BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS
Great trees, drooping from the banks of the Pamunkey, shadowed into inky
blackness the water below them; but between the lines of darkness slept
a charmed sheet, glassy, fiery red from the sunken sun. Three boats
moved silently and swiftly up the crimson stream, until, rounding a low
point, they came upon an Indian village, nestling amidst vines and
mulberries, and girt with a green ribbon of late maize, when they swung
round from the middle stream and made for the bank. They were rowed by
stalwart servants, and in the foremost sat the master of Verney Manor
and Sir Charles Carew. In the second boat was the Surveyor-General and
Dr. Anthony Nash, and in the third the overseer, and among the rowers of
this last was Godfrey Landless.
As they neared the bank their occupants saw that the usual sleepy
evening stillness was not upon the village above them. A shrill sound of
wailing from women and children rose and fell through the gathering
dusk, and in the open space round which the bark wigwams were built,
dark figures moved to and fro in a kind of measured dance, slow and
solemn, and marked at intervals by dismal cries. As the boats touched
the shore and the white men sprang out, a boy, stationed as scarecrow
upon the usual scaffold in the midst of the maize fields, raised a
shrill whoop of warning which brought the lamentation of the women and
the dance of the men to a dead stop. The latter rushed down to the river
side, brandishing their weapons, and yelling; but there seemed little
strength in the arms that flourished the tomahawk; the voices sounded
cracked and shrill, and the weak fury and noise died away when a nearer
approach showed the newcomers to be white. A very aged man, with a face
all wrinkles and a chest all scars, stepped from out the throng which
was now augmented by the women and children.
"My white fathers are far from the salt water. Seldom do the Pamunkeys
see their faces coming up the narrowing stream or through the forest.
They are welcome. Let my fathers tarry and my women shall bring them
chinquepin cakes and tuckahoe, pohickory and succotash, and my young
men--"
He paused, and a low wailing murmur like the sound of the wind in the
forest rose from the women.
"Where are your young men, your braves?" demanded the Surveyor-General.
"Here are only the very old and the very young--they who have not seen a
Huskanawing."
The Indian pointed to the crimson flood below. "There are my young men;
there are my braves. Among them were a werowance and a sagamore. They
two have strings of pearl thicker than the stem of the grape vine; they
are painted with puccoon, and the feathers of the bluebird and the
red-bird are upon them. They have hills of hatchets and of arrow heads,
sharp and clean, and very much tobacco, and they sing and dance in the
great wigwam of Okee, in the home of Kiwassa, in the land beyond the
setting sun. But the rest--they lie deep in the slime of the river; it
is red with their blood; their wives wail for them; their village is
left desolate.... When the time of the full sun power was past the
smoking of three pipes, came up the Pamunkey, swift as the swallow that
skims its waters, the Ricahecrian dogs who, passing down towards the
salt water twelve suns ago, slew the young men of a village that lieth
below us. My young men went out against them, but a cloud came up and
Kiwassa hid his face behind it. They came not back, their boats were
sunk, the Ricahecrians laughed and went their way, swift as swallows."
"Ask him," said the Colonel huskily.
"Had they a captive with them--a woman, a paleface woman?" demanded
Carrington.
"With hair like the sunshine and a white robe. And a man, the color of
the falling sycamore leaf, one of those who work in the fields of the
white fathers. The arms of the woman were bound, but his were not--he
fought with the Ricahecrian dogs."
"Luiz Sebastian!" said the overseer with a muttered oath. "I thought as
much when we found that he was not with the drunken scoundrels whom we
took before they reached the Point. And we had better have killed him
than all the rest put together, for he is the devil incarnate."
"Let us get on!" Sir Charles cried impatiently. "We waste time when
every moment is precious."
The Colonel, who had been speaking to the Surveyor-General, came over to
him. All the jovial life and fire was gone from his face, his eyes were
haggard and bloodshot, he stooped like an old man, but the voice with
which he spoke was steady and authoritative as ever.
"Ay," he said. "We must on at once, but not all of us. Richard Verney
must not forget the danger of the state, in the danger of his child, nor
let his private quarrel take precedence. I had hoped when we left the
Manor at dawn to have been up with the villains ere now, but it was not
to be. This will be a long chase and a stern one, and how it will end
God only knows. We go into a wilderness from which we may never return.
Behind us in the settlement is turmoil and danger, a conspiracy to be
put down, the Chickahominies to be subdued, the strong hand needed
everywhere. Every man should be at his post, and Richard Verney,
Lieutenant of his shire, and Colonel of the trainbands, is many leagues
from the danger which threatens the colony, and with his face to the
west. He must on, but Major Carrington must go back to do his duty to
the King, and Anthony Nash must not desert his flock. And you, Woodson,
I send back to the Manor to do what you can to repair the havoc there,
and to protect Mistress Lettice. My kinsman will go on with me; is it
not so, Charles?"
"Assuredly, sir," said the baronet quietly.
"I'd a sight rather go with your Honor," growled the overseer, "but I'll
do my best both by the plantation and by Mistress Lettice, and I look
for your Honor and Mistress Patricia back in no time at all. We are to
take the small boat, I reckon?"
"Yes, with four men to row you. We will press a boat and a crew from the
next Pamunkey village. Pick out your men, and let us be gone."
"Humph! There's one that I reckon had best go back with us. Does your
Honor know that you've got with you the head of all this d--d
Oliverian business, the man that Trail swore was their general--that
they all obeyed as though he were Oliver himself?"
"No! How came he here?" cried the master, staring at Landless, who stood
at some distance from them with folded arms and compressed lips, gazing
steadily up the glowing reaches of the river.
"Found him in the boat when I stepped into it myself. I didn't say
anything then, for we were in a mortal hurry and he's a good rower. But
I reckon your Honor will send him back with me? He'll give you the slip
the first chance he gets."
"Of course he must go back," the master said peremptorily. "He should
never have been brought thus far. A dozen or so of these Oliverians must
swing as an example to the rest, and he, their leader, and a felon to
boot, at their head. The service he did us last night can not help
him--he fought for his own life. The Governor has sworn to hang him, and
I am accountable for his safe delivery at Jamestown. Bind him and take
him back with you, and send him at once to Jamestown under a strong
escort." He turned from the overseer to the two gentlemen who were to go
down the river. "Carrington, Anthony Nash, old friends, farewell--it may
be forever. Anthony, pray that I may find my child safe and spotless."
They embraced, and he wrung their hands, and, stepping hastily into the
boat, sank down and covered his face with his cloak. The
Surveyor-General stood with a pale and troubled face, and Dr. Anthony
Nash prayed aloud. The rowers took their places and the boat shot out
into the middle stream.
Landless, seeing the second boat filling, and supposing that the third
would receive its load in a moment, stepped towards it. As he passed the
overseer, standing a little to one side with two servants belonging to
Colonel Fitzhugh, a tenant of Colonel Verney, and an Indian from
Rosemead, Woodson put forth an arm and stopped him.
"No, no, my man," he said with a grim smile but with a watchful eye, and
nodding to the men to close in around them. "Your way's down, not up."
"What do you mean?" cried Landless, recoiling.
"I mean that the Doctor and the Major and I and these men go back to the
settlements to look after things there, and that you are going to renew
your acquaintance with Jamestown gaol."
For a moment Landless stood, turned to stone, within the other's grasp,
then with a cry he broke from him and rushed to the water's edge. The
boat containing the master had turned her head up stream and was beyond
call; in the second boat the men held the oars poised while Sir Charles,
with one foot upon the gunwale, gave a gravely courteous farewell to the
Surveyor-General and the divine.
"Sir Charles Carew!" cried Landless. "I pray you to take me with you!"
Without moving, Sir Charles looked at him coldly, a peculiar smile just
curling his lip.
"I remember a day," he said, "when you said that I might wait until
doomsday and not hear favor asked of me by you."
"You are not generous," Landless said slowly, "but I ask the favor. I
ask it on my knees. Let me go with you."
Sir Charles stepped into the boat and took the seat reserved for him. "I
regret," he said politely, "that it comports not with my duty as a
gentleman and an officer of the King to assist you in your very natural
endeavors to escape the gibbet. Push off, men."
The boat shot from the shore and up the darkening stream, hastening to
overtake its consort. Sir Charles raised his Spanish hat and fluttered a
lace handkerchief. "To a happier meeting, gentlemen!" The
Surveyor-General and the divine returned the salute, and stood in
silence watching the canoe with its brawny rowers and the slender,
elegant figure in the stern. It caught up with the Colonel's boat and
the two grew smaller and smaller, until they became mere black dots and
the dusk swallowed them up.
Landless watched them too with a face set like a stone. The overseer,
backed by two of the servants, approached him with caution, but there
was no need,--he submitted to be bound without a word, or struggle, or
change in the expression of his face. He turned mechanically towards the
boat, but the overseer plucked him back. "Not yet," he said. "We are all
dead beat, and we have not the need to hurry that have those who are
gone on. The Major's commander now, and he says sleep here a few hours.
I'll fasten you so that you can't get away, I promise ye! Fegs! it's a
pity that a man who can fight as you fought last night should have to
die a dog's death after all! But you've only yourself to thank for it."
The red glow died from the river like the scarlet from cooling iron, and
it lay dark and silent, dimly reflecting a myriad of stars. The sloping
bank, the maize fields, tobacco patch and mulberry grove, the plateau
upon which were ranged the wigwams of the Indians, the dark and endless
forest--all the wide, sombre earth--had their stars also--myriads on
myriads of fireflies, restlessly sparkling lanterns swung by legions of
fairies. There was no wind; the cataracts of wild grape descending from
the tops of the tallest trees stirred not a leaf; the pines were
soundless. But the whip-poor-wills wailed on, and once a catamount
screamed, and the deer, coming to a lick close by, made a trampling over
the fern.
Landless, tightly bound to a great bay tree with thongs of deerskin,
watched the night grow old with hard, despairing eyes. The stars paled
and the moon rose softly above the tree-tops, silvering the world
beneath. By her light he saw the little glade of which the tree to which
he was bound marked the centre, and the recumbent forms of those who
were to return to the settlements stretched on Indian mats laid upon the
short grass. Worn out with the toil of the day and the storm and stress
of the night before, they slumbered heavily. The watcher in their midst
thought, "If I could sleep!" and resolutely closed his eyes, but the
vision of a flying canoe and a brightness of golden hair, which had
vexed him, passing up the reaches of the river over and over and over
again, was with him still, and he opened them and raised them to the
stars, thinking, "She may be above them now."
How still it was! no air, no breath, no sound--the thongs, that, wound
many times around his body, bound him to the tree, fell at his feet, a
figure slipped from behind the trunk, laid a hand, in which was a knife
that gleamed in the moonlight, upon his arm, and whispering, "Follow,"
glided over the grass, past the sleepers and into the forest.
Swiftly but cautiously Landless went after it. The overseer lay within
ten feet of him; he passed him, passed the unconscious servants,
crossed a strip of moonlight, entered the shadow of a locust, and all
but stumbled over a man lying asleep beneath it. He recoiled, and a twig
snapped beneath his foot. The sleeper stirred, turned upon his side, and
opened his eyes. The moon, now high in the heavens, shone so brightly
that there was soft light even beneath the heavy branches of the trees,
and by this light his Majesty's Surveyor-General and his Majesty's
rebellious, convicted, and condemned servant recognized each other. For
one long minute they stared each at the other, then, without a word or
sign to denote that he was aware that aught stood between him and the
moonlight, Carrington lay down again, pillowed his head upon his arm and
closed his eyes. Landless was passing on with a light and steady step
and the ghost of a smile upon his lips when the apparently slumbering
figure put forth an arm and laid something long and dark across his
pathway. He glanced quickly around, but the Surveyor-General lay
motionless, with closed eyes. Stooping, he took up the object, which
proved to be a richly inlaid musket with flask and pouch. He paused
again, but no sign coming from the quietly breathing form on the grass
he lightly and silently left it and the tiny encampment and entered the
forest, where he found a dark figure leaning against a tree, waiting for
him. Without a word it moved forward into the dense shadow of the
forest, and in the same silence he followed it. They were now in thick
woods, moving beneath interlocking branches and a vast canopy of wild
grape that, stretching from the summit of one lofty tree to that of
another, formed a green and undulating roof upon which beat the
moonbeams that could not penetrate the close darkness of the world
below. They came to a small and sluggish stream, flowing without noise
between the towering trees, and stepping into the water, walked up it
for a long while with giant blacknesses on either hand and above them
the moon.
All this time the figure had stalked along before Landless without
speaking or turning its head, but now, the trees thinning, and they
coming upon a field of wild flax that lay fair and white beneath the
moon, it quitted the lazy stream, and turning upon Landless as he too
stepped upon the bank, showed him the bronze countenance and the
gigantic form of the Susquehannock to whom he had once done a kindness,
and with whom he had fought on such a night as this, in such a moonlight
space.
"Monakatocka, I thought it had been you," said Landless quietly.
With the never failing "Ugh!" the Indian took Landless's hand and with
it touched his own dark shoulder.
"I too am grateful, and with far more reason," said Landless smiling. "I
will be yet more so if you will bring me out upon the bank of the river
at some distance above yonder encampment."
"What will my brother do then?"
"I will go up the river."
"After the canoes in which sit the palefaces from whom my brother
flees?"
"After the canoe which those canoes pursue."
"If my brother wishes to take the warpath against the Algonquin dogs,"
said the Indian quietly, "he must not follow the Pamunkey, but the
Powhatan."
"They passed this village yesterday, going up the Pamunkey!" cried
Landless.
"A false trail. Let my brother come a little further and I will show
him."
He stepped in front of the white man, and moving rapidly across the
field of flax, dived into the forest again. Following the stream in its
windings they came to where it debouched into a wide and muddy creek,
which, in its turn, flowed into an expanse of water that lay like molten
silver beyond the fringe of trees.
"The Pamunkey!" exclaimed Landless.
The Indian nodded and led the way to a thicket of dwarf willow and alder
that grew upon the very brink of the creek.
"While the palefaces slept, Monakatocka was busy. Look!" he said,
parting the bushes and pointing.
Within the thicket, drawn up upon the sloping mud, were two large
canoes, quite empty save for a debris of broken oars.
Landless gasped. "How do you know them to be the same?"
The Indian stooped and pointed to dark stains. "Blood. They had wounded
among them. And this." He put something into the other's hand. Landless
looked at it, then thrust it into his bosom. "You are right. It is a
ribbon which the lady wore. But why have they left their boats, and
where are they?"
The Indian pointed to the side of the larger canoe. "The hatchets of the
Pamunkeys were sharp. They fought like real men. This canoe could go no
further. See, it is wet within--they had to ply the gourd very fast to
keep afloat so far. One canoe would not hold them all, so they hid both
here. They knew the palefaces would follow up the river, so they cared
not to stay upon its banks; the Pamunkeys, too, are their enemies. They
have gone through the forest towards the Powhatan. My brother cannot see
their trail, for the eyes of the palefaces are clouded, but Monakatocka
sees it."
Landless turned upon him. "Will Monakatocka go with me against the
Ricahecrians?"
"Monakatocka has dreamt of the village on the pleasant river where he
was born. The arm of the white men cannot reach him here, in these
woods, far from their wigwams and warriors and guns; it cannot pluck him
back to be beaten. He toils no more in their fields. He is a real man
again, a warrior of the long house, a chief of the Conestogas. Let my
white brother go with him, across the great rivers, through the forest,
until they come to the Susquehanna and the village of the Conestogas.
There will the maidens and the young men welcome Monakatocka with song
and dance, and my brother shall be welcome also and shall become a great
chief and shall take the warpath against the Algonquin and against the
paleface at the side of Monakatocka. In the Blue Mountains is Death. Let
us go to the pleasant river, to the hunting grounds of the Conestogas."
Landless shook his head. "My thanks and good wishes go with you, friend,
but my path lies towards the Blue Mountains. Farewell."
He put out his hand, but the Indian did not touch it. Instead, he
stooped and examined the ground about him with attention, then,
beckoning the other to follow, he moved rapidly and silently along the
border of the creek. Landless overtook him and laid his hand upon his
arm. "This is my path, but yours lies across the river, to the north."
"If my brother will not go with me, I will go with my brother," said the
Conestoga.