William Shakespeare - "The Famous History of the Life of King Henry the Eight"

Wallace Irwin - "The Love Sonnets of a Car Conductor"

Unknown - "The World English Bible (WEB):"

T. S. Arthur - "The Allen House, or Twenty Years Ago and Now"

To Have and To Hold:

M >> Mary Johnston >> To Have and To Hold:




"Why does Opechancanough send us back to the settlements?" I
demanded. "Their faith in him needs no strengthening."

"It is his fancy. Every hunter and trader and learner of our tongues,
living in the villages or straying in the woods, has been sent back
to Jamestown or to his hundred with presents and with words that
are sweeter than honey. He has told the three who go with you the
hour in which you are to reach Jamestown; he would have you as
singing birds, telling lying tales to the Governor, with scarce the
smoking of a pipe between those words of peace and the war
whoop. But if those who go with you see reason to misdoubt you,
they will kill you in the forest."

His voice fell, and he stood in silence, straight as an arrow, against
the post, the firelight playing over his dark limbs and sternly quiet
face. Outside, the night wind, rising, began to howl through the
naked branches, and a louder burst of yells came to us from the
roisterers in the distance. The mat before the doorway shook, and a
slim brown hand, slipped between the wood and the woven grass,
beckoned to us.

"Why did you come?" demanded the Indian. "Long ago, when
there were none but dark men from the Chesapeake to the hunting
grounds beneath the sunset, we were happy. Why did you leave
your own land, in the strange black ships with sails like the
piled-up clouds of summer? Was it not a good land? Were not your
forests broad and green, your fields fruitful, your rivers deep and
filled with fish? And the towns I have heard of - were they not
fair? You are brave men: had you no enemies there, and no
warpaths? It was your home: a man should love the good earth
over which he hunts, upon which stands his village. This is the red
man's land. He wishes his hunting grounds, his maize fields, and
his rivers for himself, his women and children. He has no ships in
which to go to another country. When you first came we thought
you were gods; but you have not done like the great white God
who, you say, loves you so. You are wiser and stronger than we,
but your strength and wisdom help us not: they press us down from
men to children; they are weights upon the head and shoulders of a
babe to keep him under stature. Ill gifts have you brought us, evil
have you wrought us" -

"Not to you, Nantauquas!" I cried, stung into speech.

He turned his eyes upon me. "Nantauquas is the war chief of his
tribe. Opechancanough is his king, and he lies upon his bed in his
lodge and says within himself: 'My war chief, the Panther, the son
of Wahunsonacock, who was chief of all the Powhatans, sits now
within his wigwam, sharpening flints for his arrows, making his
tomahawk bright and keen, thinking of a day three suns hence,
when the tribes will shake off forever the hand upon their
shoulder, - the hand so heavy and white that strives always to bend
them to the earth and keep them there.' Tell me, you Englishman
who have led in war, another name for Nantauquas, and ask no
more what evil you have done him."

"I will not call you 'traitor,' Nantauquas," I said, after a pause.
"There is a difference. You are not the first child of Powhatan who
has loved and shielded the white men."

"She was a woman, a child," he answered. "Out of pity she saved
your lives, not knowing that it was to the hurt of her people. Then
you were few and weak, and could not take your revenge. Now, if
you die not, you will drink deep of vengeance, - so deep that your
lips may never leave the cup. More ships will come, and more; you
will grow ever stronger. There may come a moon when the deep
forests and the shining rivers know us, to whom Kiwassa gave
them, no more." He paused, with unmoved face, and eyes that
seemed to pierce the wall and look out into unfathomable
distances. "Go!" he said at last. "If you die not in the woods, if you
see again the man whom I called my brother and teacher, tell him .
. . tell him nothing! Go!"

"Come with us," urged Diccon gruffly. "We English will make a
place for you among us" - and got no further, for I turned upon him
with a stern command for silence.

"I ask of you no such thing, Nantauquas," I said. "Come against us,
if you will. Nobly warned, fair upon our guard, we will meet you
as knightly foe should be met."

He stood for a minute, the quick change that had come into his
face at Diccon's blundering words gone, and his features sternly
impassive again; then, very slowly, he raised his arm from his side
and held out his hand. His eyes met mine in sombre inquiry, half
eager, half proudly doubtful.

I went to him at once, and took his hand in mine. No word was
spoken. Presently he withdrew his hand from my clasp, and,
putting his finger to his lips, whistled low to the Indian girl. She
drew aside the hanging mats, and we passed out, Diccon and I,
leaving him standing as we had found him, upright against the
post, in the red firelight.

Should we ever go through the woods, pass through that gathering
storm, reach Jamestown, warn them there of the death that was
rushing upon them? Should we ever leave that hated village?
Would the morning ever come? When we reached our hut, unseen,
and sat down just within the doorway to watch for the dawn, it
seemed as though the stars would never pale. Again and again the
leaping Indians between us and the fire fed the tall flame; if one
figure fell in the wild dancing, another took its place; the yelling
never ceased, nor the beating of the drums.

It was an alarum that was sounding, and there were only two to
hear; miles away beneath the mute stars English men and women
lay asleep, with the hour thundering at their gates, and there was
none to cry, "Awake!" When would the dawn come, when should
we be gone? I could have cried out in that agony of waiting, with
the leagues on leagues to be traveled, and the time so short! If we
never reached those sleepers - I saw the dark warriors gathering,
tribe on tribe, war party on war party, thick crowding shadows of
death, slipping though the silent forest . . . and the clearings we
had made and the houses we had built . . . the goodly Englishmen,
Kent and Thorpe and Yeardley, Maddison, Wynne, Hamor, the
men who had striven to win and hold this land so fatal and so fair,
West and Rolfe and Jeremy Sparrow . . . the children about the
doorsteps, the women . . . one woman . . .

It came to an end, as all things earthly will. The flames of the great
bonfire sank lower and lower, and as they sank the gray light
faltered into being, grew, and strengthened. At last the dancers
were still, the women scattered, the priests with their hideous Okee
gone. The wailing of the pipes died away, the drums ceased to
beat, and the village lay in the keen wind and the pale light, inert
and quiet with the stillness of exhaustion.

The pause and hush did not last. When the ruffled pools amid the
marshes were rosy beneath the sunrise, the women brought us
food, and the warriors and old men gathered about us. They sat
upon mats or billets of wood, and I offered them bread and meat,
and told them they must come to Jamestown to taste of the white
man's cookery.

Scarcely was the meal over when Opechancanough issued from his
lodge, with his picked men behind him, and, coming slowly up to
us, took his seat upon the white mat that was spread for him. For a
few minutes he sat in a silence that neither we nor his people cared
to break. Only the wind sang in the brown branches, and from
some forest brake came a stag's hoarse cry. As he sat in the
sunshine he glistened all over, like an Ethiop besprent with silver;
for his dark limbs and mighty chest had been oiled, and then
powdered with antimony. Through his scalp lock was stuck an
eagle's feather; across his face, from temple to chin, was a bar of
red paint; the eyes above were very bright and watchful, but we
upon whom that scrutiny was bent were as little wont as he to let
our faces tell our minds.

One of his young men brought a great pipe, carved and painted,
stem and bowl; an old man filled it with tobacco, and a warrior lit
it and bore it to the Emperor. He put it to his lips and smoked in
silence, while the sun climbed higher and higher, and the golden
minutes that were more precious than heart's blood went by, at
once too slow, too swift.

At last, his part in the solemn mockery played, he held out the pipe
to me. "The sky will fall, and the rivers run dry, and the birds cease
to sing," he said, "before the smoke of the calumet fades from the
land."

I took the symbol of peace, and smoked it as silently and soberly -
ay, and as slowly - as he had done before me, then laid it leisurely
aside and held out my hand. "My eyes have been holden," I told
him, "but now I see plainly the deep graves of the hatchets and the
drifting of the peace smoke through the forest. Let
Opechancanough come to Jamestown to smoke of the
Englishman's uppowoc, and to receive rich presents, - a red robe
like his brother Powhatan's, and a cup from which he shall drink,
he and all his people."

He laid his dark fingers in mine for an instant, withdrew them,
and, rising to his feet, motioned to three Indians who stood out
from the throng of warriors. "These are Captain Percy's guides and
friends," he announced. "The sun is high; it is time that he was
gone. Here are presents for him and for my brother the Governor."
As he spoke, he took from his neck the rope of pearls and from his
arm a copper bracelet, and laid both upon my palm.

I thrust the pearls within my doublet, and slipped the bracelet upon
my wrist. "Thanks, Opechancanough," I said briefly. "When we
meet again I shall not greet you with empty thanks."

By this all the folk of the village had gathered around us; and now
the drums beat again, and the maidens raised a wild and plaintive
song of farewell. At a sign from the werowance men and women
formed a rude procession, and followed us, who were to go upon a
journey, to the edge of the village where the marsh began. Only the
dark Emperor and the old men stayed behind, sitting and standing
in the sunshine, with the peace pipe lying on the grass at their feet,
and the wind moving the branches overhead. I looked back and
saw them thus, and wondered idly how many minutes they would
wait before putting on the black paint. Of Nantauquas we had seen
nothing. Either he had gone to the forest, or upon some pretense he
kept within his lodge.

We bade farewell to the noisy throng who had brought us upon our
way, and went down to the river, where we found a canoe and
rowers, crossed the stream, and, bidding the rowers good-by,
entered the forest. It was Wednesday morning, and the sun was
two hours high. Three suns, Nantauquas had said: on Friday, then,
the blow would fall. Three days! Once at Jamestown, it would
take three days to warn each lonely scattered settlement, to put the
colony into any posture of defense. What of the leagues of
danger-haunted forest to be traversed before even a single soul of
the three thousand could be warned?

As for the three Indians, - who had their orders to go slowly, who
at any suspicious haste or question or anxiety on our part were to
kill us whom they deemed unarmed, - when they left their village
that morning, they left it forever. There were times when Diccon
and I had no need of speech, but knew each other's mind without;
so now, though no word had been spoken, we were agreed to set
upon and slay our guides the first occasion that offered.



CHAPTER XXXIV IN WHICH THE RACE IS NOT TO THE SWIFT


THE three Indians of whom we must rid ourselves were approved
warriors, fierce as wolves, cunning as foxes, keen-eyed as hawks.
They had no reason to doubt us, to dream that we would turn upon
them, but from habit they watched us, with tomahawk and knife
resting lightly in their belts.

As for us, we walked slowly, smiled freely, and spoke frankly. The
sunshine streaming down in the spaces where the trees fell away
was not brighter than our mood. Had we not smoked the peace
pipe? Were we not on our way home? Diccon, walking behind me,
fell into a low-voiced conversation with the savage who strode
beside him. It related to the barter for a dozen otterskins of a gun
which he had at Jamestown. The savage was to bring the skins to
Paspahegh at his earliest convenience, and Diccon would meet
him there and give him the gun, provided the pelts were to his
liking. As they talked, each, in his mind's eye, saw the other dead
before him. The one meant to possess a gun, indeed, but he
thought to take it himself from the munition house at Jamestown;
the other knew that the otter which died not until this Indian's
arrow quivered in its side would live until doomsday. Yet they
discussed the matter gravely, hedging themselves about with
provisos, and, the bargain clinched, walked on side by side in the
silence of a perfect and all-comprehending amity.

The sun rode higher and higher, gilding the misty green of the
budding trees, quickening the red maple bloom into fierce scarlet,
throwing lances of light down through the pine branches to splinter
against the dark earth far below. For an hour it shone; then clouds
gathered and shut it from sight. The forest darkened, and the wind
arose with a shriek. The young trees cowered before the blast, the
strong and vigorous beat their branches together with a groaning
sound, the old and worn fell crashing to the earth. Presently the
rain rushed down, slant lines of silver tearing through the wood
with the sound of the feet of an army; hail followed, a torrent of
ice beating and bruising all tender green things to the earth. The
wind took the multitudinous sounds, - the cries of frightened birds,
the creaking trees, the snap of breaking boughs, the crash of falling
giants, the rush of the rain, the drumming of the hail, - enwound
them with itself, and made the forest like a great shell held close to
the ear.

There was no house to flee to; so long as we could face the hail we
staggered on, heads down, buffeting the wind; but at last, the fury
of the storm increasing, we were fain to throw ourselves upon the
earth, in a little brake, where an overhanging bank somewhat
broke the wind. A mighty oak, swaying and groaning above us,
might fall and crush us like eggshells; but if we went on, the like
fate might meet us in the way. Broken and withered limbs, driven
by the wind, went past us like crooked shadows; it grew darker and
darker, and the air was deadly cold.

The three Indians pressed their faces against the ground; they
dreamed not of harm from us, but Okee was in the merciless hail
and the first thunder of the year, now pealing through the wood.
Suddenly Diccon raised himself upon his elbow, and looked across
at me. Our eyes had no sooner met than his hand was at his bosom.
The savage nearest him, feeling the movement, as it were, lifted
his head from the earth, of which it was so soon to become a part;
but if he saw the knife, he saw it too late. The blade, driven down
with all the strength of a desperate man, struck home; when it was
drawn from its sheath of flesh, there remained to us but a foe
apiece.

In the instant of its descent I had thrown myself upon the Indian
nearest me. It was not a time for overniceness. If I could have done
so, I would have struck him in the back while he thought no harm;
as it was, some subtle instinct warning him, he whirled himself
over in time to strike up my hand and to clench with me. He was
very strong, and his naked body, wet with rain, slipped like a snake
from my hold. Over and over we rolled on the rain-soaked moss
and rotted leaves and cold black earth, the hail blinding us, and the
wind shrieking like a thousand watching demons. He strove to
reach the knife within his belt; I, to prevent him, and to strike deep
with the knife I yet held.

At last I did so. Blood gushed over my hand and wrist, the clutch
upon my arm relaxed, the head fell back. The dying eyes glared
into mine; then the lids shut forever upon that unquenchable
hatred. I staggered to my feet and turned, to find that Diccon had
given account of the third Indian.

We stood up in the hail and the wind, and looked at the dead men
at our feet. Then, without speaking, we went our way through the
tossing forest, with the hailstones coming thick against us, and the
wind a strong hand to push us back. When we came to a little
trickling spring, we knelt and washed our hands.

The hail ceased, but the rain fell and the wind blew throughout the
morning. We made what speed we could over the boggy earth
against the storm, but we knew that we were measuring miles
where we should have measured leagues. There was no breath to
waste in words, and thought was a burden quite intolerable; it was
enough to stumble on through the partial light, with a mind as gray
and blank as the rain-blurred distance.

At noon the clouds broke, and an hour later the sunshine was
streaming down from a cloudless heaven, beneath which the forest
lay clear before us, naught stirring save shy sylvan creatures to
whom it mattered not if red man or white held the land.

Side by side Diccon and I hurried on, not speaking, keeping eye
and ear open, proposing with all our will to reach the goal we had
set, and to reach it in time, let what might oppose. It was but
another forced march; many had we made in our time, through
dangers manifold, and had lived to tell the tale.

There was no leisure in which to play the Indian and cover up our
footprints as we made them, but when we came to a brook we
stepped into the cold, swift-flowing water, and kept it company for
a while. The brook flowed between willows, thickly set, already
green, and overarching a yard or more of water. Presently it bent
sharply, and we turned with it. Ten yards in front of us the growth
of willows ceased abruptly, the low, steep banks shelved
downwards to a grassy level, and the stream widened into a clear
and placid pool, as blue as the sky above. Crouched upon the grass
or standing in the shallow water were some fifteen or twenty deer.
We had come upon them without noise; the wind blew from them
to us, and the willows hid us from their sight. There was no alarm,
and we stood a moment watching them before we should throw a
stone or branch into their midst and scare them from our path.

Suddenly, as we looked, the leader threw up his head, made a
spring, and was off like a dart, across the stream and into the
depths of the forest beyond. The herd followed. A moment, and
there were only the trodden grass and the troubled waters; no other
sign that aught living had passed that way.

"Now what was that for?" muttered Diccon. "I'm thinking we had
best not take to the open just yet."

For answer I parted the willows, and forced myself into the covert,
pressing as closely as possible against the bank, and motioning
him to do the same. He obeyed, and the thick-clustering gold-green
twigs swung into place again, shutting us in with the black water
and the leafy, crumbling bank. From that green dimness we could
look out upon the pool and the grass, with small fear that we
ourselves would be seen.

Out of the shadow of the trees into the grassy space stepped an
Indian; a second followed, a third, a fourth, - one by one they came
from the gloom into the sunlight, until we had counted a score or
more. They made no pause, a glance telling them to what were due
the trampled grass and the muddied water. As they crossed the
stream one stooped and drank from his hand, but they said no word
and made no noise. All were painted black; a few had face and
chest striped with yellow. Their headdresses were tall and
wonderful, their leggings and moccasins fringed with scalp locks;
their hatchets glinted in the sunshine, and their quivers were stuck
full of arrows. One by one they glided from the stream into the
thick woods beyond. We waited until we knew that they were were
deep in the forest, then crept from the willows and went our way.

"They were Youghtenunds," I said, in the low tones we used when
we spoke at all, "and they went to the southward."

"We may thank our stars that they missed our trail," Diccon
answered.

We spoke no more, but, leaving the stream, struck again toward
the south. The day wore on, and still we went without pause. Sun
and shade and keen wind, long stretches of pine and open glades
where we quickened our pace to a run, dense woods, snares of
leafless vines, swamp and thicket through which we toiled so
slowly that the heart bled at the delay, streams and fallen trees, -
on and on we hurried, until the sun sank and the dusk came
creeping in upon us.

"We've dined with Duke Humphrey to-day," said Diccon at last;
"but if we can keep this pace, and don't meet any more war parties,
or fall foul of an Indian village, or have to fight the wolves
to-night, we'll dine with the Governor to-morrow. What's that?"

"That" was the report of a musket, and a spent ball had struck me
above the knee, bruising the flesh beneath the leather of my boot.

We wheeled, and looked in the direction whence lead come that
unwelcome visitor. There was naught to be seen. It was dusk in the
distance, and there were thickets too, and fallen logs. Where that
ambuscade was planted, if one or twenty Indians lurked in the
dusk behind the trees, or lay on the further side of those logs, or
crouched within a thicket, no mortal man could tell.

"It was a spent ball," I said. "Our best hope is in our heels."

"There are pines beyond, and smooth going," he answered; "but if
ever I thought to run from an Indian!"

Without more ado we started. If we could outstrip that marksman,
if we could even hold our distance until night had fallen, all might
yet be well. A little longer, and even an Indian must fire at
random; moreover, we might reach some stream and manage to
break our trail. The ground was smooth before us, - too smooth,
and slippery with pine needles; the pines themselves stood in grim
brown rows, and we ran between them lightly and easily,
husbanding our strength. Now and again one or the other looked
behind, but we saw only the pines and the gathering dusk. Hope
was strengthening in us, when a second bullet dug into the earth
just beyond us.

Diccon swore beneath his breath. "It struck deep," he muttered.
"The dark is slow in coming."

A minute later, as I ran with my head over my shoulder, I saw our
pursuer, dimly, like a deeper shadow in the shadows far down the
arcade behind us. There was but one man, - a tall warrior, strayed
aside from his band, perhaps, or bound upon a warpath of his own.
The musket that he carried some English fool had sold him for a
mess of pottage.

Putting forth all our strength, we ran for our lives, and for the lives
of many others. Before us the pine wood sloped down to a deep
and wide thicket, and beyond the thicket a line of sycamores
promised water. If we could reach the thicket, its close embrace
would hide us, - then the darkness and the stream. A third shot,
and Diccon staggered slightly.

"For God's sake, not struck, man?" I cried.

"It grazed my arm," he panted. "No harm done. Here's the thicket!"

Into the dense growth we broke, reckless of the blood which the
sharp twigs drew from face and hands. The twigs met in a thick
roof over our heads; that was all we cared for, and through the
network we saw one of the larger stars brighten into being. The
thicket was many yards across. When we had gone thirty feet down
we crouched and waited for the dark. If our enemy followed us, he
must do so at his peril, with only his knife for dependence.

One by one the stars swam into sight, until the square of sky above
us was thickly studded. There was no sound, and no living thing
could have entered that thicket without noise. For what seemed an
eternity, we waited; then we rose and broke our way through the
bushes to the sycamores, to find that they indeed shadowed a little
sluggish stream.

Down this we waded for some distance before taking to dry earth
again. Since entering the thicket we had seen and heard nothing
suspicious, and were now fain to conclude that the dark warrior
had wearied of the chase, and was gone on his way toward his
mates and that larger and surer quarry which two suns would
bring. Certain it is that we saw no more of him.

The stream flowing to the south, we went with it, hurrying along
its bank, beneath the shadow of great trees, with the stars gleaming
down through the branches. It was cold and still, and far in the
distance we heard wolves hunting. As for me, I felt no weariness.
Every sense was sharpened; my feet were light; the keen air was
like wine in the drinking; there was a star low in the south that
shone and beckoned. The leagues between my wife and me were
few. I saw her standing beneath the star, with a little purple flower
in her hand.

Suddenly, a bend in the stream hiding the star, I became aware that
Diccon was no longer keeping step with me, but had fallen
somewhat to the rear. I turned, and he was leaning heavily, with
drooping head, against the trunk of a tree.

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