in the Blue Mountains. Then will
the Ricahecrians be friends with the palefaces forever." To-morrow Black
Wolf and his young men row towards the sunset; let the captive chief be
in their midst. This is the gift which Black Wolf asks of his white
fathers. He has spoken.'"
In the midst of a dead silence the half king took his seat and studied
the ground. The Chickahominies, squatted round the circle, stirred not a
finger, and the outer row of spectators, motionless against a background
of interlacing branches patched with vivid blue, seemed a procession in
tapestry. The Ricahecrians and their formidable chief maintained a stony
gloom. Whatever interest they felt in the fate of their captive chief
was carefully concealed. The sun, now hanging, broad and red, low in the
heavens might have been the Gorgon's head and the whole village staring
at it.
The Governor began to laugh. Sir Charles chimed in musically and
Laramore followed suit. The Surveyor-General frowned, but the Colonel,
after one or two attempts at sobriety of demeanor, succumbed, and the
trio became a quartette. The glades of the forest rang to the jovial
sound--it was as though there were enchantment in the golden afternoon,
or in the ring of dark and frowning countenances before them, for they
laughed as though they would never stop. Even the servants at the
horses' heads were infected, and laughed at they knew not what.
The Surveyor-General lost patience. "I think the Jamestown weed groweth
in these woods," he said dryly.
The Governor pulled himself together. "Faith! I believe you are right!"
he said airily. "But rat me! if the impudence of the varlets be not the
most amusing thing since the Quaker's plea for toleration!"
"The amusement seems to be on our side," said the Surveyor-General.
The Governor cast a careless glance in the direction indicated by the
other. "Pshaw! a fit of the sulks! They will get over it. Is this
precious captive the giant whom I have seen at Rosemead, Major
Carrington?"
"Not so, your Excellency. My man is a Susquehannock."
"I believe I may lay claim to the fellow, Sir William," said the
Colonel, wiping his eyes.
"Is he the Indian who was whipt the other day?" asked Sir Charles,
taking snuff.
"For stealing fire-water--yes."
The Governor began to laugh again. "Of course you will release the
rascal, Colonel? The Blue Mountains threaten war if you do not. Fling
yourself into the breach, and so prevent a 'scandal to the community and
a menace to the State,' to quote your words of this morning. Consistency
is a jewel, Dick the Peacemaker. Wherefore let the savage go."
"I'll be d--d if I do!" cried the Colonel.
The Governor, shaking with laughter, got to his feet. At a signal his
groom brought up his horse and held the stirrup for him to mount. His
Excellency swung himself into the saddle and gathered the reins into his
gauntleted hands; the remainder of the company, too, got to horse. The
Governor's steed, a fiery, coal black Arabian, danced with impatience.
"Selim scents a fray!" cried his Excellency. "Come on, gentlemen! 'T
will be sunset before we reach that sweet piece of earth behind Verney's
orchard."
The half king rose from his seat, took three measured strides, and stood
side by side with the Ricahecrian chief.
"My white father will give to the Ricahecrian the gift he asks?"
A gust of passion took the Governor. "No!" he thundered, turning in his
saddle. "The Ricahecrian may go to the devil and the Blue Mountains
alone!" He struck spurs into his horse's sides. "Gentlemen, we waste
time!"
The Arabian dashed down one of the winding glades of the forest; the
remainder of the party spurred their horses into the mad gallop known as
the "planter's pace," and in an instant the whole cavalcade had whirled
out of sight. A burst of laughter, made elfin by distance, came back to
the village on the banks of the Pamunkey, then all was quiet again. The
gold-laced, audacious company had vanished like a troop of powerful
enchanters, leaving behind them a sullen throng of native genii, kept
down by a Solomon's Seal which is _not_ always unbreakable.
Something stirred in the midst of the great mulberry tree, a tree so
vast and leafy that it might have hidden many things. A man swung
himself down with a lithe grace from limb to limb, and finally dropped
into the circle of Indians who stood or sat in a sombre stillness which
might mean much or little. Only on the outskirts the crowd of women,
children and youths, had commenced a low, monotonous, undefined noise
which had in it something sinister, ominous. It was like the sound, dull
and heavy, of the ground swell that precedes the storm. The man who
dropped from the tree was Luiz Sebastian, and his appearance seemed in
no degree to surprise the Indians. There followed a short and
sententious conversation between the mulatto, the half king and the
Ricahecrian chief. Beside the half king lay the still smoking peace
pipe. When the colloquy was ended, he raised it. At a signal an Indian
brought water in a gourd, and into it the half king plunged the glowing
bowl. The fire went out in a cloud of hissing steam. The sound of the
ground swell became louder and more threatening.