visited them in Jamestown. Once she stole away through the woods and
told her English friends that Powhatan and his warriors were going to
attack them. Then she stole back again. When the Indians came they found
the English ready, and concluded to defer their attack. Later, after she
had grown up, she was taken prisoner and held in Jamestown as a hostage
to make her father quit threatening the English. While there a young
planter named John Rolfe fell deeply in love with her, and she loved him
warmly in return.
In the end Pocahontas became a Christian and was baptized at Jamestown
under the name of Rebecca. Then she and John Rolfe were married and went
to live in England, where she was known as the "Lady Rebecca" and
treated as if she were indeed a princess. She met John Smith once more,
and was full of joy at sight of her "father," as she called him. But
when he told her that she must not call him that, and spoke to her very
respectfully as Lady Rebecca, she covered her face with her hands and
began to weep. She had always called him father, she said, and he had
called her child, and she meant to do so still. They had told her he was
dead, and she was very glad to learn that this was false, for she loved
him as a father and would always do so.
That was her last meeting with Captain Smith. In less than a year
afterward she was taken sick and died, just as she was about to return
to her beloved Virginia.
_THE INDIAN MASSACRE IN VIRGINIA._
Friday, the 22d of March, of the year 1622, dawned brightly over a
peaceful domain in Virginia. In the fifteen years that had passed since
the first settlers landed and built themselves homes at Jamestown the
dominion of the whites had spread, until there were nearly eighty
settlements, while scattered plantations rose over a space of several
hundred square miles. Powhatan, the Indian emperor, as he was called,
had long shown himself the friend of the whites, and friendly relations
grew up between the new-comers and the old owners of the soil that
continued unbroken for years.
Everywhere peace and tranquillity now prevailed. The English had settled
on the fertile lands along the bay and up the many rivers, the musket
had largely given place to the plough and the sword to the sickle and
the hoe, and trustful industry had succeeded the old martial vigilance.
The friendliest intercourse existed between the settlers and the
natives. These were admitted freely to their houses, often supplied with
fire-arms, employed in hunting and fishing, and looked upon as faithful
allies, many of whom had accepted the Christian faith.
But in 1618 the mild-tempered Powhatan had died, and Opechancanough, a
warrior of very different character, had taken his place as chief of the
confederacy of tribes. We have met with this savage before, in the
adventurous career of Captain John Smith. He was a true Indian leader,
shrewd, cunning, cruel in disposition, patient in suffering, skilled in
deceit, and possessed of that ready eloquence which always had so strong
an influence over the savage mind. Jealous of the progress of the
whites, he nourished treacherous designs against them, but these were
hidden deep in his savage soul, and he vowed that the heavens should
fall before he would lift a hand in war against his white friends. Such
was the tranquil and peaceful state of affairs which existed in Virginia
in the morning of March 22, 1622. There was not a cloud in the social
sky, nothing to show that the Indians were other than the devoted allies
and servants of the whites.
On that morning, as often before, many of the savages came to take their
breakfast with their white friends, some of them bringing deer, turkeys,
fish, or fruit, which, as usual, they offered for sale. Others of them
borrowed the boats of the settlers to cross the rivers and visit the
outlying plantations. By many a hearth the pipe of peace was smoked, the
hand of friendship extended, the voice of harmony raised.
Such was the aspect of affairs when the hour of noontide struck on that
fatal day. In an instant, as if this were the signal of death, the scene
changed from peace to terror. Knives and tomahawks were drawn and many
of those with whom the savages had been quietly conversing a moment
before were stretched in death at their feet. Neither sex nor age was
spared. Wives were felled, weltering in blood, before the eyes of their
horrified husbands. The tender infant was snatched from its mother's
arms to be ruthlessly slain. The old, the sick, the helpless were struck
down as mercilessly as the young and strong. As if by magic, the savages
appeared at every point, yelling like demons of death, and slaughtering
all they met. The men in the fields were killed with their own hoes and
hatchets. Those in the houses were murdered on their own hearth-stones.
So unlooked-for and terrible was the assault that in that day of blood
three hundred and forty-seven men, women, and children fell victims to
their merciless foes. Not content with their work of death, the savage
murderers mutilated the bodies of their victims in the most revolting
manner and revelled shamelessly in their crimes.
Yet with all their treacherous rage, they showed themselves cowardly.
Wherever they were opposed they fled. One old soldier, who had served
under Captain John Smith, was severely wounded by his savage assailants.
He clove the skull of one of them with an axe, and the others at once
took to flight. In the same way a Mr. Baldwin, whose wife lay bleeding
from many wounds before his eyes, drove away a throng of murderers by
one well-aimed discharge from his musket. A number of fugitive settlers
obtained a few muskets from a ship that was lying in a stream near
their homes, and with these they routed and dispersed the Indians for a
long distance around.
The principal settlement, that of Jamestown, was a main point for the
proposed Indian assault. Here the confidence and sense of security was
as great as in any of the plantations, and only a fortunate warning
saved the settlers from a far more terrible loss. One of the young
converts among the Indians, moved by the true spirit of his new faith,
warned a white friend of the deadly conspiracy, and the latter hastened
to Jamestown with the ominous news. As a result, the Indian murderers on
reaching there found the gates closed and the inhabitants on the alert.
They made a demonstration, but did not venture on an assault, and
quickly withdrew.
Such was the first great Indian massacre in America, and one of the most
unexpected and malignant of them all.
It was the work of Opechancanough, who had laid his plot and organized
the work of death in the most secret and skilful manner. Passing from
tribe to tribe, he eloquently depicted their wrongs, roused them to
revenge, pointed out the defenceless state of the whites, and worked on
their passions by promises of blood and rapine. A complete organization
was formed, the day and hour were fixed, and the savages of Virginia
waited in silence and impatience for the time in which they hoped to rid
the land of every white settler on its soil and win back their old
domain.
While they did not succeed in this, they filled the whole colony with
terror and dismay. The planters who had survived the attack were hastily
called in to Jamestown, and their homes and fields abandoned, so that of
the eighty recent settlements only six remained. Some of the people were
bold enough to refuse to obey the order, arming their servants, mounting
cannon, and preparing to defend their own homes. One of these bold
spirits was a woman. But the authorities at Jamestown would not permit
this, and they were all compelled to abandon their strongholds and unite
for the general defence.
The reign of peace was at an end. A reign of war had begun. The savages
were everywhere in arms, with Opechancanough at their head. The
settlers, as soon as the first period of dread had passed, marched
against them, burning for revenge, and relentless slaughter became the
rule. It was the first Indian war in the British settlements, but was of
the type of them all. Wherever any Indian showed himself he was
instantly shot down. Wherever a white man ventured within reach of the
red foe he was slain on the spot or dragged off for the more dreadful
death by torture. There was no truce, no relaxation; it was war to the
knife.
Only when seed-time was at hand did necessity demand a temporary pause
in hostilities. The English now showed that they could be as treacherous
and lacking in honor as their savage enemy. They offered peace to the
savages, and in this way induced them to leave their hiding-places and
plant their fields. While thus engaged the English rushed suddenly upon
them and cut down a large number, including some of the most valiant
warriors and leading chiefs.
From that time on there was no talk or thought of peace. Alike the
plantation buildings of the whites and the villages of the Indians were
burned. The swords and muskets of the whites, the knives and tomahawks
of the red men, were ever ready for the work of death. For ten years the
bloody work continued, and by the end of that time great numbers of the
Indians had been killed, while of the four thousand whites in Virginia
only two thousand five hundred remained.
Exhaustion at length brought peace, and for ten years more the reign of
blood ceased. Yet the irritation of the Indians continued. They saw the
whites spreading ever more widely through the land and taking possession
of the hunting-grounds without regard for the rights of the native
owners, and their hatred for the whites grew steadily more virulent.
Opechancanough was now a very aged man. In the year 1643 he reached the
hundreth year of his age. A gaunt and withered veteran, with shrunken
limbs and a tottering and wasted form, his spirit of hostility to the
whites burned still unquenched. Age had not robbed him of his influence
over the tribes. His wise counsel, the veneration they felt for him, the
tradition of his valorous deeds in the past, gave him unquestioned
control, and in 1643 he repeated his work of twenty-one years before,
organizing another secret conspiracy against the whites.
It was a reproduction of the former plot. The Indians were charged to
the utmost secrecy. They were bidden to ambush the whites in their
plantations and settlements and at a fixed time to fall upon them and to
spare none that they could kill. The conspiracy was managed as skilfully
as the former one. No warning of it was received, and at the appointed
hour the work of death began. Before it ended five hundred of the
settlers were ruthlessly slain. They were principally those of the
outlying plantations. Wherever the settlers were in a position for
effective resistance, the savages were routed and driven back to their
forest lurking-places.
Their work of death done, the red-skinned murderers at once dispersed,
knowing well that they could not withstand their foes in open fight. Sir
William Berkeley, the governor of Virginia, hastily called out a strong
force of armed men and marched to the main seat of the slaughter. No
foes were to be found. The Indians had vanished in the woodland
wilderness. It was useless to pursue them farther on foot, and the
governor continued the pursuit with a troop of cavalry, sweeping onward
through the tribal confines.
The chief result of the expedition was the capture of the organizer of
the conspiracy, the hoary leader of the tribal confederacy, who was
found near his place of residence on the Pamunky. Too feeble for hasty
flight, his aged limbs refusing to bear him and his weakened sight to
aid him, he was easily overtaken by the pursuers, and was carried back
in triumph to Jamestown, as the very central figure of Indian hostility.
It was the clement purpose of the governor to send the old chief to
England as a royal captive, there to be held in honorable custody until
death should close his career. But this purpose was not to be achieved.
A death of violence awaited the old Indian chieftain. A wretched fellow
of the neighborhood, one of the kind who would not have dared to face an
Indian in arms, slipped secretly behind the famous veteran and shot him
with his musket through the back, inflicting a deadly wound.
Aged and infirm as Opechancanough was, the wound was not instantly
mortal. He lingered for a few days in agonizing pain. Yet to the last
moment of his life his dignity of demeanor was preserved. It was
especially shown when a crowd of idlers gathered in the room to sate
their unfeeling curiosity on the actions of the dying chief.
His muscles had grown so weak that he could not raise his eyelids
without aid, and, on hearing the noise around him, he motioned to his
attendants to lift his lids that he might see what it meant. When he saw
the idle and curious crowd, a flash of wounded pride and just resentment
stirred his vanished powers. Sending for the governor, he said, with a
keen reproach that has grown historic, "Had I taken Sir William Berkeley
prisoner, I would not have exposed him as a show to my people." Closing
his eyes again, in a short time afterward the Indian hero was dead.
With the death of Opechancanough, the confederacy over which Powhatan
and he had ruled so long came to an end. It was now without a head, and
the associated tribes fell apart. How long it had been in existence
before the whites came to Virginia we cannot say, but the tread of the
white man's foot was fatal to the Indian power, and as that foot
advanced in triumph over the land the strength of the red men everywhere
waned and disappeared.
_THE GREAT REBELLION IN THE OLD DOMINION._
The years ending in "'76" are remarkable in America as years of struggle
against tyranny and strife for the right. We shall not soon forget the
year 1776, when the famous rebellion of the colonies against Great
Britain reached its climax in the Declaration of Independence. In 1676,
a century before, there broke out in Virginia what was called the "Great
Rebellion," a famous movement for right and justice. It was brought
about by the tyranny of Sir William Berkeley, the governor of the colony
of Virginia, as that of 1776 was by the tyranny of George III., the King
of England. It is the story of the first American rebellion that we are
about to tell.
Sir William had ruled over Virginia at intervals for many years. It was
he who took old Opechancanough prisoner after the massacre of 1643. In
1676 he was again governor of the colony. He was a man of high temper
and revengeful disposition, but for a long time he and the Virginians
got along very well together, for the planters greatly liked the grand
style in which he lived on his broad estate of "Green Springs," with his
many servants, and rich silver plate, and costly entertainments, and
stately dignity. They lived much that way themselves, so far as their
means let them, and were proud of their governor's grand display.
But what they did not like was his arbitrary way of deciding every
question in favor of England and against Virginia, and the tyranny with
which he enforced every order of the king. Still less were they pleased
with the fact that, when the Indians in the mountain district began to
attack the settlers, and put men, women, and children to death, the
governor took no steps to punish the savage foe, and left the people to
defend themselves in the best way they could. A feeling of panic like
that of the older times of massacre ensued. The exposed families were
forced to abandon their homes and seek places of refuge. Neighbors
banded together for work in the field, and kept their arms close at
hand. No man left his door without taking his musket. Even Jamestown was
in danger, for the woodland stretched nearly to its dwellings, and the
lurking red men, stealing with noiseless tread through the forest
shades, prowled from the mountains almost to the sea, like panthers in
search of prey.
At that time there was a man of great influence in Virginia, named
Nathaniel Bacon. He was a new-comer, who had been in America less than
three years, but he had bought a large estate and had been made a member
of the governor's council. He was a handsome man and a fine speaker,
and these and other qualities made him very popular with the planters
and the people.
Bacon's plantation was near the Falls of the James River, where the city
of Richmond now stands. Here his overseer, to whom he was much attached,
and one of his servants were killed by the Indians. Highly indignant at
the outrage, Bacon made up his mind that something must be done. He
called a meeting of the neighboring planters, and addressed them hotly
on the delay of the governor in coming to their defence. He advised them
to act for themselves, and asked if any of them were ready to march
against the savages, and whom they would choose as their leader. With a
shout they declared that they were ready, and that he should lead.
This was very much like taking the law into their own hands. If the
governor would not act, they would. As a proper measure, however, Bacon
sent to the governor and asked for a commission as captain of the force
of planters. The governor received the demand in an angry way. It hurt
his sense of dignity to find these men acting on their own account, and
he refused to grant a commission or to countenance their action. He went
so far as to issue a proclamation, in which he declared that all who did
not return to their homes within a certain time would be held as rebels.
This so scared the planters that the most of them went home, only
fifty-seven of them remaining with their chosen leader.
With this small force Bacon marched into the wilderness, where he met
and defeated a party of Indians, killing many of them, and dispersing
the remainder. Then he and his men returned home in triumph.
By this time the autocratic old governor was in a high state of rage. He
denounced Bacon and his men as rebels and traitors, and gathered a force
to punish them. But when he found that the whole colony was on Bacon's
side he changed his tone. He had Bacon arrested, it is true, when he
came to Jamestown as a member of the House of Burgesses, but this was
only a matter of form, to save his dignity, and when the culprit went
down on one knee and asked pardon of God, the king, and the governor,
Berkeley was glad enough to get out of his difficulty by forgiving him.
But for all this fine show of forgiveness Bacon did not trust the old
tyrant, and soon slipped quietly out of Jamestown and made his way home.
He was right; the governor was making plans to seize him and hold him
prisoner; he had issued secret orders, and Bacon had got away in good
time. Very soon he was back again, this time at the head of four hundred
planters. As they marched on, others joined them, and when they came
into the old town, and drew up on the State-house green, there were six
hundred of them, horse and foot.
The sight of this rebel band threw old Berkeley into a towering rage. He
rushed out from the State-house at the head of his council, and,
tearing open his ruffled shirt, cried out, in a furious tone:
"Here, shoot me! 'fore God, fair mark; shoot!"
"No," said Bacon, "may it please your honor, we will not hurt a hair of
your head, nor of any other man's. We are come for a commission to save
our lives from the Indians, which you have so often promised; and now we
will have it before we go."
Both men were in a violent rage, walking up and down and gesticulating
like men distracted. Soon Sir William withdrew with his council to his
office in the State-house. Bacon followed, his hand now touching his hat
in deference, now his sword-hilt as anger rose in his heart. Some of his
men appeared at a window of the room with their guns cocked and ready,
crying out, "We will have it; we will have it."
This continued till one of the burgesses came to the window and waved
his handkerchief, calling out, "You shall have it; you shall have it."
Hearing this, the men drew back and rested their guns on the ground and
Bacon left the chamber and joined them. The matter ended in Bacon's
getting his commission as general and commander-in-chief, while an act
was passed by the legislature justifying him in all he had done, and a
letter to the same effect was written to the king and signed by the
governor, council, and assembly. Bacon had won in all he demanded.
His triumph was only temporary. While he was invading the country of
the Pamunky Indians, killing many of them and destroying their towns,
Berkeley repudiated all he had done. He proclaimed Bacon a rebel and
traitor and issued a summons for the train-bands to the number of twelve
hundred men, bidding them pursue and put down Bacon the rebel. The men
assembled, but when they heard for what they were wanted they broke out
into a shout of "Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!" and dispersed again, leaving the
old tyrant and his attendants alone. News of these events quickly
reached Bacon and his men in the field. He at once turned and marched
back.
"While I am hunting wolves which are destroying innocent lambs," he
exclaimed, indignantly, "here are the governor and his men after me like
hounds in full cry. I am like one between two millstones, which will
grind me to powder if I do not look to it."
As he came near Jamestown the governor fled, crossing Chesapeake Bay to
Accomac, and leaving Bacon in full possession. A new House of Burgesses
was called into session and Bacon's men pledged themselves not to lay
down their arms. Sir William had sent to England for soldiers, they
said, and they would stand ready to fight these soldiers, as they had
fought the governor. A paper to this effect was drawn up and signed,
dated August, 1676. It was the first American declaration of
independence.
[Illustration: JAMESTOWN RUIN.]
The tide of rebellion was now in full flow. The movement against the
Indians had, by the unwarranted behavior of the governor, been converted
into civil war, nearly the whole colony supporting Bacon and demanding
that the tyrant governor should be deposed.
But, while this was going on, the Indians took to the war-path again,
and Bacon at once marched against them, leaving Sir William to his own
devices. His first movement was against the Appomattox tribe, which
dwelt on the river of the same name, where Petersburg now stands. Taking
them by surprise, he burned their town, killed many of them, and
dispersed the remainder. Then he marched south and attacked other
tribes, driving them before him and punishing them so severely as quite
to cure them of all desire to meddle with the whites.
From that time forward Eastern Virginia was free from Indian troubles,
and Bacon was looked upon as the deliverer of the colony. But lack of
provisions forced him to return and disband his forces, only a few men
remaining with him. He soon learned that he had a worse enemy than the
Indians to fight at home. Some of his leading supporters in Jamestown,
Lawrence, Drummond, Hansford, and others, came hastily to his camp,
saying that they had been obliged to flee for safety, as Sir William was
back again, with eighteen ships in the river and eight hundred men he
had gathered in the eastern counties.
The affair had now come to a focus. It was fight, or yield and be
treated as a traitor. Bacon resolved to fight, and he found many to back
him in it, for he soon had a force collected. How many there were we do
not know. Some say only one hundred and fifty, some say eight hundred;
but however that be, he marched with them on Jamestown, bringing his
Indian captives with him. Rebels and Royalists the two parties were now
called; people and tyrant would have been better titles, for Bacon was
in arms for the public right and had the people at his back.
The old governor was ready. While in Accomac he had taken and hung two
friends of Bacon, who had gone there to try and capture him. He asked
for nothing better than the chance to serve Bacon in the same way. His
ships, armed with cannon, now lay in the river near the town. A
palisade, ten paces wide, had been built across the neck of the
peninsula in which Jamestown stood. Behind it lay a strong body of armed
men. Berkeley felt that he had the best of the situation, and was
defiant of his foes.