A FIGHT IN THE SWAMP
Not a day passed without new rumors at Werowocomoco of the white
strangers and their curious habits.
Pamunkeys from the tops of swaying trees on either bank watched eagerly
the doings of the colonists, and runners bore the word of every movement
to both Opechanchanough at Kecoughtan and to The Powhatan at his
village. Curiosity and consternation were equally balanced in the minds
of the red men. What meant this coming from the rising sun of beings
whose ways no man could fathom? Were they gods enjoying a charmed life,
against whom neither bow nor shaman's medicine might avail? About the
council fires in every village this was debated. The old chiefs, wise in
the traditions of their people, spake of prophecies which foretold the
coming of heroes with faces pale as water at dawn who should teach to
the tribes good medicine and bring plentiful harvests and rich hunting.
Others recalled the vague rumors which had come from far, far away in
the Southland, from tribes whose very names were unknown, of other
palefaces (the Spanish colonists in the West Indies), who had brought
fire and fighting into peaceful, happy islands of the summer seas, who
like terrible, powerful demons, spread about them death and strange
diseases.
Then came to the councils the comforting word of the death of a white
boy slain by a Pamunkey arrow. So they were mortal after all, said the
chiefs, and they smoked their pipes more placidly as they sat around the
fire. Against gods man could not know what action was right; but since
these were but men who could hunger and thirst and be wounded, it
behooved them to plan what measures should be adopted against them.
Many of the chiefs urged immediate steps.
"It is easy," said one, "to pull up a young oak sapling, whereas who may
uproot a full-grown tree?"
Nautauquas, son of Powhatan, was among the most eager for action. He had
won for himself the name of a great brave and a mighty hunter though
still so young. Many a scalp hung to the ridgepole of his lodge and many
a bear and wildcat had he slain at great risk to his life. Now here was
a new way to distinguish himself--to go forth against dangers he could
not even foresee. What magic these pale-faced strangers used to protect
themselves was unknown; therefore if he and his band should overcome
them and wipe away all traces of their short stay, it would be a tale
for winter firesides and a song for singers of brave deeds as long as
his nation endured.
"Let me go, my father," he pleaded. "Thou, who thyself hast conquered
thirty tribes, grudge not this fame to thy son."
"Wait!" was Powhatan's only answer.
The shamans and priests had advised the werowance thus. Not yet had they
fathomed Okee's intentions in regard to these newcomers, though they had
climbed to the top of the red sandy hills at Uttamussack where stood the
three great holy lodges filled with images, and they had fasted and
prayed that Okee would reveal to them what he desired. Powhatan, in
spite of his years, felt the urge of action, and his heart leaped up
when his favorite son gave voice to his own wishes. He longed to take
the warpath, to glide through the forest, to spy upon the strangers who
had dared make a place for themselves in his dominion, and then to fall
upon them, terrifying them with his awful war-cry as he had terrified so
many of his enemies. Yet he dared not do this yet: he was not only a
great war chief, but a leader of his people in peace. Okee had not yet
spoken. Perchance the men with strange faces and strange tongues would
of their own accord acknowledge his sovereignty, and there might be no
need of sacrificing against them the lives of his young men.
All this he was thinking when he bade Nautauquas wait; but there was no
one who read his mind, yet no one who dared to disobey him.
When Nautauquas came out from his father's lodge he took his bow and
quiver and went into the forest to hunt. In his disappointment he had a
hatred of more words and a longing for deeds. He ran swiftly and had
reached a spot where he felt sure that he would find a flock of wild
turkeys, when he saw Pocahontas ahead of him. She too was hurrying, bent
evidently on some errand that absorbed her, for she did not stop to peer
up at the birds or to pull the flowers as she was wont to do.
"Matoaka," he called, "whither goest thou?"
"To see the strangers and their great white birds again which I beheld
from Kecoughtan, Brother. I cannot rest for my eagerness to know what
they are like nearby."
"Hast thou not heard our father's word that no one shall go near the
island where the strangers be?" he asked.
"My father meaneth not me," she answered proudly. "As thou knowest, he
permitteth me much that is forbidden to others."
"But not this, little Sister. Only just this moment did he forbid me to
go thither. His mind is set thereon; tempt not his anger. Even though he
loves thee well, if thou disobeyest his command in this matter he will
deal harshly with thee. Turn back with me, Matoaka, and thou shalt help
me shoot."
Pocahontas was reluctant to give up her long-planned expedition, but she
let herself be persuaded. She remembered that Powhatan that very day had
ordered one of his squaws beaten until she lay at death's door.
Moreover, it was a great joy to hunt with Nautauquas and to see which of
them would bring down the most turkeys. They were needed by the squaws
who had been complaining that the braves were growing lazy and did not
keep them supplied with meat.
While Powhatan's two children were adding to the well-filled larder of
Werowocomoco, there was real dearth of food at Jamestown. The stores,
many of them musty and almost inedible after the long voyage, were
growing daily scarcer. There was fish in the river, but the colonists
grew weary of keeping what they called "a Lenten diet," and in their
dreams munched juicy sirloins of fat English beef. At first their nearby
Indian neighbors had been glad to trade maize and venison for wonderful
objects, dazzling and strange; but now, whether owing to word sent by
Powhatan or for other reasons, they came no more with provisions to
barter. John Smith, seeing that supplies were the first necessity of
the colony, had gone forth on several expeditions up the different
rivers in search of them. By bargaining, by cajolery, by force, he had
managed each time to renew the storehouse. Yet again it was almost empty
and starvation threatened.
Something must be done at once, and the Council sat in debate upon the
serious matter. Captain John Smith waited until the others had had their
say, and nothing practical had been suggested, then he rose and began:
"Gentlemen of the Council, there is but one thing to do. Since our
larder will not fill itself, needs must someone go forth again to seek
for food. Give me two men and one of the ship's boats and I will set off
to the northward, up that river the Indians call the Chickahominy and,
God helping me, I will bring back provisions for us all and make some
permanent treaty with the savages to supply us till our crops be grown."
President Wingfield agreed to Smith's demand. The barge was got ready
with a supply of beads and other glittering articles from Cheapside
booths, and Smith set off with the good wishes of the wan-faced
colonists.
After they had reached what seemed to Smith a likely spot for trading,
he took two men, Robinson and Emery, and two friendly natives in a canoe
and set off to explore the river further, bidding the others to wait for
him where he left them and on no account to venture nearer shore.
He was glad to be away from the noise of complaining men at Jamestown,
many of whom were ill and fretful from lack of proper nourishment and
some, who because they were gentlemen, would not labor yet repined that
they could not live as gentlefolk at home. On this expedition he was
with friends, even though he knew not what enemies might be lurking on
the shore; and he realized that the natives were growing less friendly
as time went on and they began to lose their first awe of the white men.
But he had no fear for himself; he had faced too many dangers in his
adventurous life to conjure up those to come.
As they paddled up the Chickahominy the men began to talk of old days in
England before they had dreamed of trying their fortunes in a new world,
but Smith bade them be silent so that he could listen for the slightest
sound to indicate the vicinity of a human habitation.
"Make friends as soon as thou canst with the copper men, Captain,"
whispered Robinson, "for I be main hungry and can scarce wait till thou
hast bartered this rubbish 'gainst good victuals."
"Pull thy belt in a bit tighter, men," suggested the Captain grimly; "if
I understand all they tell me, the Indians can beat the most devout
Christians in fasting. 'Tis one virtue we may learn from them."
They kept in the middle of the stream to be safe from any arrows that
might be shot at them from shore; but after many hours of this caution.
Smith determined to explore a little on land. To his practiced eye a
certain little inlet seemed so suitable a landing for canoes that he
felt sure an Indian village could not be far off.
"Push out into the stream again," he commanded as he stepped ashore,
"and wait for me there."
John Smith strode into the forest, ready for friendship or war, since
he knew not the temper of the natives of that region. Suddenly, as he
came out upon an open space where a morass stretched from a hill to the
river, two hundred shrieking savages rushed upon him, shooting their
arrows wildly at all angles.
"War then!" cried Smith aloud, and as one young brave in advance of the
others stopped to take aim, he leaped forward and caught him. Ripping
off his own belt. Smith bound the astonished Indian to his left arm so
that he could use him as a living buckler. Thus protected, he fired his
pistol and the ball, entering the breast of an older chief, killed him
instantly. For a moment the strange fate which had overtaken their
leader checked the onslaught, while his companions stooped down, one
behind the other, to examine the wound made by the demon weapon. This
respite gave Smith time to whip out his sword, and whirling it about
him, he kept his enemies at a distance. He might have succeeded in
defending himself thus for some time longer, for the savages had ceased
to shoot, not certain whether their arrows would not be ineffectual upon
an invulnerable body, but all at once he became aware of a new danger.
The marshy ground on which he stood had softened with his weight and
that of his living shield and he now felt himself sinking deeper and
deeper into the morass until he was submerged up to his waist. Still the
Indians, doubtless fearing he had some other strange weapons or evil
medicines in his power, did not rush forward to attack him.
The day was bitterly cold, and the stagnant water struck a chill to his
very bones. His teeth began to chatter with cold, not fright. It was
almost with a sense of relief that he saw the Indians start towards
him. Carefully treading in their light moccasined feet, they gradually
surrounded him and two, taking hold of him, while others loosened the
bound brave, they drew him up from the slushy earth by the arms.
He was now a captive, and not for the first time in his life. There was
nothing to be gained, he knew, by struggling, and he faced them with no
sign of fear. They led him to a fire which was blazing not far off on
firmer ground where sat a chief, who, he learned, was the werowance
Opechanchanough.
At a word of command from him, the guards moved aside and the huge
warrior walked slowly around Smith, examining him from head to foot.
There was a pause which, the Englishman knew, might be broken by an
order to torture and kill him. He did not understand their hesitancy,
but he meant at any rate to take advantage of it. He must engage the
attention of the giant chief before him. Slowly he pulled from his
pocket his heavy silver watch and held it up to his own ear.
Never had Opechanchanough and his men experienced such an awe of the
unknown. For all they could tell, this small ball in the white man's
hand might contain a medicine more deadly than that of his pistol. They
stood like children in a thunderstorm, not knowing when or where the
bolt might strike.
But nothing terrible came to pass. Then Opechanchanough's curiosity was
aroused and he put out his hand for the watch. Smith, smiling, held it
towards him in his palm and then laid it against the chief's ear, saying
in the Pamunkey tongue: "Listen." Opechanchanough jumped with
astonishment and cried out:
"A spirit! A spirit! He hath a spirit imprisoned!"
Then one by one the captors crowded forward to look at the
"turtle-of-metal-that-hath-a-spirit," and many were the exclamations of
astonishment.
In order to increase this feeling of awe and to lengthen the delay,
though he did not know what he could even hope to happen. Smith felt in
his pocket again and brought out his travelling compass. It was of ivory
and the quivering needle was pronounced by Opechanchanough to be another
spirit.
But suddenly, without warning, two of the younger warriors, who had
evidently determined once for all to discover if this stranger were
vulnerable or not, seized Smith and dragging him swiftly to a tree,
threw a cord of deer thong about him, drawing it fast. Then they notched
their arrows and took aim at his heart. "In one second it will be over,"
thought Smith, "life, adventures, my ambitions and my troubles."
Then Opechanchanough called out to the braves, holding up the compass.
Frowning with disappointment, the young men loosed their captive and
Smith realized that it was again the chief's curiosity which had saved
his life. By means of such Indian words as he knew and by the further
aid of signs he endeavored to explain its usage.
"See," he said, pointing, "yon is the north whence comes popanow, the
winter; and there behind us lies cohattayough, the summer. I turn thus
and lo, the spirit in the needle loves the north and will not be kept
from it."
When all had looked at the compass, Opechanchanough took it again in his
hand, holding it gingerly as he would have held a papoose if a squaw had
given one to his care. This was something precious and he meant to keep
it, yet he did not know what it might do to him. At any rate, it would
be a good thing to take with him the man who did understand it.
"Come," he said, "since thou canst understand our words, come and eat in
the lodge of the Pamunkeys."
And Smith, ignorant of when death might fall upon him, followed. That
day they feasted him, and the half-starved Englishman ate heartily for
the first time since he set foot in the new world. At least he had
gained strength now to bear bravely whatever might await him. The next
day he was bidden accompany them, and they marched swiftly and steadily
for many hours through the forest to Orapeeko. It may be that
Opechanchanough's messengers had informed him mistakenly that Powhatan
was at that village which, after Werowocomoco, he most frequented; but
on their arrival there they found the lodges empty except the great
treasure-house full of wampum, skins and pocone, the precious red paint
used for painting the body. This was guarded by priests, and while
Opechanchanough talked with them. Smith marvelled at the images of a
dragon, a bear, a leopard and a giant in human form that ornamented the
four corners of the treasure-house.
Evidently the priests were giving the werowance some advice. Smith
wondered whether the savages offered human sacrifices to their Okee and
if such were to be his fate. But the night was passed quietly there; the
next day was spent in marching, and the following night in another
village. Everywhere he was the object of the greatest interest: braves,
squaws and children crowded about him, fingered his clothes, pulled at
his beard and asked him questions. The Englishman observed them with the
same interest. He noticed how the men wore but one garment leggings and
moccasins made in one piece, and how they were painted in bright colors,
many wearing symbols or rude representations of some animal which he
learned was their "medicine." He watched the women as they embroidered
and cooked, tanned hides and dyed skins, scolded and petted their
children. Their lodges were lightly built, he saw, yet strong and
well-suited for their occupants. Many of the young men and maidens made
him think of deer in the swiftness of their movements and in the
suppleness of their bodies.
After many days of travelling, in which Smith believed that they often
retraced their steps, they found themselves one afternoon at the
outskirts of a larger village than any they had yet entered. Dogs barked
and children shouted as they neared the palisade, and men and women came
running from every side.
"Certainly," thought Smith, "we are expected. Never in an English
village have I seen a Savoyard with a trained bear make more excitement
than doth here Captain John Smith."
[Illustration: Decorative]