THE GREAT BIRDS
Opechanchanough, brother of Wahunsunakuk, The Powhatan, had sent to
Werowocomoco a boat full of the finest deep sea oysters and crabs. The
great werowance had returned his thanks to his brother and the bearers
of his gifts were just leaving when Pocahontas rushed in to her father's
lodge half breathless with eagerness.
"Father," she cried, "I pray thee grant me this pleasure. It hath grown
warm, and I and my maidens long for the cool air that abideth by the
salty water. Therefore, I beseech thee, let us go to mine uncle for a
few days' visit."
Powhatan did not answer at once. He did not like to have his favorite
child leave him. But she, seeing that he was undecided, began to plead,
to whisper in his ears words of affection and to stroke his hair till he
gave his consent. Then Pocahontas ran off to get her long mantle and her
finest string of beads and to summon the maidens who were to accompany
her. They embarked in the dugout with her uncle's people and were rowed
swiftly down the river.
At Kecoughtan they were received with much ceremony, for Pocahontas knew
what was due her and how, when it was necessary, to put aside her
childish manner for one more dignified. Opechanchanough greeted her
kindly.
"Hast thou forgiven me, my uncle?" she asked as they sat down to a feast
of the delicious little fish she always begged for when she visited him,
and to steaks of bear meat; "hast thou forgiven the arrow I shot at thee
last popanow?"
"I will remember naught unpleasant against thee, little kinswoman," he
replied as he drank his cup of walnut milk.
"Indeed I am ashamed of my foolishness," continued his niece. "I was but
a child then."
"And now?--it is but a few moons ago."
"But see how I grow, as the maize after a rain storm. Soon they will say
I am ready for suitors."
"And whom wilt thou choose, Pocahontas?"
"I do not know. I have no thoughts for that yet."
"What then are thy thoughts of?"
"Of everything, of flowers and beasts, dancing and playing, of wars and
ceremonies, of the new son of old Wansutis, of Nautauquas's new bow, of
necklaces and earrings, of old stories and new songs--and of to-morrow's
bathing."
"Fear not that thou hast yet left thy childhood behind thee," said her
uncle.
Then when the fire died down and the storyteller's voice had grown
drowsy, Pocahontas fell asleep, her arm resting on a baby bear that had
been taken away from its dead mother and that would cuddle close to the
person who lay nearest the fire.
Opechanchanough had not the same deep affection for children as that
which Powhatan showed to his sons and daughters. He was as brave a
fighter but not as great a leader in peace as Wahunsunakuk. It irked
him that he had to give way to his brother and that he must obey his
commands; yet he knew that only by unity between the different tribes of
the seacoast could they be safe from their common enemies, the Iroquois.
His vanity was very great and he had felt hurt at the ridicule which
Pocahontas had caused to fall upon him. Had she come on her visit sooner
he had surely not received her so kindly. But now there were other
strange happenings and more important matters to consider, and he was
too wise a chief to worry long over a child's pranks. Besides, he had
learned, from his own observance and from the tongues of others, how his
brother cherished her more than any of his squaws or children. So policy
as well as his native hospitality dictated a kindly reception.
In the morning after they had eaten, Opechanchanough offered to send
Pocahontas and her maidens in a canoe down to where a cape jutted out
into the ocean that they might see the breakers at their highest, but
Pocahontas declined.
"Nay, Uncle," she said, "but my maidens have never seen the sea. They be
stay-at-homes and I would not affright them too sorely by the sight of
mountains of water. Have no care for us save to bid some one supply us
with food to take along. I know the way down to a smooth beach where we
can disport ourselves."
So Opechanchanough, relieved to have them off his hands, let her have
her will.
The town was within a mile of open water, and the maidens started off
with a large supply of dried flesh slung in osier baskets on their
backs. Some of the young braves looked after them as they went and
disputed as to which of them they would like to choose as squaw when
they were older.
Pocahontas led the way through wild rose bushes and sumac, with here and
there an occasional tall pine tree, its lowest branches high above their
heads. They were all of them in the gayest humor: it was a day made for
pleasure, and they had not a care in the world. They sang as they walked
and joked each other, Pocahontas herself not escaping.
"Did the bear, thy bedfellow, scratch thee?" asked one, "and didst thou
outdo him, for this morning he was not to be found near the lodge."
"Perhaps," suggested another, "it was not a real bear cub but some evil
manitou."
The maidens shuddered deliciously at this possibility.
"Nonsense," called back Pocahontas, "he was real enough; here is the
mark of one claw on my foot. Besides, I do not believe the evil manitou
can have such power on such a beautiful day as this. Okee must have bid
them fly away."
Now suddenly the path turned and before them shone the silver mirror of
the sea.
"Behold!" cried Pocahontas, and then Red Wing, her nearest companion,
fell flat upon the ground, burying her face in the sand. The others
stood and stared at the new watery world in front of them, hushed in an
awed silence. Gradually their curiosity got the better of their fear and
they began to question:
"How many leagues does it stretch, Pocahontas?"--"Can war canoes find
their way on it?"--"Come the good oysters from its depths?" asked
Deer-Eye, whose appetite was always made fun of.
Pocahontas answered as well as she was able, but to her who had seen
several times before the great water, it was almost as much of a mystery
as to her comrades. But to-day she greeted it as an old friend. She
could scarcely wait to throw herself into the little rippling waves at
her feet.
"Come on," she cried, "let us hasten. How wonderful to our heated bodies
will its freshness be." And as she ran towards it she threw off her
skirt, her moccasins and her necklace and dashed into the sea.
Though her companions were used to swimming from the day their mothers
had thrown them as babies into the river to harden them, they had never
been where there were not protecting banks on each side of them, and
they were afraid to follow Pocahontas into this unknown. But gradually
her evident safety and delight were too much for their caution, and they
were soon at home in the gentle waves.
For nearly an hour they played their water games, chasing and ducking
each other, racing and swimming underneath the surface. Then they grew
hungry and bethought themselves of their food waiting to be cooked. But
when they were on the shore again and about to start a fire to heat
their meat, Pocahontas bade them wait.
"Here," she said, "is fresher food. See what the tide has left for us."
To their great astonishment the maidens, who did not know the sea
retreated, saw how while they were bathing the water had bared the sand,
leaving it full of little pools. Standing in one of them, Pocahontas
stooped down and ran her hand through the mud, bringing up a
soft-shelled crab.
"See," she cried, "there are hundreds of them for our dinner, but be
careful to hold them just so, that they may not nip you."
And her maidens, laughing and shrieking, soon had a larger supply of
crabs than they could eat. They found bits of wood on the beach and
dried sea weed which they set on fire by twirling a pointed stick in a
wooden groove they had brought along with their food. After they had
eaten, they stretched out lazily on the sand and talked until they began
to doze off, one by one.
Pocahontas had strolled a little further down the beach, picking up the
fine thin shells of transparent gold and silver which she liked to make
into necklaces. She had found a number of them and as they were more
than she could hold in her hands, she sat down to string them on a piece
of eel grass until she could transfer them to a thread of sinew. When
she had finished she lay back against a ridge of sand and watched the
gulls as they flew above her, dipping down into the waves every now and
then to bring up a fish. Far away a school of porpoises was circling the
waves, their black fins sinking out of sight and reappearing as
regularly as if they moved to some marine music. Pocahontas wondered
whence they came and whither they and the gulls were bound. How
delightful it was to move so rapidly and so easily through water or air.
But she did not think of envying them. Was she not as fleet as they in
her element? She pressed her hand against the warm sand how she loved
the feel of it; she stretched her naked foot to where the little waves
could wet it. How she loved the lapping of the water! Within her was a
welling up of feeling, a love for all things living.
It was a very quiet world just now; the sun was only a little over the
zenith. Only the cries of the sea gulls and the soft swish of the waves
broke the silence. It would be pleasant to sleep here as her comrades
were sleeping, but if she slept then she would miss the consciousness of
her enjoyment.
Yet, though she intended to keep awake, when she looked seaward, she
felt sure that she must have fallen asleep and was dreaming the
strangest of dreams. For nowhere save in dreamland had anyone ever
beheld such a sight as seemed to stand out against the horizon. Three
great birds, that some shaman had doubtless created with powerful
medicine, so large that they almost touched the heavens, were skimming
the waves, their white wings blown forward. One, much larger than the
others, moved more swiftly than they.
Yet never, in a dream or in life, were such birds, and little
Pocahontas, who had sprung to her feet, stood gaping in terrified
wonder.
"Then must I be bewitched!" she cried aloud; "some evil medicine hath
befallen me."
She called out, and there was a tone in her voice that roused the
sleeping maidens as a war drum roused their fathers.
"What see ye?" she asked anxiously.
"Oh! Pocahontas, we know not," they answered in terror, huddling about
her; "answer _thou_ us. What are those strange things that speed over
the waves? Whence come they--from the rim of the world?"
Pocahontas, the fearless, was frightened. She gave one more glance
seaward, and then turning, took to her heels in terror. Her maidens, who
had never seen her thus, added her fright to they own, and none stopped
until they had reached the lodge at Kecoughtan.
The squaws rushed out when they caught sight of the frightened children
and tried to soothe them, but they could get no explanation of what had
startled them. Finally Opechanchanough strode out, and when Pocahontas
had tried to tell him what she had seen his face grew stern.
"It is as I feared," he said to another chief. "And so the word which
came from the upper cape was true. It is a marvel that bodeth no good."
He began to give orders hurriedly; the dugout was brought up to the
landing, and he waved Pocahontas and her maidens in with scant ceremony.
"I will send a runner to Werowocomoco with news to my brother," he
called out to her as the boat was swung out into the river; "he will
reach the village by land more quickly than by river. Farewell,
Matoaka."
And Pocahontas, though she longed to have questioned him in regard to
what he had heard and feared, yet rejoiced that she was on her way to
her people, to her home where such strange sights as she had just beheld
never came.
[Illustration: Decorative]