And all demanded that the deed
Be done without delay.

The monarch sitteth on his throne, In his dignity arrayed;

Mysterious power is in his eye,
That maketh man afraid;

The women of his court stand up
With awe behind the throne,

But his daughters in their beauty sit
On either hand alone;

While all around the spacious hall
Long rows of warriors stand,

With nodding war-plume on each head,
And each with weapon in his hand;

And scalps and trophies line the walls,
That fifty wars supplied,

And richest robes and shining belts

Appear on every side.

And all is placed in fit array

To take the captive's eye,

When he should come within the hall

To be condemned and die,

For 'twas not meet to take the life

Of so great and strange a man,

Till he had seen the greatness too
Of great King Powhatan.

Now through the festal crowds abroad
Heralds aloud make known

That soon the great Sir John must die,

Before the monarch's throne.

Hushed is the song and ceased the dance,
And darkening throngs draw near,
In awful silence round the hall,

And bend a listening ear

To catch the floating sounds that come,
Perchance the fatal blow,

Perchance the death-song of Sir John,
Or his dying shriek of wo.

A private door to that great hall

Is opened slow and wide,

And a guard of forty men march in

With looks of lofty pride;

For in their midst that captive walks

With tightly pinion'd arm,

Whose very name had power to shake

The boldest with alarm.

The captive's step is firm and free,

His bearing grave and high,

And calm and quiet dignity

Is beaming from his eye.

One universal shout arose

When first Sir John appeared.

And all the gathering throng without

In answer loudly cheer'd.

And then the monarch wav'd his hand,

And all was still again;

And round the hall the prisoner march'd,

Led by the warrior train;

And thrice they went the circuit round, That all might see the face

it bore such pale and spirit marks
a strange and mighty race.

in the centre of the hall is placed
A square and massive stone,
And beds of twigs and forest leaves
Are thickly round it strown;
And there a heavy war-club stands,
With knots all covered o'er;

It bears the marks of many wars,
Hard, smooth, and stain'd with gore.
It was the monarch's favorite club,
For times of peril kept,

'Twas near him when upon the throne,
And near him when he slept.
No other hands had ever dared
That ponderous club to wield,
And never could a foe escape
When that club swept the field.
Now slowly to this fatal spot
They lead Sir John with care,
And bind his feet about with withes,
And lay him prostrate there;
And look and listen eagerly
For him to groan or weep;

But he lays his head down tranquilly,
As a child that goes to sleep.
The monarch, with a stately step,
Descendeth from the throne,
And all give back before the light
From his fiery eye that shone.

He raiseth that huge war-club high,
The warriors hold their breath,
And look to see that mighty arm
Hurl down the blow of death,-

A sudden shriek bursts through the air,
A wild and piercing cry,

And swift as light a form is seen

Across the hall to fly.

The startled monarch stays his hand,

For now, beneath his blow,

He sees his lovely Metoka

By the captive kneeling low.

Her gentle arm is round his head,

Her tearful eyes upturn'd,

And there the pure and hallow'd light
Of angel mercy burn'd.

Compassion lit its gentle fires

In the breast of Powhatan;

The warrior to the father yields,

The monarch to the man.

Slowly his war-club sinks to earth,

And slowly from his eye

Recedes the fierce, vindictive fire

That burn'd before so high.

His nerves relax, he looks around

Upon his warrior men,

Perchance their unsubdued revenge

His soul might fire again,

But no; the soft contagion spreads,

And all have felt its power,

And hearts are touch'd and passions hush'd,
For mercy ruled the hour.

The monarch gently raised his child,
And brushed her tears away;

And called Pamunkey to his side,
And bade without delay

To free the captive from his bonds,

And show him honors due,

And lead him to the festive hall
Their banquet to renew.

The day is past, and past the night,
And now again the morning light,
With golden pinions all unfurl'd,
Comes forth to wake a sleeping world;
And brave Sir John, with footsteps free,
And a trusty guard of warriors three,
Through the deep woods is on his way
To greet his friends at Paspahey.

CHAPTER VIII.

SEQUEL OF THE HISTORY OF OPECHANCANOUGH-THE GREAT MASSACRE OF 1622-MASSACRE OF 1641-CAPTURE OF OPECHANCANOUGH BY THE ENGLISH -HIS DEATH AND CHARACTER.

Captain Argall brought out from England, among other things, a variety of presents for Öpechancanough, who seems now to have been, notwithstanding that Powhatan was still living, the chief object of the colony's apprehension and regard. He lamented, as the Indians did universally, the untimely fate of their favorite princess; but he also expressed himself satisfied with the care which had been taken of her son. Argall sent messengers to him immediately on his arrival at Jamestown; and the chieftain paid him a visit, and received his presents. Tomocomo, who returned with Argall, had conceived a dislike for Sir Thomas Dale, and he railed violently against him in particular, as he did against the English in general; but Opechancanough either was or affected to be convinced that his anger and his accusations were equally groundless. On the death of Powhatan, in 1618, both himself and his royal brother Opitchipan renewed the ancient league of the emperor with the English; under the protection of which, we are told, every man peaceably followed his building and planting, without any remarkable accidents or interruption.

A transaction, which occurred in 1616, furnishes the best comment we can give upon the character of Opechancanough. It appears, that President Yeardly at that time undertook to relieve the necessities of the colony by collecting tribute of the Chickahominies. But, for some reason or other, that warlike people refused to pay it; and even sent him an answer to his demand, which he construed into an affront. He therefore called upon them, soon after, with a company of one hundred soldiers, well armed. Some threatening and bravado ensued on both sides, and a regular battle was the speedy consequence. The Indians were defeated, and as Yeardly was returning to Jamestown

with his spoil, Opechancanough met him, and artfully effected an agreement with him, that he (Yeardly) would make no peace with the Chickahominies without his consent. He then went to that tribe, and pretended that he had, with great pains and solicitation, procured a peace for them. To requite this immense service, as it was now considered, they cheerfully proclaimed him king of their nation, and flocked from all quarters with presents of beads and copper. From this time he was content to be entitled the King of Chickahominy; and thus was subjected to him, with their own free consent, a brave and resolute people, who had successfully resisted, for many years, of every savage and civilised foe.

the power

The English historians generally agree in representing Opechancanough as an inveterate enemy of the English from first to last. Such may have been the case; and he might have had what appeared to him reason and occasion enough for his hostility. The character of many of the colonists was but too well calculated to thwart the best intentions on the part of the government, however peaceable and just might be their theory of Indian intercourse. The discontent of Tomocomo might have its effect, too, and especially among the mass of his countrymen. The pledge of harmony which had existed in the person of Pocahontas was forgotten. But above all, Opechancanough was too shrewd a man not to perceive, in the alarming disproportion which was daily showing itself between the power of the English and the Indians of Virginia-independently of particular provocations-a sure indication of the necessity of a new system of defence.

Subsequent events confirm this conjecture. No better preparation for a war could have been made on the chieftain's part, than he ef fected in the submission of the Chickahominies. It is not unlikely that he himself instigated, through his satellites, the very insolence whereby they drew upon themselves that severe chastisement from the colony, which increased his own influence over them as much as it aggravated their hostility to the English. We find that, in 1618, they committed several outrages of a most flagrant character; and although Opechancanough, who was applied to for satisfaction, promised to send in the heads of the offenders, this was never done, and it may be questioned, whether he was not privy to, or perhaps the chief author and contriver of the whole affair. At all events, historians represent that his regal authority over the tribe was thereby "firmly riveted and established."

Still, not only had the artful chieftain given no open cause of offence or evidence of hostility, but he absolutely succeeded, as we have seen, in completely quieting the suspicions of the colonists. In 1620, indeed, we find it recorded in the journal of Mr. Rolfe, that "now Opechancanough will not come at vs, that causes vs suspect his former promises." But this little uneasiness was wholly done away, on the arrival of Sir Francis Wyatt, the successor of Yeardly, in 1621. That gentleman immediately sent messengers to Opechancanough and Opitchipan, who both expressed great satisfaction at the accession of the new president, and cheerfully renewed their former leagues with

the colony. The former also declared himself pleased with the idea of the English inhabiting the country. He proposed, by way of amalgamating the two nations, that some of the white families should settle among his people, while some of his should settle at Jamestown. A former promise was confirmed, of sending a guide with the English to certain mines represented to be situated above the falls. Nay, so far was the deception carried, that "Mr. Thorpe (the chief messenger) thought he perceived more motions of religion in Opechancanough than could easily be imagined in so great ignorance and blindness. He acknowledged his own religion not to be the right way, and desired to be instructed in the Christian faith. He confessed that God loved the English better than them; and he thought the cause of God's anger was their custom of conjuring their children, and making them black boys."*

It must have been about this time that Opechancanough took the trouble to send some of his men to a sachem on the eastern shore, for a quantity of poison, peculiar to that region, and which he wished to use in his operations against the English. This may have been the true object of the embassy; and it may also have been but a cover for sounding the disposition of the eastern tribes towards the colony. Accordingly, it is recorded in the "Observations of Master Iohn Pory, secretarie of Virginia, in his Travels," that Namenacus, the sachem of Pawtuxent, made an application to the colony, in 1621, for the privilege of trading with them. The request was so far attended to, that

*Allusion seems to be made here to a custom which is sufficiently singular to deserve some description. Smith calls it a yearly sacrifice of children. A ceremony of the kind which was performed near Jamestown may best be described in his own words. "Fifteene of the properest young boyes, betweene ten and fifteene years of age, they paynted white. Hauing brought them forth, the people spent the forenoone in dauncing and singing about them with rattles. In the afternoone they put those children to the roote of a tree. By them all the men stood in a guard, each hauing a bastinado in his hand, made of reeds bound together. This made a lane betweene them all along, through which there were appointed fiue young men to fetch these children. So every one of the fiue went through the guard to fetch a childe, each after other by turnes, the guard fiercely beating them with their bastinadoes, and they patien ly enduring and receiuing all, defending the children with their naked bodies from the vnmerciful blowes, that pay them soundly, tho' the children escape. All this while, the women weepe and cry out very passionately, prouiding mats, skinnes, mosse and dry wood, as things fitting their children's funerals. After the children were thus passed the guard, the guard tore downe the trees, branches and boughs, with such violence that they rent the body, and made wreaths for their heads, or bedecked their hayre with the leaues. What els was done with the children was not seene, but they were all cast on a heape in a valley as dead, where they made a great feast for all the company. The werowance being demanded the meaning of the sacrifice, answered, that the children were not all dead, but that the Okee or Divill did sucke the bloode from their left breast, who chanced to be his by lot, till they were dead; but the rest were kept in the wildernesse by the young men till nine months were expired, during which time they must not converse with any, and of these were made their Priests and Coniurers." Master Pory says, in his Observations, that the Accomacks were a civil and tractable people: "nor doe they vse that deuillish custome in making Black Boyes."