Chapter 5

This story is taken from Mary Johnston's novel, _To Have and to Hold_, which describes the early settlement of Virginia. The most important event of this period was the Indian massacre of 1622. For some years the whites and Indians had lived in peace, and it was believed that there would be no further trouble from the savages. However, Opechancanough, the head chief of the Powhatan confederacy, formed a plot against the white men and suddenly attacked them with great fury. Hundreds of the English settlers were slain. The author of the novel, taking the bare outline of the massacre as given in the early histories, has woven around it the graphic story of Captain Ralph Percy and his saving of the colony. Percy, unlike Miles Standish, is not a historical character.

I.

A man who hath been a soldier and adventurer into far and strange countries must needs have faced Death many times and in many guises. I had learned to know that grim countenance, and to have no great fear of it. The surprise of our sudden capture by the Indians had now worn away, and I no longer struggled to loose my bonds, Indian-tied and not to be loosened.

Another slow hour and I bethought me of Diccon, my servant and companion in captivity, and spoke to him, asking him how he did. He answered from the other side of the lodge that was our prison, but the words were scarcely out of his mouth before our guard broke in upon us, commanding silence.

It was now moonlight without the lodge and very quiet. The night was far gone; already we could smell the morning, and it would come apace. Knowing the swiftness of that approach and what the early light would bring, I strove for a courage which should be the steadfastness of the Christian and not the vainglorious pride of the heathen.

Suddenly, in the first gray dawn, as at a trumpet's call, the village awoke. From the long communal houses poured forth men, women, and children; fires sprang up, dispersing the mist, and a commotion arose through the length and breadth of the place. The women made haste with their cooking and bore maize cakes and broiled fish to the warriors, who sat on the ground in front of the royal lodge. Diccon and I were loosed, brought without, and allotted our share of the food. We ate sitting side by side with our captors, and Diccon, with a great cut across his head, even made merry.

In the usual order of things in an Indian village, the meal over, tobacco should have followed. But now not a pipe was lit, and the women made haste to take away the platters and to get all things in readiness for what was to follow. The [v]werowance of the [v]Paspaheghs rose to his feet, cast aside his mantle, and began to speak. He was a man in the prime of life, of a great figure, strong as a [v]Susquehannock, and a savage cruel and crafty beyond measure. Over his breast, stained with strange figures, hung a chain of small bones, and the scalp locks of his enemies fringed his moccasins. No player could be more skillful in gesture and expression, no poet more nice in the choice of words, no general more quick to raise a wild enthusiasm in the soldiers to whom he called. All Indians are eloquent, but this savage was a leader among them.

He spoke now to some effect. Commencing with a day in the moon of blossoms when for the first time winged canoes brought white men into the [v]Powhatan, he came down through year after year to the present hour, ceased, and stood in silence, regarding his triumph. It was complete. In its wild excitement the village was ready then and there to make an end of us, who had sprung to our feet and stood with our backs against a great bay tree, facing the maddened throng. Much the best would it be for us if the tomahawks left the hands that were drawn back to throw, if the knives that were flourished in our faces should be buried to the haft in our hearts; and so we courted death, striving with word and look to infuriate our executioners to the point of forgetting their former purpose in the passion for instant vengeance. It was not to be. The werowance spoke again, pointing to the hills which were dimly seen through the mist. A moment, and the hands clenched upon the weapons fell; another, and we were upon the march.

As one man, the village swept through the forest toward the rising ground that was but a few bowshots away. The young men bounded ahead to make the preparation; but the approved warriors and the old men went more sedately, and with them walked Diccon and I, as steady of step as they. The women and children for the most part brought up the rear, though a few impatient hags ran past us. One of these women bore a great burning torch, the flame and smoke streaming over her shoulder as she ran. Others carried pieces of bark heaped with the [v]slivers of pine of which every wigwam has store.

The sun was yet to rise when we reached a hollow amongst the low red hills. The place was a natural amphitheater, well fitted for a spectacle. Those Indians who could not crowd into the narrow level spread themselves over the rising ground and looked down with fierce laughter upon the driving of the stakes which the young men had brought. The women and children scattered into the woods beyond the cleft between the hills and returned bearing great armfuls of dry branches. Taunting laughter, cries of savage triumph, the shaking of rattles, and the furious beating of two great drums combined to make a clamor deafening me to stupor. Above the horizon was the angry reddening of the heavens and the white mist curling up like smoke.

I sat down beside Diccon on the log. I did not speak to him, nor he to me; there seemed no need of speech. In the [v]pandemonium to which the world had narrowed, the one familiar, matter-of-course thing was that he and I were to die together.

The stakes were in the ground and painted red, the wood was properly fixed. The Indian woman who held the torch that was to light the pile ran past us, whirling the wood around her head to make it blaze more fiercely. As she went by she lowered the brand and slowly dragged it across my wrists. The beating of the drums suddenly ceased, and the loud voices died away.

Seeing that they were coming for us, Diccon and I rose to await them. When they were nearly upon us, I turned to him and held out my hand.

He made no motion to take it. Instead, he stood with fixed eyes looking past me and slightly upward. A sudden pallor had overspread the bronze of his face.

"There's a verse somewhere," he said in a quiet voice,--"it's in the Bible, I think--I heard it once long ago: 'I will look unto the hills from whence cometh my help.' Look, sir!"

I turned and followed with my eyes the pointing of his finger. In front of us the bank rose steeply, bare to the summit,--no trees, only the red earth, with here and there a low growth of leafless bushes. Behind it was the eastern sky. Upon the crest, against the sunrise, stood the figure of a man--an Indian. From one shoulder hung an otterskin, and a great bow was in his hand. His limbs were bare, and as he stood motionless, bathed in the rosy light, he looked like some bronze god, perfect from the beaded moccasins to the calm, uneager face below the feathered head-dress. He had but just risen above the brow of the hill; the Indians in the hollow saw him not.

While Diccon and I stared, our tormentors were upon us. They came a dozen or more at once, and we had no weapons. Two hung on my arms, while a third laid hold of my doublet to rend it from me. An arrow whistled over our heads and stuck into a tree behind us. The hands that clutched me dropped, and with a yell the busy throng turned their faces in the direction whence had come the arrow.

The Indian who had sent that dart before him was descending the bank. An instant's breathless hush while they stared at the solitary figure; then the dark forms bent forward for the rush straightened, and there arose a cry of recognition. "The son of Powhatan! The son of Powhatan!"

He came down the hillside to the level of the hollow, the authority of his look and gesture making way for him through the crowd that surged this way and that, and walked up to us where we stood, hemmed round but no longer in the clutch of our enemies.

"You were never more welcome, Nantaquas," I said to him, heartily.

Taking my hand in his, the chief turned to his frowning countrymen. "Men of the [v]Pamunkeys!" he cried, "this is Nantaquas' friend, and so the friend of all the tribes that called Powhatan 'father.' The fire is not for him nor for his servant; keep it for the [v]Monacans and for the dogs of the [v]Long House! The calumet is for the friend of Nantaquas, and the dance of the maidens, the noblest buck and the best of the fish-weirs."

There was a surging forward of the Indians and a fierce murmur of dissent. The werowance, standing out from the throng, lifted his voice. "There was a time," he cried, "when Nantaquas was the panther crouched upon the bough above the leader of the herd; now Nantaquas is a tame panther and rolls at the white men's feet! There was a time when the word of the son of Powhatan weighed more than the lives of many dogs such as these, but I know not why we should put out the fire at his command! He is war chief no longer, for [v]Opechancanough will have no tame panther to lead the tribes. Opechancanough is our head, and he kindleth a fire indeed. We will give to this man what fuel we choose, and to-night Nantaquas may look for his bones!"

He ended, and a great clamor arose. The Paspaheghs would have cast themselves upon us again but for a sudden action of the young chief, who had stood motionless, with raised hand and unmoved face, during the werowance's bitter speech. Now he flung up his hand, and in it was a bracelet of gold, carved and twisted like a coiled snake and set with a green stone. I had never seen the toy before, but evidently others had. The excited voices fell, and the Indians, Pamunkeys and Paspaheghs alike, stood as though turned to stone.

Nantaquas smiled coldly. "This day hath Opechancanough made me war chief again. We have smoked the peace pipe together--my father's brother and I--in the starlight, sitting before his lodge, with the wide marshes and the river dark at our feet. Singing birds in the forest have been many; evil tales have they told; Opechancanough has stopped his ears against their false singing. My friends are his friends, my brother is his brother, my word is his word: witness the armlet that hath no like. Opechancanough is at hand; he comes through the forest with his two hundred warriors. Will you, when you lie at his feet, have him ask you, 'Where is the friend of my friend, of my war chief?'"

There came a long, deep breath from the Indians, then a silence in which they fell back, slowly and sullenly--whipped hounds but with the will to break that leash of fear.

"Hark!" said Nantaquas, smiling. "I hear Opechancanough and his warriors coming over the leaves."

The noise of many footsteps was indeed audible, coming toward the hollow from the woods beyond. With a burst of cries, the priests and the conjurer whirled away to bear the welcome of Okee to the royal worshipper, and at their heels went the chief men of the Pamunkeys. The werowance of the Paspaheghs was one that sailed with the wind; he listened to the deepening sound and glanced at the son of Powhatan where he stood, calm and confident, then smoothed his own countenance and made a most pacific speech, in which all the blame of the late proceedings was laid upon the singing birds. When he had done speaking, the young men tore the stakes from the earth and threw them into a thicket, while the women plucked apart the newly kindled fire and flung the brands into a little nearby stream, where they went out in a cloud of hissing steam.

I turned to the Indian who had wrought this miracle. "Art sure it is not a dream, Nantaquas? I think that Opechancanough would not lift a finger to save me from all the deaths the tribes could invent."

"Opechancanough is very wise," he answered quietly. "He says that now the English will believe in his love indeed when they see that he holds dear even one who might be called his enemy, who hath spoken against him at the Englishmen's council fire. He says that for five suns Captain Percy shall feast with him, and then shall go back free to Jamestown. He thinks that then Captain Percy will not speak against him any more, calling his love to the white men only words with no good deeds behind."

He spoke simply, out of the nobility of his nature, believing his own speech. I that was older, and had more knowledge of men and the masks they wear, was but half deceived. My belief in the hatred of the dark emperor was not shaken, and I looked yet to find the drop of poison within this honey flower. How poisoned was that bloom, God knows I could not guess!

By this time we three were alone in the hollow, for all the savages, men and women, had gone forth to meet the Indian whose word was law from the falls of the far west to the Chesapeake. The sun now rode above the low hills, pouring its gold into the hollow and brightening all the world besides. A chant raised by the Indians grew nearer, and the rustling of the leaves beneath many feet more loud and deep; then all noise ceased and Opechancanough entered the hollow alone. An eagle feather was thrust through his scalp lock; over his naked breast, which was neither painted nor pricked into strange figures, hung a triple row of pearls; his mantle was woven of bluebird feathers, as soft and sleek as satin. The face of this barbarian was as dark, cold, and impassive as death. Behind that changeless mask, as in a safe retreat, the subtle devil that was the man might plot destruction and plan the laying of dreadful mines.

I stepped forward and met him on the spot where the fire had been. For a minute neither spoke. It was true that I had striven against him many a time, and I knew that he knew it. It was also true that without his aid Nantaquas could not have rescued us from that dire peril. And it was again the truth that an Indian neither forgives nor forgets. He was my saviour, and I knew that mercy had been shown for some dark reason which I could not divine. Yet I owed him thanks and gave them as shortly and simply as I could.

He heard me out with neither liking nor disliking nor any other emotion written upon his face; but when I had finished, as though he had suddenly bethought himself, he smiled and held out his hand, white-man fashion.

"Singing birds have lied to Captain Percy," he said. "Opechancanough thinks that Captain Percy will never listen to them again. The chief of the Powhatans is a lover of the white men, of the English, and of other white men. He would call the Englishmen his brothers and be taught of them how to rule and to whom to pray"--

"Let Opechancanough go with me to Jamestown," I replied. "He hath the wisdom of the woods; let him come and gain that of the town."

The emperor smiled again. "I will come to Jamestown soon, but not to-day or to-morrow or the next day. And Captain Percy must smoke the peace pipe in my lodge above the Pamunkey and watch my young men and maidens dance, and eat with me five days. Then he may go back to Jamestown with presents for the great white father there and with a message from me that I am coming soon to learn of the white man."

For five days I tarried in the great chief's lodge in his own village above the marshes of the Pamunkey. I will allow that the dark emperor to whom we were so much beholden gave us courteous keeping. The best of the hunt was ours, the noblest fish, the most delicate roots. We were alive and sound of limb, well treated and with the promise of release; we might have waited, seeing that wait we must, in some measure of content. We did not so. There was a horror in the air. From the marshes that were growing green, from the sluggish river, from the rotting leaves and cold black earth and naked forest, it rose like an [v]exhalation. We knew not what it was, but we breathed it in, and it went to the marrow of our bones.

The savage emperor we rarely saw, though we were bestowed so near to him that his sentinels served for ours. Like some god, he kept within his lodge, the hanging mats between him and the world without. At other times, issuing from that retirement, he would stride away into the forest. Picked men went with him, and they were gone for hours; but when they returned they bore no trophies, brute or human. What they did we could not guess. If escape had been possible, we would not have awaited the doubtful fulfillment of the promise made us. But the vigilance of the Indians never slept; they watched us like hawks, night and day.

In the early morning of the fifth day, when we came from our wigwam, it was to find Nantaquas sitting by the fire, magnificent in the paint and trappings of the ambassador, motionless as a piece of bronze and apparently quite unmindful of the admiring glances of the women who knelt about the fire preparing our breakfast. When he saw us he rose and came to meet us, and I embraced him, I was so glad to see him.

"The Rappahannocks feasted me long," he said. "I was afraid that Captain Percy would be gone to Jamestown before I was back on the Pamunkey."

"Shall I ever see Jamestown again, Nantaquas?" I demanded. "I have my doubts."

He looked me full in the eyes, and there was no doubting the candor of his own. "You go with the next sunrise," he answered. "Opechancanough has given me his word."

"I am glad to hear it," I said. "Why have we been kept at all? Why did he not free us five days agone?"

He shook his head. "I do not know. Opechancanough has many thoughts which he shares with no man. But now he will send you with presents for the governor, and with messages of his love for the white men. There will be a great feast to-day, and to-night the young men and maidens will dance before you. Then in the morning you will go."

When we had sat by the fire for an hour, the old men and the warriors came to visit us, and the smoking began. The women laid mats in a great half circle, and each savage took his seat with perfect breeding: that is, in absolute silence and with a face like a stone. The peace paint was upon them all--red, or red and white--and they sat and looked at the ground until I had made the speech of welcome. Soon the air was dense with fragrant smoke; in the thick blue haze the sweep of painted figures had the seeming of some fantastic dream. An old man arose and made a long and touching speech, with much reference to calumets and buried hatchets. Then they waited for my contribution of honeyed words. The Pamunkeys, living at a distance from the settlements, had but little English, and the learning of the Paspaheghs was not much greater. I repeated to them the better part of a canto of Master Spenser's _Faery Queen_, after which I told them the moving story of the Moor of Venice. It answered the purpose to admiration.

The day wore on, with relay after relay of food, which we must taste at least, with endless smoking of pipes and speeches which must be listened to and answered. When evening came and our entertainers drew off to prepare for the dance, they left us as wearied as by a long day's march.

Suddenly, as we sat staring at the fire, we were beset by a band of maidens, coming out of the woods, painted, with antlers upon their heads and pine branches in their hands. They danced about us, now advancing until the green needles met above our heads, now retreating until there was a space of turf between us. They moved with grace, keeping time to a plaintive song, now raised by the whole choir, now fallen to a single voice.

The Indian girls danced more and more swiftly, and their song changed, becoming gay and shrill and sweet. Higher and higher rang the notes, faster and faster moved the dark feet; then quite suddenly song and motion ceased together. From the darkness now came a burst of savage cries only less appalling than the war whoop itself. In a moment the men of the village had rushed from the shadow of the trees into the broad, firelit space before us. They circled around us, then around the fire; now each man danced and stamped and muttered to himself. For the most part they were painted red, but some were white from head to heel--statues come to life--while others had first oiled their bodies, then plastered them over with small, bright-colored feathers.

Diccon and I watched that uncouth spectacle, that Virginian [v]masque, as we had watched many another one, with disgust and weariness. It would last, we knew, for the better part of the night. For a time we must stay and testify our pleasure, but after a while we might retire, and leave the women and children the sole spectators. They never wearied of gazing at the rhythmic movement.

I observed that among the ranks of the women one girl watched not the dancers but us. Now and then she glanced impatiently at the wheeling figures, but her eyes always returned to us. At length I became aware that she must have some message to deliver or warning to give. Once when I made a slight motion as if to go to her, she shook her head and laid her finger on her lips.

Presently I rose and, making my way to the werowance of the village, where he sat with his eyes fixed on the spectacle, told him that I was wearied and would go to my hut, to rest for the few hours that yet remained of the night. He listened dreamily, but made no offer to escort me. After a moment he acquiesced in my departure, and Diccon and I quietly left the press of savages and began to cross the firelit turf between them and our lodge. When we had reached its entrance, we paused and looked back to the throng we had left. Every back seemed turned to us, every eye intent upon the leaping figures. Swiftly and silently we walked across the bit of even ground to the friendly trees and found ourselves in a thin strip of shadow. Beneath the trees, waiting for us, was the Indian maid. She would not speak or tarry, but flitted before us as dusk and noiseless as a moth, and we followed her into the darkness beyond the firelight. Here a wigwam rose in our path; the girl, holding aside the mats that covered the entrance, motioned to us to enter. A fire was burning within the lodge and it showed us Nantaquas standing with folded arms.

"Nantaquas!" I exclaimed, and would have touched him but that with a slight motion of his hand he kept me back.

"Well!" I asked at last. "What is the matter, my friend?"

For a full minute he made no answer, and when he did speak his voice matched his strained and troubled features.

"My _friend_," he said, "I am going to show myself a friend indeed to the English, to the strangers who were not content with their own hunting-grounds beyond the great salt water. When I have done this, I do not know that Captain Percy will call me 'friend'."

"You were wont to speak plainly, Nantaquas," I answered him. "I am not fond of riddles."

Again he waited, as though he found speech difficult. I stared at him in amazement, he was so changed in so short a time.

He spoke at last: "When the dance is over and the fires are low and the sunrise is at hand, Opechancanough will come to you to bid you farewell. He will give you the pearls he wears about his neck for a present to the governor and a bracelet for yourself. Also he will give you three men for a guard through the forest. He has messages of love to send the white men, and he would send them by you who were his enemy and his captive. So all the white men shall believe in his love."

"Well!" I said drily as he paused. "I will bear the messages. What next?"

"Your guards will take you slowly through the forest, stopping to eat and sleep. For them there is no need to run like the stag with the hunter behind it."