CHAPTER III.

FATHER AND DAUGHTER

The canoe had not yet touched the land, when the girl leaped out as lightly as a fawn, not pausing to pick up her bow and quiver, lying in the bottom of the boat beside those of her brother. Facing about, she grasped the front of the craft with both hands, as if to draw it up the bank beyond reach of the action of the tide.

Almost at the same moment Nantaquas laid his dripping paddle beside the implements, and rose partly to his feet, bending over to gather up the bows and arrows. In the act of doing so, and while his body was in a stooping posture, the girl gave a lightning-like, sideways jerk to the boat, snapping it forward like a flash, for a distance of fully two feet. The youth had no thought of anything of the kind, and yet, knowing his sister as well as he did, he _ought_ to have been prepared. Thrown so suddenly off his balance, he went backward over the side of the canoe, which narrowly escaped upsetting; and, as his heels kicked in the air and he vainly threw out his arms to save himself, he dropped out of sight in water twenty feet deep.

The girl screamed with delight. Her scheme had worked to perfection; she had punished her brother as she planned, and as he deserved. Down, down he went, before he could right himself and get his bearings. Then his head popped up, he blew the water from his mouth, and one or two powerful strokes brought him to land. Scrambling to his feet, he made for the laughing girl. He was not angry, for he admired her brightness, but—wait till he could lay hands on the mischievous sprite!

But she was not yet caught. Brimming over with fun, she darted into the wood, with him in headlong pursuit. Perhaps on the open plain, in a straightaway chase, he might have overtaken her, though it is by no means certain; but she was quicker than he in dodging, turning, and doubling. With one hand outstretched, and seemingly about to grasp an arm or shoulder, his fingers closed on vacancy, as she whisked to one side, and, waiting until he repeated the attempt, she slipped again beyond reach. Like a civilized girl, she kept screaming and laughing while thus engaged, glancing continually over her shoulder, and baffling her pursuer at the very moment that success seemed certain.

All the time she was heading toward her home, not far off in the woods, while he, forgetful of the implements left behind in the canoe, kept up his efforts to lay hands on her. He would not believe he could fail, and she nurtured the self-delusion on his part, encouraging him once or twice by allowing the outstretched hand to touch her robe, though it could never grip it fairly.

Suddenly, just as he held his breath ready to leap forward and pounce upon her, and it looked as if nothing could save the fugitive, she did a very clever thing. She darted across a spot in the woods where the ground was covered with many running vines. She did this, but he was too earnest in the pursuit to notice danger. She led him on, and again his hand shot out almost over her shoulder, when he caught his moccasin in one of the vines, that was like so many yards of fine steel wire, and sprawled forward on his face, with a force that drove the breath from his body, and seemed to make the earth shake with the shock.

And then she could run no farther, from very excess of merriment. Pressing one hand against the nearest tree-trunk to support her, she laughed until she could hardly stand. He slowly climbed to his feet and shook his head. She was not assured that he had given up the chase, and held herself ready to bound away again, when both abruptly paused at the discovery that a third party had appeared on the scene.

Two or three rods in advance, on the same line the two had been pursuing, stood a tall Indian, fully six feet in stature, motionless, and surveying the couple with an enquiring expression. He was three score years of age, his long locks were sprinkled with grey, and his face was stern and seamed by the passage of the many stormy years. He was thin almost to emaciation, but the fire burned in the black eyes as fiercely as when he first went on the warpath. He was dressed much like the younger warrior, except that the upper part of his body was encased in a jacket similar to that of the girl, and his countenance was unstained. In the girdle about his waist were thrust a long knife and the handle of a tomahawk, but he carried no bow and quiver. Standing rigidly upright, with his coppery face like that of a stone image, he looked sternly at the two.

Hardly had the girl caught sight of him, when she ran forward, and, throwing both arms about his waist, called out in pretended panic:

“Father, save me from Nantaquas! He means to kill me!”

Laying one hand fondly on the wealth of hair about his chest, the parent gazed at the young man and demanded:

“What is the meaning of these strange actions?”

Standing in his garments, still wet from his recent upset, the smiling son pointed to his sister.

“She will tell Powhatan her story.”

The American Indian has the reputation of being stoical. It is true that he will bear the most poignant anguish and torture without a sign of suffering. He is trained to suppress his emotions, especially before strangers, but there are no persons in the world who love their children more affectionately; and when beyond the sight of strangers they often indulge in expressions of that love.

The chieftain of whom I am now speaking was the most famous Indian connected with the colonial history of Virginia. He was Powhatan, one of the sternest and most unflinching leaders of his race. He ruled over numerous tribes, nearly all of whom he had conquered and brought under his sway. From Virginia to the far south none was his equal. He had several homes, at each of which he lived a part of every year, and was always surrounded when at any of them by a strong guard, numbering forty or fifty of his tallest warriors.

Since you have learned that Powhatan was the father of the two who now stood before him, there is no longer any excuse for keeping back the name of the girl, for I am sure you guessed it long ago. She was Pocahontas, pretty, bright, and kind hearted, and the favorite of the terrible Powhatan, who permitted any liberties from her, and rarely refused her a request which he could gratify. Nantaquas was another favorite, though he had other sons who were well worthy of their father’s fame.

Releasing herself from the embrace of her parent, Pocahontas stepped back a couple of paces, and with sparkling eyes and glowing face told Powhatan about the incident that had sent her flying from before her brother. It would have done your heart good to see those iron features relax as the sachem listened to the delightful story. Although well advanced in years, and a stoic by training, he could not wholly forget the time when he was such a youth as that son who stood a little way back, with arms folded, listening to the words of his sister, and never offering objection.

Powhatan extended his arms, and as Pocahontas stepped impulsively forward, he placed a hand under each of her elbows, and tossed her like a feather several feet up in the air. As she came down he caught her in his grasp, held her closely to him, and fondled her hair and patted her dusky cheek; while she, in turn, reached up and patted his wrinkled face. No father and child could have loved each other more truly than Powhatan and Pocahontas.

But the grim parent did not permit himself to indulge long in his caresses of the one so dear to him. Again patting her head, he said:

“Let my child go to her home; Powhatan has something he would say to Nantaquas.”

She obediently turned away. Her course carried her behind the sachem, who had withdrawn all attention from her. Pausing an instant, she looked at her brother, who was still standing with folded arms, and who turned to glance at her the moment she halted, curious to learn the cause. He was quickly informed, for standing thus, where no one else saw her, she made the same comical grimace at him that he made at her when paddling the canoe. He suddenly started towards her, but took only a step, when she was off like a bird. Powhatan turned his head, but caught only a glance of the handsome robe, the white plume, and the twinkling moccasins, as they flitted from sight.

You will bear in mind that in giving the conversations between the various Indians who pass before us, I use the utmost liberality in translation. As a rule, their sentences are short, and often ornamented with striking figures of speech. They sound stiff, and are sometimes hard to understand by those not accustomed to them. It will be better, therefore, to try to put their meaning in the form which you use in your conversation.

Hardly had Pocahontas darted from sight, when the chieftain said to his son:

“The pale-faces have come across the Deep Water to the hunting-grounds of Powhatan and his people.”

“Yes; we met them on the river in their big canoes; they spoke words, though we did not understand what they said, nor could they know the meaning of our words. They have come to make their homes among us.”

The remark of the chieftain proved that the signal fire, of which mention has been made, was not only meant for him, but that he read the message. It seems strange that so much could be told by the fashioning of the thin column of smoke rising from a small fire kindled on the crest of a slight elevation; but such means of telegraphy have been used by the American Indians for centuries, and the speed with which they send tidings across wide stretches of country almost surpasses belief. It is only a few years since that an important treaty was signed by the United States Government agents with a number of tribes in the West. The parties were so far removed from the nearest telegraph station that the news did not reach Washington until three days later; yet it was known to tribes four and five hundred miles distant the afternoon of the day of signing, and within a few hours after the signatures were written. The message was signalled from mountain peak to mountain peak, across wide stretches of prairie, and hundreds of warriors discussed the matter long before their chiefs set out for their distant homes.

So in the case of Powhatan, chief of many tribes, who knew of the coming of the white men while they were sailing up the James, and for several days before he saw any one of them. It is easy to understand how an ordinary message, relating to simple affairs, can be carried by the means named, but it is wonderful how news, unlike any that had ever before been sent across an expanse of forest, could have been read by the sachem and others for whom it was meant.

Powhatan left no doubt that he was deeply displeased by the appearance of the white men, where they had never before set foot. They had come into the heart of the country which belonged to him, and he was too wise to fail to see the meaning of the visit.

“They will come to land, and build their wigwams; they will till the ground, and hunt the game in the woods; by and by others will come and make their homes beside them; and they will keep on coming, till they are like the leaves on the trees; we have heard from the red men of the south that they bring strange weapons; that they shoot fire, and slay men who are far beyond the reach of our bows and arrows; all the pale-faces are alike; they will kill the red men or drive them into the sea, until none is left.”

“The words of Powhatan are wise,” said Nantaquas respectfully; “I am afraid of them, and would not trust Pocahontas in their power.”

“My son did right; she is but a child; she must stay away from them.”

“And what shall be done with the pale-faces?” asked Nantaquas, who understood the dark expression of his father. “Shall they be left alone when they go ashore, that their numbers may increase—though I do not think they have any women with them?”

“When the serpent is small, a child may crush it under the heel of her moccasin, but, if left to grow, it will soon sting her to death.”

The meaning of these words was plain; Powhatan intended to destroy the weak colony before the white men could send for other friends to sail across the Great Water. Few even though they were, the work should be hard and dangerous, when so little was known of the real nature of their fearful weapons; but, no doubt, the thousands of warriors that Powhatan could summon to the task would do it well, thus crushing the danger in the bud.

Powhatan, like most of his race, was a man of few words. Having made known his resolve, he ordered his son to lead the way to where the canoe had been left on the bank of the stream. When it was reached he stepped within, and, instead of seating himself at the stern, took his place at the bow. It would have been sacrilege for Nantaquas to suggest that the chieftain who is referred to by historians as “Emperor” should use the paddle. No vassal could have been meeker than the son when he headed down the river, handling the oar with the same skill that he had shown earlier in the day.

By this time the afternoon was drawing to a close, but there was a bright moon in the sky, which lit up the broad, smooth surface of the James as if it were day. The sachem sat silent and erect, with no appearance of curiosity, but the keen eyes, which pierced the gathering gloom, did not let the smallest object escape them. Passing around the long, sweeping bend that has been described, the large vessel and two smaller ones came into view, lying at anchor, within a short distance of shore. It might have been thought that the emigrants had come to rest, to wait till the morrow before going farther up stream, had not smaller boats been seen passing to and fro between the ships and the land. But more still was soon learned.

Although from what Nantaquas and Pocahontas had told it would seem that little was to be feared at present from these unwelcome visitors, the life of Powhatan was too precious to permit any unnecessary risk to be run. He ordered his son to go a little nearer, holding himself ready to make instant flight when told to do so. Thus edging up, they were able to see three or four tents on a small peninsula, jutting out from the northern shore. The white men from across the sea had already landed and begun the first lasting English settlement in the New World.

Nantaquas would have liked to visit the newcomers, now that his sister was not with him, but Powhatan would not allow it, and, at his command, he turned the head of the canoe up stream, before it had attracted notice, and paddled hurriedly from the place. As before, the chieftain did not speak, even after the boat had been run to land and drawn up the beach. He stepped out, and, with the majesty that was rarely or never absent, strode through the wilderness to his lodge or native “palace,” with his son walking silently at the rear. Arrived there, he held a long council with his under chiefs and leading warriors. The plans for the destruction of the colony were fixed; but before he slept that night Pocahontas drew from him all that had been agreed upon, and she did not rest until he had given his promise to defer the fearful work. He would not pledge himself to do more than postpone his purpose, but such postponement was of the greatest importance to the welfare of the little colony.