POCAHONTAS LOSES A FRIEND
It was the second night of Pocahontas's captivity. She had suffered no
restraint further than that necessary to keep her from jumping
overboard. Argall and the sailors treated her with all deference, both
from policy and inclination. Yet she was very unhappy and lonely: she
had always been so free to go and come that it was almost a physical
pain to be imprisoned within the narrow limits of the pinnace. Several
times she had tried to evade the vigilance of the sailors; but her
cunning, which on shore would have shown her a way to escape, was
useless on the unfamiliar boat. Her anger at Japezaws and his squaws
flamed up anew every time she dwelt on their treachery. She went over in
her mind the punishment she would beg her father to inflict upon them.
"Wait!" she called out; and the sailors wondered what she was saying as
she stood there looking over the stern in the direction of the
Patowomeke village, her eyes flashing, "wait until Nautauquas brings ye
to my father to be tortured!"
Then before she had grown tired planning their fate, her thoughts flew
to Claw-of-the-Eagle. Was he lying dead there in the forest? What a
playmate and companion he had always been, she thought; how brave, how
strong! Yet now he must be dead or surely he had managed to follow her.
By nightfall the boat was anchored in the centre of the stream, which
here widened out into a small bay. Captain Argall, who had not known
what to make of Claw-of-the-Eagle's attack, did not feel certain that
Japezaws had not played him false. He had therefore made all speed
possible the first night and the following day. Now his wearied men
needed rest and, as no sign of pursuit appeared, he had granted them
leave to sleep. Only one sailor in the bow was left on watch, but he,
too, drowsed, to wake up with a start, when finding all well, he dropped
off to sleep again.
Pocahontas lay alone in the stem, her head pillowed on a roll of sail
cloth that brought it up to the level of the gunwale. Argall had done
everything he could to make her comfortable and never even spoke to her
except hat in hand and bowing low. Now she, too, had fallen asleep, her
eyes wet with the tears she would not shed during the daylight. She
dreamed she was again at Werowocomoco and that she had just risen from
her sleeping-mat to run out into the moonlight as she so often did.
Suddenly a faint, faint sound half wakened her, a sound scarcely louder
than the lapping of the water against the sides which had lulled her to
sleep. She opened her eyes but did not move, and waited, tense with
excitement. A fish flopped out of the water, then all was silent again
and she closed her heavy eyes once more. Then it came again, not louder
than the wind in the aspen trees on shore:
"Pocahontas!"
Raising herself to her elbow with a motion as quiet as a cat's, she
peered into the dark water over the stern. A hand came up from the
darkness and clasped her wrist. She needed no great light upon the
features of the face below to know whose it was.
"Claw-of-the-Eagle," she whispered, "is it thou? I thought the white
man's gun had killed thee, and I have been mourning for thee."
"I lay dead for an hour," he answered as he lifted himself up in the
water and hung with both hands to the sides of the boat. "But it was
well that I was wounded on the shoulder and not on the leg. The
stiffness made me slow, like a bear that has been hurt in a trap. But I
bound mud on the wound with my leggings and I have followed close behind
thee along the shore all the way."
"I knew thou wouldst come after me if thou wert not killed," she
whispered.
"Yea, I have come for thee, Pocahontas," and there was manly decision
now in the youth's voice. "Waste no time. Drop down here beside me as
quietly as if thou wert stalking a deer. We will swim under water until
we are beyond reach of the white men's dull ears and before three days
are passed we shall be at Powhata, where thy father now abideth."
The thought of all home meant made Pocahontas pause: the kindly interest
of all her tribe in everything she did; the affection of her father and
brothers; the haunts in the forest and on the river; the freedom of her
daily existence. Here was her chance to return to them. If she did not
take it, what lay ahead of her? A terror of the unknown overcame her for
the first time. The knowledge that an old and tried friend was near was
as grateful as a light shining before one on a dark night. Yet she
answered:
"I can not go with thee, Claw-of-the-Eagle."
The young brave uttered a low murmur of astonishment.
"Dost thou not know," he asked, "that Japezaws hath betrayed thee; that
thou art to be kept captive in Jamestown in order to force The Powhatan
to do whatever the English desire of him?"
"Yes, I know. Captain Argall hath told me all."
"And yet thou dost hesitate? Art thou, the daughter of a mighty
werowance, _afraid_ to try to escape?"
She did not deign to reply to such a charge, but whispered instead:
"Hadst thou come last night I should have harkened to thee only too
gladly. In truth, I had determined to escape myself this night, no
matter what the difficulties might be. Pocahontas beareth a knife and
knoweth how to use it. But to-day I have come to think otherwise, for
there have been long hours in which to think. Thou knowest that
captivity is as wearisome to me as to a wild dove; yet as I sat here
alone with naught to do, I followed a trail in my mind that led to
Jamestown, and so I am minded to go thither."
"But why?" asked Claw-of-the-Eagle.
"Because by going I believe I can serve both our nation and the English.
My Brother, John Smith, said we must be friends, and I promised him e'er
he left to watch ever over the welfare of his people. My father loveth
me so much that in order to free me I think he will do as the English
wish, and so I will go with Captain Argall that the strife may cease
between them and us. But," and here her voice rose so that
Claw-of-the-Eagle had to remind her of their danger by a pressure on the
hand, "but I will not intercede for that traitor Japezaws and his crafty
squaw. My father may wreak vengeance on them when he will."
Her voice, low as it was, had risen in her emotion, and the boy's keen
hearing had caught the movement of a man's foot on the wooden deck. They
kept still, breathless, for a moment; then as all was still again,
Claw-of-the-Eagle asked sadly, in a tone that mourned as wind through
the pine trees:
"Then thou wilt not come with me? I had built a lodge for thee, Matoaka,
with a smoke hole wide enough to let in the whole moon thou lovest. My
arrows had killed young deer and turkeys and I had smoked and hung meat
for thee to last through all popanow (winter). A young maid is lonely
till she follows her brave--all this I came to the village of Japezaws
to pipe to thee. Now I have run wounded through the forests and swum the
black stream to tell it to thee, and thou bidst me turn back alone. But
if thou hast no wish to enter Claw-of-the-Eagle's lodge let him at least
escort thee safely to the wigwam of thy father."
"I thank thee, Claw-of-the-Eagle, for all thou hast done," she
whispered, "and all thou wouldst do for me. There is no braver warrior
in the thirty tribes and no better hunter since Michabo. But I have
listened to my manitou and he hath said to me, 'Remember the word thou
gavest to thy white Brother.'"
Claw-of-the-Eagle knew that it was useless to plead and yet he pleaded:
"Come back with me, Matoaka; what are the white men to thee and me?"
But she whispered: "Go, Claw-of-the-Eagle, go quickly ere the sailors
awake. Hasten back to old Wansutis that she may bind up thy wound, and
to Powhatan and tell him that he must buy Pocahontas's freedom from the
English by returning their men he holdeth prisoners."
While she was still speaking the young brave's mind was working rapidly.
At first the respect he owed her as the daughter of the great werowance
was uppermost and he thought he must needs do her bidding and leave her.
Little by little, however, he began to think of her as a young maiden,
strong and courageous, but not so strong as a man, who now stood in need
of the help of a brave. He hated the English more than ever, and
Pocahontas's promise to aid them seemed to him only a girlish
foolishness. Let them all perish on their island or return across the
sea whence they had come. Why should she go with them? Why should he let
her go? Who knew what treatment she would receive away from her own
people? If he should rescue her and bring her back to her father, would
he not thus win great favor in the eyes of Powhatan, who would not
refuse her to him as his squaw? If she would not come willingly, he
would carry her off against her will for her good.
Rescue Pocahontas! And in addition--kill the hated white men! Had they
not wounded him and carried her off? There were not many of them and
they were all asleep. While he and Pocahontas had talked he had pulled
himself out of the water and thrown his legs over the stern. Now he
rose and whispered:
"Before I go I would know what their canoe is like. Be not afeared for
me; there is no danger, only do not stir."
She wished to remonstrate with him, but he was already a few paces ahead
of her, treading as lightly as if the deck were gravel that would roll
about and betray him with its noise, and she did not dare call out to
him. She saw him draw near to a sleeping sailor and stoop; but it was
too dark for her to see that he had placed his hand over the man's mouth
and with the knife in his other hand, had stabbed him to the heart.
The sailor's dying struggles were noiseless and when they were over
Claw-of-the-Eagle moved softly on to the next.
There was something sinister to Pocahontas in the silence; she began to
divine that it was not mere curiosity which was keeping
Claw-of-the-Eagle, and yet she dared not go in search of him.
The second victim was despatched as easily as the first, and the third,
though he awoke before the blow was struck, was unable to avert it. The
young brave, whose lust for slaughter increased as he went on, felt
about for Captain Argall. Already the dawn was coming, and he could
distinguish the forms of the four other men. He bent over one of them;
his hand, burning with the fever from his wound and excitement, touched
the cheek of the man instead of the mouth. The sailor cried out
instantaneously even before he was awake; and Claw-of-the-Eagle,
realizing in a second that his game was up, slashed out with his knife
at him in passing as he ran for the stern.
He could have leapt overboard more easily, but though he had failed to
kill all his enemies, he meant to rescue Pocahontas. He dashed towards
her, followed by the sailor. Argall and the two others of the crew,
roused at the outcry, were at their heels. Claw-of-the-Eagle caught
Pocahontas in his arms and before she knew what was happening, he had
sprung with her into the river.
The sailor, who had been but slightly wounded by the young brave's
knife, had seized his musket as he ran. His forebears had been outlaws
with Robin Hood, skilful archers, and bowmen with Henry V at Agincourt,
whose arrows never failed to find French marks. The same keen eye and
strong arm were his with a musket.
"Do not shoot. Mark!" called out Argall breathlessly. He did not know
what had happened prior to his own awakening, though his feet had
stumbled over the dead bodies of his men. "The Indian princess is there
in the water. Shoot not, for the love of heaven, or we'll have all the
red hordes of America on top of Jamestown!"
Mark, however, had already made out the two figures in the water so
close together that Argall's older eyes thought them but one. And just
as Claw-of-the-Eagle, hampered by his wounded shoulder, was about to
sink below the surface of the river to swim under water, Mark took aim.
The bullet hit the top of the head, gashing the skin about the
scalp-lock, but did not penetrate very deeply.
[Illustration: "DO NOT SHOOT, MARK!"]
Pocahontas saw that he was not badly wounded; but the blood running down
his face and into his mouth and nose made it impossible for him to
breathe deeply enough to swim under water. His weakness from his
other wound, too, made his motions slower. Before he would be able to
put a safe distance between him and the pinnace the sailor would have
fired again.
But he would not fire at her--the thought flashed through her brain!
With a few rapid strokes she had reached the brave and flung her arm
under his wounded shoulder, bearing him up.
"Now, Claw-of-the-Eagle," she cried, "let us make for the shore. They
will not dare fire at me."
And Argall and his men watched their hostage and the murderer of their
companions making their escape, while they seemed powerless to prevent
it. Though Claw-of-the-Eagle's strokes grew slower and slower,
Pocahontas's strength was aiding him. Once on shore, the Englishmen knew
that even though delayed by his wound, the two could hide so that no
white man could find them. Besides, it was likely that other Indians
might be lurking in the forest.
"Fooled! Fooled!" cried out Argall, hitting one fist against the other
in his disappointment.
But Mark was not one who willingly gave up a chase he had begun. He saw
that the two had reached a willow tree with roots that lay twisted about
each other across the surface of the river. For one second the youth and
maiden, close together, hung on to this natural shelf, gaining strength
to pull themselves up on to the ground. He realized how disastrous it
would be to injure the daughter of the Powhatan. Nevertheless, he
determined to take a chance.
To the horror of his captain, he took careful aim and fired. This time
the bullet found its mark--it hit the young brave in the back of his
head and penetrated the brain.
In horror Pocahontas tried to catch him in her arms before he sank
heavily, with no sound, out of sight. Gone! so quickly! Dead! The boy
who had been her friend, who had tried to save her!
She could not weep as she floated along with no conscious movement. Then
slowly she turned and swam back towards the pinnace, the sailors
wondering if she was in truth returning to them. She let herself be
helped over the side by Captain Argall.
"I will go with thee to Jamestown, now," was all that she said. She gave
no explanation of what had happened and refused to answer their
questions, or to tell them why she had chosen to go with them when she
might have regained her freedom.
They had hoisted the anchor and started off after laying their dead
comrades together. The sun was rising but the air was still chill and
the sailors brought their dry coats to Pocahontas to throw over her and
placed food before her. She would not touch it nor turn her face away
from the river behind her.
As they began to sail slowly down the stream she leaned back over the
gunwale and beheld, borne by a swift eddy, the body of Claw-of-the-Eagle
float by her. She rose to her feet, the sunbeams falling upon her face
and her uplifted arms, and she sang aloud a song of death as her tribe
sang it while the river hurried with its burden seawards.
[Illustration: Decorative]