CHAPTER VII.

UP THE CHICKAHOMINY

When September came one-half of the Jamestown colony had passed away, and most of the survivors were tottering with weakness and disease. I have said that for weeks theses wretched beings could have hardly raised a hand to keep off the Indians had they chosen to attack them; but instead of that, Providence moved the hearts of the red men to pity, and they brought corn to the sufferers, though the supply was so scant that it could last but a short time.

Captain Newport had sailed for England several months before for food and supplies, but could not be expected back for a long time to come. He left one of the smaller boats for the use of the colonists, and Wingfield and another plotted to seize it and sail to the Mother Country. When they tried to do so, however, the others were so indignant that they not only stopped them, but turned them out of the Council, and chose John Ratcliffe as President. He was little better than Wingfield, and the settlers now compelled Smith to take charge of the colony.

The Captain quickly proved his worth. He gave the people to understand that every well man must choose whether to work or starve. He would have no idlers, and he set the example by toiling as hard as the best of them. On his return from an expedition down the river, where he forced a surly tribe to trade corn with him, he arrived just as Wingfield and his friend, who had again seized the pinnace, were about to sail. Smith opened fire on them with a cannon, and would have sunk the craft had they not surrendered. Their action was so base that they were tried by jury. The life of Wingfield was spared, but all authority was taken from him; while his companion, as the greater offender of the two, was condemned to death and shot.

With the coming of cool weather a great improvement took place in the health of the colonists. Disease abated, and on the appearance of frost all fever disappeared. Those who had been ill rapidly regained their health. The river abounded with fish and fowl, and the yellowing corn could be made into bread. For the first time the future looked bright, even though so many had died. Other immigrants were sure to arrive ere long, and were believed even then to be on their way across the ocean.

How prone are we to forget favors done to us! No man of colonial times earned a heavier debt of gratitude than Captain John Smith of Virginia, and yet, when things improved, those whom he had been the means of saving complained because he had not done more. He gave up the Presidency as the best means of teaching the people his value to them.

Of course, you know that Christopher Columbus died under the belief that, instead of discovering a continent, he had simply found the eastern shore of India. The belief was held by nearly everybody during more than a century that followed, that America was only a narrow strip of land, beyond which stretched the “South Sea.” They thought that by sailing up any of the large streams they would reach that vast body of water. When Captain Henry Hudson passed up the noble river, named for him, in 1609, he expected to keep on till his little ship entered the South Sea. It was because of this universal belief that England, in granting land to most of her colonists, made the western boundary the Pacific Ocean, or South Sea, which I need not remind you was discovered by Balboa in 1512.

Thus it was that the colony which settled Jamestown was ordered to hunt for the South Sea. Captain Smith was reproached in Council for not carrying out this royal command, and because of such neglect his surly associates declared that the whole enterprise was a failure. I have often wondered whether the sensible Captain had any faith in this wild dream. Be that as it may, he replied to the fault-finding by declaring he would set out at once in quest of the missing sea. I cannot help thinking that when he was stung into making this answer, he was led to do so by his disgust with affairs at home, but more by his love of adventure. He must have felt that it would be a great relief to get away from the quarrelling people, who would learn his worth during his absence, while he would gain an experience for which he longed.

If you will glance at your map once more you will notice that a large tributary empties into the James River from the north, about ten miles west of Jamestown. It is the Chickahominy, and its sources are well to the westward in the direction of the mountains which form the most romantic section of Virginia.

It was on a clear, cold day, early in December, that Smith started on his eventful voyage in a barge propelled by a crew of half a dozen sturdy men, besides two friendly Indians. As he meant to ascend the river, as far as possible, he trailed a smaller boat behind the barge—the same that he used when he went ashore to learn the meaning of the signal fire on the southern bank of the James. This craft promised to be useful when he had gone as far as the barge could go, while it could also be turned to account by himself in hunting for game that would be scared away by sight of the larger boat, whose advance could not be as well hidden as the smaller one.

The barge, as it was called, was provided with a sail, which must prove of great help for a part of the time at least, while the small half-cabin at the stern gave sleeping room for the “shift” when off duty. There were plenty of blankets, though the size of the craft allowed no use of a fire as a means of warmth. There were three row-locks on each side, to be called into play when the wind was not favorable, besides the numerous times when they would have to use the poles with which to push the boat through the water. A scant supply of “pone,” or corn bread, and venison was brought, but the main reliance of the party was upon the fish that were to be taken from the stream, and the fowl and game that could be shot along shore or in the woods.

When the barge left Jamestown not a flake of snow was to be seen anywhere, though winter had begun, and the climate in that section is sometimes severe. A strong breeze was blowing from the eastward, and the craft moved easily forward without calling the oars into use. Most of the course of the Chickahominy is through a swampy section, choked by fallen trees, where navigation is difficult. Captain Smith had sailed for a few miles above its mouth some weeks before, but the region was unknown to him. Because of this fact it was the more pleasing, for, as you know, the prospect of stirring adventure was one which he was never able to resist. During his stay in Virginia he explored so many waters in the neighborhood of Chesapeake Bay, that the distance covered was equal to the breadth of the Atlantic between Liverpool and New York.

It was yet early in the day when the barge turned to the right and entered the broad mouth of the large branch of the James. The sun, shining in a clear sky, moderated the cold, so that with their blankets about their forms the men were comfortable. The two Indians used only the deerskin jackets of covering for the upper part of their bodies. Thus clothed, they would have felt no discomfort had the temperature been at zero. Each had his bow and arrows, the white men being provided with the snaphaunce muskets or old-fashioned flintlocks.

Captain Smith seated himself at the stern, just back of the little cabin, his hand resting on the end of the tiller, which was held between his elbow and side. In this position it was the easiest thing in the world to direct the course of the boat. The others placed themselves as fancy prompted, all ready for any work when called upon.

Seated thus, the explorer was in a good position to study the country as they moved between the banks. The woods had a sameness, though they could never lose their interest to the crew, who knew they were the first of their race to gaze upon the forests, with the matted vines, the trees bending far over the surface, while rotting log, interlocked limbs, and fragments of trunks were mixed in such confusion that the boat had not gone far when the Captain had to change his direct course to a winding one so as to have a clear passage. Looking over the gunwale he saw that in most places the water was clear, though the color of the soil at the bottom gave it a dark appearance. Sometimes this depth was eight or ten feet, and then it became so slight that he was not surprised to feel the process slacken, and then cease so gently that few noticed it. The boat had grounded upon a marshy spot, and the wind could carry it no further.

Captain Smith spoke to his men, and four of them seized each a pole and rose to their feet. When the ends were thrust against the oozy bottom they sank deep into the mud. Instead of trying to push the craft ahead, they shoved so as to drive it back into deeper water. This was not difficult, the chief work being that of withdrawing the ends of the poles from the soft earth, so as not to bring the hull back to its former place. When the depth had increased the boat was steered to one side of the shoal, and the sail not having been lowered, it moved on again, though at so moderate a speed that some minutes passed before even Captain Smith was certain they were really advancing.

All this time the occupants of the barge were on the watch for Indians. Our friends were entering the hunting-grounds of the red men whose tribal name was that which was given to the river, and it was not to be expected that they would long remain ignorant of the coming of the visitors. Nothing would have been easier than for some of these warriors, lurking in the wooded depths along shore, to launch a shower of arrows that would be likely to do harm, even though Smith and those of his race were protected by rude coats of mail. But while this might have guarded their limbs and bodies, their faces were left without any shield whatever.

When the sun was overhead the two men seated nearest the cabin brought out the black, coarse bread and cold venison. With the aid of knives these were cut into rough pieces and divided among all. Butter, pepper, and salt were not thought of, and those who wished to wash down their food did so by dipping up water from the river in the palm of the hand, or, in the case of the Captain, by lifting it in a small tin cup.

About the middle of the afternoon the breeze fell, and the flapping sail told the navigators that they must use the oars. Four were slipped into place, and two pairs of sturdy arms bent to the task, the others awaiting their turn. The Indians who sat near the bow, silent and watchful, were not expected to take part in the labor, for it was of a nature with which they were not familiar. The Captain had told them to use their woodcraft to detect any danger, and the two were scanning the shores as they opened out before them, on the alert for the first warning sign.

Suddenly one of the red men uttered a hissing sound. Faint as it was all heard it. The rowers instantly stopped, and Captain Smith looked inquiringly at the Indians. The one who had emitted the signal pointed in advance and to the right bank. The river at this place was more than two hundred yards broad, the trees growing close to the shore and many in the water itself. Several white oaks curved out almost horizontally over the surface before turning upward and becoming upright. Many interlocking vines showed, but it was the season of the year when the foliage was absent, and only here and there was an evergreen seen.

Not a white man could discover the cause of the warning. So far as they were able to see, they were the only living creatures in the neighborhood. As yet they had not caught sight of a deer, bear, or even a fowl, and more than one began to believe that a disappointment awaited them over the supply of game. That the dusky guard had detected something, however, was certain. In answer to Smith’s inquiry he said, speaking in his own tongue, that an Indian was near them on shore. There might be more, but certainly there was one. After a minute’s pause the Captain ordered the men at the oars to renew work. As they did so he steered the boat a little to the left, but, like everyone else, kept his attention upon the spot where it looked as if danger was lurking.

The guard was right, for, when nearly opposite the place, all who were on watch saw not one warrior, but two partly hidden, by the trees and undergrowth. Their position was slightly crouching, and their attention was fixed upon the white men. They had the bows and arrows of their people, and one of them seemed to be fixing a missile to the string of his weapon.

While all were watching the Indian, not really certain as to his intention, he suddenly aimed, and let his arrow fly. It flashed in the sunlight, but was so poorly directed that it passed ten feet over the heads of the crew, and dropped into the water beyond.

Hardly had it done so, when Captain Smith reached down and caught up his musket lying at his feet. He aimed at the daring warrior, and, pausing only a moment, pulled the trigger. He was a better marksman then the other, who was struck by the bullet, which, if it did not inflict serious hurt, caused a twinge which threw the fellow into a panic. With a yell he whirled on his feet and dashed into the wood, his equally frightened companion crashing through the undergrowth at his heels. The crew broke into laughter, and two or three would have fired at the fleeing couple had the Captain permitted it.

Smith had done a prudent thing, for, had he made no reply to the attack, his foes would have thought it due to fear, and would have pressed the white men. Nothing further of that nature was to be feared from the two, nor from any of their friends whom they could tell of the occurrence.

The men at the oars now gave place to others, and the ascent of the Chickahominy continued until night began closing in. By that time they had reached the edge of the famous White Oak Swamp, where some of the severest battles were fought during the great Civil War of 1861–5. They found it composed of lagoons, morasses and stretches of wide-spreading ponds or lakes choked with trees, and abounding with shallow places, where the expanses of sluggish water were so broad and winding that it was hard to keep to the channel. The barge was anchored in the middle of one of these small lakes, the Captain deeming it unsafe to camp on shore, though nothing further had been seen of Indians. After partaking of a frugal meal the men lay down for the night, two of their number mounting guard. The Captain longed for a smoke, but there was danger of the light drawing the attention of their enemies, and again he set a good example to his friends.

After night had fully come, the anchor was gently lifted, and with the aid of the long poles, the position of the craft was shifted a number of rods down stream. This was meant to make it hard for any warriors prowling in the vicinity to find the boat. They would naturally seek it where it was last seen in the gathering gloom, and failing to discover it, would have to look elsewhere.