through the wood from the clearing of a planter. He arrived at length
to where his allies were crouching quietly in the shadows, and, raising
his hand aloft, he said: "Ugh! Ugh! The time is good. Strike now!"
Without further consultation, the long line of painted warriors slipped
out from the forest into the clearing, rushed across the open space to
the cabin of the settler who had dared to penetrate thus far into the
wilderness, and soon a wild scream and savage warwhoop showed what had
been the fate of the inhabitants. Flames soon burst from the roof--the
log hut was ablaze--and, with loud screeches of joy, the Indian devils
danced about the crumbling remains of the once peaceful home.
The savages knew exactly where every Englishman was to be found. Some
entered the houses of their white friends, saying that they wished to
trade. Others drew the owners out into the forest, telling them that
they had skins there, which they wished to barter with them; and still
others fell upon the Colonists as they were ploughing or working in the
fields. The whites were totally unprepared and thoroughly surprised.
Before they could think, they were seized, struck down, and murdered.
In one short hour, and almost at the same time, three hundred men,
women, and children were thus brutally dispatched, before they had an
opportunity to seize anything to defend themselves with. Wild screams
of terror went up in the wilderness, as the Indians completed their
butchery, and there were none there who could aid the defenseless
Colonists of Virginia.
But the Indians did not have an easy time with all the whites whom
they attacked. When they rushed in upon Nathaniel Causie--an old
soldier of Captain Smith's--he seized an axe, and, although wounded
by several arrows, when a savage tried to stick a knife into him, he
struck him such a blow with his weapon that he fairly cut him in two.
This terrified the other Indians so that they fled, while Causie ran
to the settlements farther inland to warn the whites of their peril.
At a place called Warrasqueake, a Mr. Baldwin stood off about fifty
braves with his musket, and by barricading himself in his house finally
drove the savages away single-handed. Not far away from his home, two
settlers held their house against sixty Indians, and hit so many of the
screeching red men that the war party finally withdrew, falling upon
the house of a stout old historian, called Ralph Hamer, who kept them
off with a spade, armed his sons with pitchforks and axes, and, as the
Indians had no guns, kept them away from his log hut, after a battle
lasting over two hours. At Martin's Hundred a family of four persons
hid in the cellar of their house and were entirely overlooked by the
yelping warriors, although seventy-three of the English settlers were
slain near by. With horrible yells of delight, the Indians mutilated
the dead bodies of the slain and tortured the dying settlers with the
cruelest of devices.
At Jamestown a fortunate incident occurred. A settler, living just
opposite the town, had an Indian servant called Chanco. This red
man's brother told him of the proposed attack on the day before the
outbreak, so, running to his master, Chanco cried out, "Quick, quick,
you must run away. Opechancanough, he come tomorrow with his men, and
murder you."
"How do you know this, Chanco?" asked the startled Colonist.
"My brother, he tell me just now. Quick, to the settlements."
Now, believing what his servant told him, the settler ran to the
shore, leaped into a boat, and rowing rapidly across the James River,
warned the inhabitants of Jamestown of their peril. They quickly
armed themselves, mounted their howitzers on the stockade, closed the
gates, and presented such a formidable appearance to the followers of
Opechancanough when they appeared before the walls next day, that they
quickly withdrew into the forest.
The first attack was over, but war had just begun. The settlers
deserted their cabins and gathered in the larger towns for mutual
defense. Their smaller towns--like Henrico and Charles City--were
abandoned, their scattered plantations were deserted, their iron works
and glass works were given up, their fields of corn and vineyards
were destroyed, and the men armed for revenge upon Opechancanough,
the cruel. A body of soldiers was formed--called the Long Knives--who
carried muskets and exceedingly sharp dirks which they would plunge
into an Indian's hide with as much pleasure as they stuck them into
the dead carcass of a deer. All but six plantations were left to their
fate and there had been eighty prosperous farms on the James River.
Three overseers and owners refused to leave their property, mounted
cannon on stockades around their houses, armed their servants, and
determined to give the Indians a severe drubbing if they ever dared
to attack them. The forests and underbrush near all the houses of the
whites were burned for several miles, so there would be no protection
to the skulking savages, and these--not daring to make an attack in
force--made short and sudden incursions on the settlements, carrying
off corn, cattle, and sometimes unfortunate people. The whites gave
the red men no quarter when they caught them. The Long Knives were as
bloodthirsty as were the savages themselves.
So many whites had been captured by the Indians that the Governor at
Jamestown finally sent some envoys to treat with Opechancanough for
their exchange.
"I shall not do aught that you wish of me," replied the haughty Chief
to the requests of the ambassadors. "Am I not King of this country? Do
I not own it by direct descent from my parents? Does the Indian not
hold this land from the Great Father? And, as for this picture of the
Great Father of the English which you bring me," here he turned to a
portrait of James the First which the envoys had given him, "to show
my feelings for him, I hereby step on him." So saying, he threw the
portrait upon the ground and put his foot so heavily upon the face of
good King James that he broke it into a hundred portions. Thus, seeing
that they could have no effect upon the irate monarch, the envoys
withdrew to their canoes and paddled home to Jamestown, as angry as it
is possible to conceive.
The imagination can well picture what the feelings of the settlers must
have been at this time. Surrounded in the forest by a skulking foe who
watched their movements with vindictive hatred, they feared to venture
into the open unless in numbers and well armed. Forced to flee from
their plantations, they huddled together in the stockaded towns like
so many sheep, unable to till any fields save those in the vicinity of
their own fortifications, and continually fired at (while ploughing or
working upon their harvests) by the lurking savages. A few of their
numbers had escaped from the hands of the Indians and had brought
news of torture which made the blood boil and which the pen cannot
picture. The smouldering ruins of their once peaceful homes dotted the
surrounding country. Wives, sisters, children, had fallen before the
ruthless tomahawk, and, stirred by feelings of the greatest hatred,
the white men longed for an opportunity to have a fair fight with the
crafty redskins; and so busily made bullets for serving in an advance
into the land of the enemy.
In the autumn and winter of 1622, a series of attacks upon the savages
was made by the irate white men. More Indians are said to have been
slain at this time than had ever fallen before the hands of the English
since the settlement of Jamestown. And the tactics employed by the
Colonists do not show them to have been the men of sweet and gentle
disposition which they are often said to have been, for, in order to
get even with their red enemies, they availed themselves of a stratagem
as cruel and treacherous as any which the Indians utilized against
the whites. A peace was offered to the followers of Opechancanough,
which they accepted, and the understanding was had between red men and
whites that the savages would be left alone while they planted and
harvested their corn crop. So, believing in the word of the palefaces,
the Indians tilled the soil, planted their corn, and were about to
harvest it, when the English surrounded them, fell upon them in all
directions at a given hour upon an appointed day, killed hundreds of
the defenseless savages, and destroyed a vast quantity of provisions.
Among these cruelly murdered were several of the most famous war
captains, and for some time Opechancanough, himself, was said to be
among the slain, a rumor which caused great rejoicing among the whites.
But--after some months--it was learned that this crafty chieftain was
still at large and as active as ever before.
"I shall yet have the head of this arch conspirator," cried Governor
Wyatt, when news was brought him that Opechancanough was alive. "Come,
men, we will march against this murderous varlet, raze his village
to the ground, and chase him into the foothills of the Blue Ridge."
He had no need to urge on the Virginian Long Knives; they were only
too anxious for an opportunity to attack the despoiler of the peace
of their adopted country, so, in the spring of 1625, a goodly body of
stout rangers pushed into the forest in the direction of Pamunkey--the
stronghold of the Chief of the Chickahominies. Their advance was
cautious, stealthy, sure, yet, as they came to the vicinity of the
Indian town, wild cries echoed from every side, they were shot at from
the brush, and, before they realized it, they were in a furious melée
with the followers of Opechancanough. But the Long Knives knew how to
fight in Indian fashion, and crouching behind logs and fallen trees,
they soon began to pick off the screeching braves, who darted from tree
to tree in the endeavor to dodge the straight shots of the palefaces.
The fight was hot and furious. The Long Knives pressed on to Pamunkey,
and, although the red men made a stout rally before the village, they
were beaten back, only to see the smoke soon curling from their burning
wigwams and storehouses. Governor Wyatt, in person, now urged on his
men to a renewed attack on the braves, and, although the Indians were
beaten off through the forest, the whites could not pursue them as far
as Mattapony, only four miles distant, and the principal depot and
rallying point of Opechancanough. Satisfied with the day's work, the
English now retreated to their own settlements, leaving the Indians in
full possession of their most valued town.
The war had now lasted for three years, and in spite of all their
efforts, the English had not driven the Indians from their rallying
places and settlements. "By heaven, they know how to fight," said stout
Governor Wyatt, "and this Opechancanough is more than a match for
us. But I will catch them again with the same stratagem which I used
before, and I will wipe these treacherous war dogs from the soil of
this country." So saying, he sent a proclamation to the Chickahominies
and Pamunkies, requesting them to come to a certain place for a
conference, where he intended to surround and capture most of them.
But the plan failed of success, and these Indians--under the direct
guidance of Opechancanough--were more troublesome than ever. At this
period they refused absolutely to have anything to do with either Wyatt
or his representatives. The skirmishing went on for four years between
the angry white men and the bloodthirsty red warriors, and at the end
of that time, a march was made by the Indian braves towards Jamestown,
which so alarmed the Governor that he collected every available man to
stem the outbreak.
The two armies met in a stout skirmish soon afterwards. It was a hot
fight, and, as usual, the Indians were worsted in the affair. They
withdrew to the forest, beaten but not overawed, while the Colonists
were too much injured to follow them. A peace commission was now sent
to Opechancanough, but he refused to listen to any overtures from the
whites. He scoffed at all ideas of a settlement of the difficulties
which lay between himself and the Colonists, and withdrew in sullen
anger into the forest. "By all that I love," cried Governor Wyatt, "I
will force this fellow to treat with me," and sending a large armed
force towards Pamunkey, some time later, he secured a temporary truce
with the fierce Opechancanough. But so little dependence was placed
on it, that, while the commissioners on both sides were adjusting the
preliminaries, a proclamation was issued by the Governor which forbade
the Colonists from either parleying or trading with the Indians. The
truce was understood to be only a temporary affair, yet for nine years
no further hostilities occurred between the settlers from England and
the red men. Meanwhile more and more white Colonists came to Virginia.
The settlements rapidly increased in size, while the Indians, through
disease and lack of medical knowledge, did not increase with any great
rapidity.
Opechancanough was not yet a friend to the white man, although he
was apparently upon friendly and peaceable terms with the Colonists.
Nursing his anger and resentment, he remained at his home in the
forest, meditating upon the best means for expelling the English from
the country and secretly forming a plan for another massacre of the
plantation owners. Moody, vindictive, sour, the old Chieftain would sit
gloomily before his wigwam, speculating upon the future and dreaming
of the cheerful moment when he would be able to have Virginia for his
own people. Thus he brooded, while dissensions grew among the Colonists
and an insurrection against the Governor of Virginia took place among
the English. The time had again come for Opechancanough to strike. The
moment had arrived which he had waited for through nine long years,
and, rousing himself from the torpor which had held him for this
period, he determined upon a great and decisive blow which would rid
him forever of the accursed English.
The great Chieftain was now very aged. His voice shook as he gave his
orders. Yet, when he had sent out word for a gathering of his warriors,
his commands were taken to the very remotest tribes of his confederacy
with speed and accuracy. As in the first outbreak, he again determined
to attack the scattered settlements at a certain time, to station large
forces near the points to be assaulted, and to give the more distant
posts to the leading Chiefs of the several nations in his confederacy
of Indian tribes. He, himself, was to lead the advance against the
settlements nearest to Mattapony; the whole Indian force was to
assemble without making any noise, and if any brave was found who had
breathed a word of the conspiracy, he was to be immediately shot to
death and all his family with him. The whites were to be completely
annihilated, and no quarter was to be shown to either women, children,
or aged persons. It was a great design, well thought out, carefully
concealed, and thoroughly prepared. Let us see how it succeeded.
When the signal for attack was given, the hidden warriors poured forth
from the forest, and swept down upon the plantations like a flight
of locusts. As in the massacre many years before, the Colonists were
totally unprepared for this sudden advance, and, at first, hundreds
of them fell before the raiding parties of the bloodthirsty red men.
Five hundred men, women, and children perished under the tomahawks of
the followers of Opechancanough: the scourge of Virginia. Many others
were carried away in captivity. Their log houses, supplies of corn,
household utensils, farming instruments, and live stock were destroyed.
Their houses were burned with all that they contained. Only a few, who
lived in the remotest plantations, were able to make an escape to the
more thickly populated portions of Virginia and warn the inhabitants
that the Indians were again upon the war path. Dissensions among the
Colonists were speedily forgotten. Under the dread of a frightful
slaughter, the settlers, who had been warring with each other,
determined to march together against the red men. Their ploughs were
left in the furrows. All who were able to bear arms were enrolled in a
militia in defense of the Colony, and a chosen body, under the command
of Governor Berkeley, marched into the enemy's country. Blood was in
their eyes, and in their hearts was the one word--revenge.
The fighting which now occurred was bloody. No historian has left a
record of it, but we can well imagine how the infuriated Englishmen
fell upon the followers of Opechancanough when they found them. The
Indians were checked in their advance upon the peaceful settlers. They
were beaten back, defeated again and again, and were forced to give up
their invasion. Berkeley's troops were light-armed and lightly dressed,
so that they could move with speed against the little warriors of the
forest. Some of them had horses and on these they could often head off
the flying redskins and effect their capture. They did great damage and
often routed the followers of Opechancanough when the battle which they
were fighting with the English was very even.
As for Opechancanough, himself, he had become extremely feeble and
decrepit from old age and was unable to walk. Borne about on a litter
by four stout braves, he directed the fighting of his warriors and,
although weak in body, still possessed a proud and imperious spirit.
His flesh became macerated, his sinews lost their elasticity, and his
eyelids were so heavy that he could not see, unless they were lifted
up by the hands of his faithful attendants. In this forlorn condition
he was directing the course of a battle, when Berkeley's horse burst
through the thicket in the rear of his men, and, terrified by fear of
capture, his own attendants were forced to run away. The great Chief
was left upon the ground, and soon a cheering body of Colonists stood
around him, howling with the pleasure of having taken--after years
of attempt--the bold, resolute Chief of the Chickahominies and their
allied tribes. By special command of Governor Berkeley he was carefully
carried to Jamestown, where people crowded around in wonder to see the
fallen monarch of the Virginian wildwood.
The English had now lost their vindictive hatred for this wily
monarch. They saw the man who had inspired such terror in a forlorn
and abject condition. Shattered by age and misfortune, he presented a
sorry appearance, as he lay, half dead, upon the litter of boughs and
deerskins which his own people had fashioned for him. To the honor of
the Colonists, they treated the distinguished captive with tenderness
and the respect which his appearance and talents demanded, while he,
himself, was as proud and haughty as a Roman Emperor. He uttered no
complaint or showed no uneasiness at his capture. Fearing that he would
be tortured, he showed no humility, and was imperious, defiant, and
spirited in his language and demeanor. So, he lay, curiously gazed upon
by the gaping Colonists, and eagerly watched by the soldiers who had
effected his capture.
Opechancanough reclined thus for several days attended by his
affectionate Indian servants, who had begged permission to wait upon
him. He was near ninety years of age, and it is said that Governor
Berkeley proposed to take him to England, as a living argument to
counteract the representations made by some persons in that country,
that Virginian climate was too unhealthy for any one to gain long life
who resided there. The great Chief was reserved and silent, and, as if
anxious to show his English enemies that there was nothing in their
presence to even arouse his curiosity, he rarely allowed his attendants
to raise his eyelids. Thus he was lying, when one of the soldiers set
to guard him raised his gun, and, in a spirit of revenge for all the
suffering which the great Chieftain had caused, shot him through the
back. He was grievously wounded, but did not die immediately.
To the last moment of his life, the haughty Opechancanough preserved
the dignity and serenity of his bearing. He made no murmur of pain
or fear and stolidly awaited the end which was rapidly approaching.
Only a few moments before he expired he heard an unusual amount of
noise in the room where he lay, and requesting his attendants to raise
his eyelids, saw a number of Colonists crowding around him in order
to gratify their curiosity and amazement. The dying Chieftain raised
himself weakly upon one arm, and, with a voice and air of authority,
asked that Governor Berkeley be immediately called in. When the latter
made his appearance, Opechancanough cried out, in a thin and trembling
voice: "Had it been my fortune, sir, to have taken Sir William Berkeley
prisoner, I should never have exposed you as a show for my people."
A few hours later the mighty Sachem breathed his last, amid the
weepings and lamentations of his Indian attendants. He had been an
implacable enemy to the whites; he had led two fairly successful
insurrections against them, and he had been the cause of untold misery
and suffering. Yet, he felt that his cause was a just one; he saw that
he must either exterminate the English or they would exterminate his
own people, and he fought for the preservation of his race. His own
countrymen were more under his control than under that of Powhatan,
himself, and they considered him to be in no way related to Powhatan,
but represented him as a prince of a foreign nation, come from a great
distance somewhere in the southwest: probably Mexico. He has been
called by some a politic and haughty prince, and one English statesman
has named him the Hannibal of Virginia. At any rate he was a man of
influence, power, and ability. His record is a good one for an Indian,
and had his followers been possessed of the knowledge of civilization
and warfare which the white men held, there is little doubt that
Virginia, for many years, would have been the exclusive habitation
of the redskins. Peace to the ashes of misguided and unfortunate
Opechancanough of Virginia. He fought for a cause which, from his
viewpoint, was as just as that of his conquerors. He was never captured
in battle until old age made it impossible for him to escape, and he
died by a foul and unexpected blow, from one of a race which should be
well ashamed of such a deed.
SASSACUS AND UNCAS:
RIVAL CHIEFTAINS OF THE PEQUOT REBELLION
The English are an adventurous people and none were more so than burly
Captain Stone, a hardy mariner, who, in the summer of 1633, made a
coastwise trip from Maine to Virginia in a little schooner. Attracted
by the broad harbor of the Connecticut River, he sailed by the rocky
bluffs at the entrance and was soon gliding between the green hills
which roll back from either side of the sparkling waters of the stream.
Charmed by the peaceful scene, he kept on drifting up the winding water
course, until he finally dropped anchor beneath a headland covered with
the sweet-scented bushes of the sumach and wild plum.
"It seems that this is a likely place for the partridge or grouse,"
said one of the seamen, as the ship lay peacefully at anchor on the
quiet water. "What say you, good Captain, if I and two others go ashore
with our fowling pieces to look for game?"
"Good," answered the stout Captain, "and if you see a deer, be sure and
bring it down, for we are much in need of fresh meat upon our vessel."
"All right, we will go at once," said the seaman, and, quickly
selecting two companions who armed themselves with flintlocks, the
sporting sea-dogs were soon ashore. That night they did not come back,
but, thinking that they had wandered off in the quest of venison,
Captain Stone did not give the matter a second thought.
When morning dawned, a canoe, filled with Indians, was seen coming
from the shore. "How! How!" said the red men, when the canoe came near
the ship. "We bring presents to white man. We want to see big house on
water."
A Sachem of the Pequot Indians was in the bow of the birch-bark boat,
and, as he smiled in a friendly fashion, the Captain gave orders that
he should be allowed to come on board with all his dozen men. Not long
afterwards, he was agreeably conversing with them in his cabin. The
crew were in the cook room, getting their luncheon, when, overcome by
the drowsy heat of the day, and with no suspicion that the redskins
were other than peaceful braves, the Captain fell asleep in his bunk.