RUNNING THE GAUNTLET
"What hath happened?" Nautauquas called out to Parahunt, his brother,
when he caught up with him hastening to the river.
"Word hath come by a runner that one of the tribes from the Chickahominy
villages hath fallen upon a party of Massawomekes and hath vanquished
them. Even now they are approaching with the prisoners."
In passing the front of his wigwam Nautauquas threw down the carcass of
the deer, then ran on to join the ever increasing crowd of braves and
children on the river bank.
Pocahontas too had mingled in the throng, and so Cleopatra and the
squaws in the lodge had not noticed her absence, thinking when they saw
her that she had been roused from sleep in the early dawn as they had
been.
It was now almost light. Far down the river six large dugouts were
approaching. But even that sight was not sufficient to make the
onlookers forget the fact that the sun was rising and must be greeted
with the customary ceremony. Two chiefs, whose duty it was, took from
their pouches handfuls of dried uppowoc (tobacco), and each turning away
from the other, walked in a large half-circle, scattering the uppowoc
upon the ground, until when they met a brown ring had been formed.
Within this braves and squaws hurried to seat themselves. With uplifted
eyes and outstretched hands they greeted the Sun who had come back to
them to warm their fields and to draw their young corn upright.
By the time this morning ceremony was over the dugouts were almost at
the beach. There was now a great shouting and yelling from shore to
boats and from boats to shore, and Pocahontas slipped into a thicket of
bushes on to a higher point of the bank where she could be alone to
watch the landing. She clapped her hands as their friends, the stalwart
Chickahominies, leaped ashore, twenty to each huge dugout; and though
her dignity would not permit her to call out derisively, as did the
crowd, to the three prisoners each boat contained, she looked eagerly to
see what kind of monsters these enemies of her tribe might be.
The eighteen Massawomekes were not bound; they stepped from the dugouts
as firmly as if they were going to a feast instead of to torture. They
were of the Iroquois nation; and Pocahontas, who had heard many stories
of this race, always at enmity with her own, noticed certain differences
in the way they were tattooed and in the shape of their headdresses.
Victors and prisoners, followed by the crowd, marched forward to the
ceremonial lodge where The Powhatan was awaiting them. Pocahontas
slipped into the already crowded space, though one of Powhatan's squaws
tried to stay her. She made her way without further opposition between
Chickahominies and Massawomekes, up to the dais where her father sat,
and crouched down on a mat spread on raised hurdles at his feet, where
she could observe all that went on.
One of the Chickahominy chiefs, whose face she remembered to have seen
at the great autumn festivals, was the first to speak:
"Powhatan, ruler of two hundred villages and lord of thirty tribes, who
rulest from the salt water to the western forests, we come to tell thee
how we have pursued thine enemies, the Massawomekes, who two months ago
did slay in ambush a party of our young men out hunting deer. By the
Great Swamp (the Dismal Swamp of Virginia) we came upon them, and though
they sought like bears to hide themselves in its secret places, lo! I,
Water Snake, did track them and I and my braves fell upon them, and now
they are no more."
Murmurs of assent and of approval were heard throughout the lodge. The
prisoners alone were apparently as unconscious of Water Snake's recital
as if they were still hidden in the fastnesses of the Great Swamp.
"There where we fought," continued the orator, waving his hand towards
the southwest, "the white blossoms of the creeping plants turned
crimson, and the hungry buzzards circled overhead. Many a Massawomeke
squaw sits to-night in a lonely wigwam; many a man child among them hath
lost the father to teach him how to bend a bow. We slew them all, Great
Werowance, all but these captives we have brought before thee."
This time louder shouts of approval rewarded Water Snake's speech,
which did not cease until it was seen that Powhatan meant to acknowledge
it. He did not rise nor change his position in any way, and his voice
was low and measured.
"A tree hath many branches, but one trunk only. Deep into the earth
stretch its roots to suck up nourishment for every twig and leaf. I,
Wahunsunakuk, Chief of the Powhatans and many tribes, am the trunk, and
one of my many branches is that of the Chickahominies and one that is
very close to my heart. My children have done well and the Powhatan
thanks them for their brave deeds. Now can your young braves go forth
upon the hunt unharmed and bring back meat for feastings and hides for
their squaws to fashion."
He paused and all the eyes of his people in the lodge were bent on him
with the same question.
"My children ask of me 'What shall we do with these captives?' and I
make answer, feast them first, that they may not say that the Powhatans
are greedy and give not to strangers. Then when they have feasted let
them run the gauntlet."
He waved his hand in token that he had finished speaking, and the glad
news was shouted from the lodge to the eager crowd without. Pocahontas
knew as well as if she could see them that the squaws were hurrying
about to prepare the food, and from her low seat she could see between
the legs of the braves before her how a number of boys were lying on
their stomachs, trying to wriggle into the lodge that they might hear
for themselves the interesting things going on and observe for
themselves whether the captives showed any sign of fear.
Now Powhatan gave an order and all seated themselves on the ground or on
mats in lines facing him. Then in came the squaws bearing large wooden
and grass-woven dishes of food. There were hot cakes of maize and wild
turkeys and fat raccoons. The captives were served first and none of
them refused. They would not let their enemies believe that fear of
their coming fate could spoil their appetites. So, after throwing the
first piece of meat into the fire as an offering to Okee, they ate
eagerly.
One of them who sat nearest the front, Pocahontas noticed, was but
little older than herself. He was too young to be a brave; perhaps, she
thought, he had run off from home and had followed the war party, as she
had heard of boys in her own tribe doing. She wondered if now he was
regretting that his eagerness for adventure had made his first warpath
his last one.
When they had feasted the squaws passed around bunches of turkey
feathers for them to wipe their greasy fingers on, and in every way the
captives were treated with that exaggerated courtesy that was customary
towards those about to be tortured.
Then Powhatan rose, and, preceded and followed by several of his fifty
armed guards chosen from the tallest men of his thirty tribes, he strode
down the centre of the lodge and out into the sunshine. Pocahontas
walked next behind him, and once outside, ran to tell the curious
Cleopatra all she had witnessed.
"Why shouldst thou have seen it all?" asked her jealous sister of
Pocahontas, "while I had naught of it all but the shouting?"
"Because," laughed Pocahontas, pulling her sister's long hair, "because
my two feet took me in. Thine are too fearful, little mouse."
An open space stretched before the ceremonial lodge, used for games and
feats of running and shooting at a mark. Now Powhatan and his guard and
his sons seated themselves upon the firm red ground that rose in a
little hillock to a height of several feet at one side of the lodge.
Then other chieftains took up their places behind them, standing or
sitting; the squaws crowded in among them and the boys sought the
branches of a single walnut-tree, the only tree within the limits of
Werowocomoco. They looked with longing eyes at the slanting roof of the
great lodge. That was undoubtedly the point of vantage, but The Powhatan
was a much dreaded werowance and they dared not risk his ire.
Pocahontas, who had been wondering where to bestow herself, noticed the
envying glances they cast in its direction. She was not withheld by
their restraining fear, so running to the opposite side of the lodge,
she climbed its sides, finding foothold in its bark covering, and soon
was curled up comfortably, her hands about her knees, where she would
miss nothing of the spectacle.
Now she beheld two long rows of young braves, one of them composed of
Powhatans, the other of Chickahominies, stride down the open space below
her and form a lane of naked, painted human walls. In their hands they
held bunches of fresh green reeds, sharp as knives, or heavy bludgeons
of oak, or stone tomahawks. For a moment they stood there motionless as
if they were merely spectators of some drama to be enacted by others.
Pocahontas recognized most of them: Black Arrow, whose ear had been
clawed off by a bear; Leaping Sturgeon, who had hung two scalps at his
girdle before the chiefs had pronounced him old enough to be a brave;
her own cousin, White Owl, the most wonderfully tattooed of them all;
and the Nansamond young chieftain who wore a live snake as an earring in
the slit of his ear.
Then Powhatan gave the signal and the captives were led forward. They
knew what awaited them; probably each of them, except the young boy, had
himself meted out the same fate to others that was now to befall them.
They did not repine; it was the fortune of war. Singing songs of
triumph, of derision of all their enemies, they started to run down the
awful lane of death. Blows rained upon them, on neck, on head, on arms,
even on their legs from stooping adversaries. So swift came the blows
from both sides that sometimes two fell upon the same spot almost at
once.
Pocahontas marked with interest that the boy was last of the line, and
that he bore himself as bravely as the others.
When they reached the end of the row there was no escape--no escape
anywhere more for them. Back they darted, so swiftly that it seemed as
if each escaped the blow aimed at himself, only to receive the one meant
for his comrade ahead.
Pocahontas had a queer feeling as she looked down on them and saw the
blood spurting from a hundred wounds. She thought perhaps it was the hot
sun that made her feel a little sick. Her eyes followed the boy and as
he came nearer she noticed that he was almost at the end of his
strength. A few more blows would finish him. Already some of his elders
had fallen to the ground, and if, when beaten unmercifully, they were
still unable to rise, the tomahawk dashed out their brains.
To her astonishment, Pocahontas found herself wishing the boy might not
fall, might escape in some miraculous manner. What a wrong thought! she
said to herself: was he not an enemy of her tribe? Yet she could not
help closing her eyes when she saw Black Arrow aiming a terrible blow at
his head. She did not know what to make of herself. She suddenly began
to think of the hurt wild-cat she and Nautauquas had pitied during the
night. But no one ought ever to pity an enemy. What was she made of?
As she opened her eyes again she heard a woman's outcry and beheld a
squaw rushing towards the end of the line where Black Arrow's blow had
felled the boy. It was old Wansutis.
"I claim the boy," she panted; "I claim him by our ancient right. Cease,
braves, and let me have him."
The astounded braves let their arms drop at their sides, and the
panting, bleeding captives who had not already fallen, breathed for a
moment long breaths.
"I claim the boy," the old woman cried again in a loud voice, turning
towards Powhatan, "to adopt as a son. Many popanows (winters) and seed
times have passed since my sons were slain. Now is Wansutis old and
feeble and hath need of a young son to hunt for her. By our ancient
custom this captive is mine."
There was an outcry of opposition from the younger braves at being
robbed of one of their victims, but the older chiefs on the hill debated
for a few moments, and then gave their decision: there was no doubt of
the old woman's right to claim the boy. So Powhatan sent two of his
guards to fetch him and to carry him to Wansutis's lodge.
Pocahontas suddenly felt at ease again. Yes, she couldn't help it, she
said to herself, but she was glad the boy had not been beaten to pieces.
As soon as he was carried off the running of the gauntlet began again.
But Pocahontas had now had enough of it. It would continue, she knew,
until all of the captives were dead. She slid down from the back of the
lodge and led by curiosity, set off for Wansutis's wigwam. It was at the
edge of the village, and before the slow procession of the two guards,
the old woman and the boy had arrived, Pocahontas had hidden herself
behind a mossy rock, from which hiding place she had a view right into
the opening of the wigwam.
She watched the guards lay the unconscious boy gently down and Wansutis
as she knelt and blew upon the embers under the smoke hole till they
blazed up. Then she saw the old woman take a pot of water and heat it
and throw herbs into it. With this infusion she bathed the wounds,
anointing them afterwards with oil made from acorns. And while she
worked she prayed, invoking Okee to heal her son, to make him strong
that he might care for her old age.
Pocahontas was so eager to know whether the boy were alive that she
crept closer to the wigwam, and when at last he opened his eyes they
looked beyond the hearth and the crouching Wansutis, straight into those
of Pocahontas. She saw that he had regained his senses, so she put her
fingers to her lips. She did not want Wansutis to know that she had been
watched. Already the touch of the wrinkled fingers was as tender as
that of a mother, and Pocahontas felt sure that she would resent any
intrusion. Now that she had seen all there was to see, she stole away.
After wandering through the woods to gather honeysuckle to make a
wreath, she returned to the village. There was no longer a crowd in the
open space; the captives were all dead and the spectators had gone to
their various lodges. Only a number of boys were playing run the
gauntlet, some with willow twigs beating those chosen by lot to run
between them. A girl, imitating old Wansutis, rushed forward and claimed
one of the runners for a son.
A few days later when the young Massawomeke lad had recovered there were
ceremonies to celebrate his adoption as a member of the Powhatan tribe,
of the great nation of the Algonquins. The other boys of his age looked
up to him with envy. Had he not proved his valor on the warpath and
under torture while they were only gaming with plumpits? They followed
him about, eager to do his bidding, each trying to outdo his comrades in
sports when his eye was on them. And all the elders had good words to
say about Claw-of-the-Eagle, and Wansutis was so proud that she now
often forgot to speak evil medicine.
Pocahontas wondered how Claw-of-the-Eagle liked his new life, and one
day when she was running through the forest she came upon him. He had
knelt to look through a thicket at a flock of turkeys he meant to shoot
into, but his bow lay idle beside his feet, and she saw that his eyes
seemed to be looking at something in the distance.
"What dost thou behold, son of Wansutis?" she asked.
He started but did not reply.
"Speak, Claw-of-the-Eagle," she said impatiently. "Powhatan's daughter
is not wont to wait for a reply."
He saw that it was the same face he had beheld peering into the lodge at
the moment he regained consciousness.
"I see the sinking sun. Princess of many tribes, the sun that journeys
towards the mountains to the village whence I came."
"But thou art of us now," she rejoined.
"Yes, I am son of old Wansutis and I am loyal to my new mother and to my
new people. And yet. Princess, I send each day a message by the sun to
the lodge where they mourn Claw-of-the-Eagle. Perhaps it will reach
them."
"Tell me of the mountains and of the ways of thy father's people. I long
to learn of strange folk and different customs."
"Nay, Princess, I will not speak of them. Thou hast never bidden
farewell to thy kindred forever. I would forget, not remember."
And Pocahontas, although it was almost the first time that any one had
refused to obey her, was not angry. She was too occupied as she walked
homeward wondering how it would seem if she were never to see
Werowocomoco and her own people again.
[Illustration: Decorative]