 | CHAPTER IV. Tales of the good woman |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
For some time previous to the occurrence of the
matters just related, the savages had evinced towards
our little colony, various symptoms of dissatisfaction.
They refused to bring in their grain
to exchange for merchandise, and now seldom if
ever came into the town. The necessities of the colony,
had obliged Smith to scour the neighbouring
country, and seize their corn wherever it could be
found; and his old friend Powhatan, had sent him
a bundle of arrows tied with the skin of a rattlesnake.
To this significant message, Smith made
as significant a reply, by sending back the skin
filled with powder and ball.
All of a sudden, however, the savages renewed
their friendly relations with our adventurers. They
thronged about James Town as usual, and, indeed
in greater numbers, proffered their good offices
with great apparent sincerity, and would have
brought their usual supplies of corn, but that their
harvest had failed, and they were almost in as
great distress as their white neighbours. There
was among the savages who ranged the woods between
James and York rivers, a tall, handsome
chief, about twenty-five years of age, called Namatanow;
in war, but excessively fond of finery, as
indeed all the savages were. He could not resist
glass beads, and would have sold an empire for a
red cloak, or a couple of yards of gold lace. He
generally came to James Town, dressed in a suit
of buckskin, fitting tight to his limbs, and showing
his fine proportions to the greatest advantage; a
pair of silver bracelets, received as a present from
Governor Newport; and a high coronet of feathers
upon his head. For this reason the English nicknamed
him Jack o' the Feather. But with all his
passion for finery, Jack o' the Feather was deep,
designing, artful, and vindictive. He had long
been exceedingly anxious to procure some of the
weapons of the white men, but it had always been
the policy of Smith to keep them out of the hands
of the savages, knowing that the possession of
these, and the art of using them, would give to
the Indians the means of certain destruction to
the colony. The first recorded instance of treason,
in this new world, is the case of certain
Dutchmen, who had come over to the colony with
the early adventurers, and who about this time
deserted to the Indians, carrying their guns,
swords, and ammunition with them. From one of
these, Jack o' the Feather procured a broad sword,
and learned the art of using it. It was the acquisition
of these traitors and their weapons, that
probably emboldened Jack and his confidants to
the people, which they had long had in
contemplation.
With this object in view, they all at once, as
we before premised, returned to their old habits of
intercourse, and appeared more friendly than before.
Pretending to feel great anxiety about the
situation of the colony, they inquired particularly
into the quantity of provisions, the arms, ammunition,
and means of defence; and they took every
mode of ascertaining the strength of the men, by
challenging them to wrestling matches and other
trials of manhood. But the master stroke of policy,
was played off by Jack o' the Feather, who pretended
to have serious thoughts of becoming a Christian.
He declared himself greatly dissatisfied with his
own faith; requested to be instructed in that of
the white men, and came every day into the town
to receive the ghostly instructions of Master Hardin,
who took the most unwearied pains to enlighten
him. There was a strange mixture of spiritual
and temporal views among the incentives which
prompted the early adventurers to this new world.
Their zeal for converting the savages, was almost
equal to their avidity for the acquisition of gold;
and beyond all question, much of the ill treatment
the aborigines received, proceeded from a holy
and religious horror of Paganism. In those days
the humane and charitable doctrine of toleration,
was considered an abomination, and those who
turn intolerant. The idea of converting so brave
a chief as Jack o' the Feather, was so peculiarly
gratifying, that even Smith himself relaxed in that
sleepless caution with which a knowledge of the
profound dissimulation which marks the savage
character had inspired him. Master Hardin laboured
with all the zeal of a sincere believer, and
Jack o' the Feather, daily became more convinced
of the truth of his doctrine. In the meantime,
he gained opportunities of acquiring a complete
knowledge of the wants, weakness, and disaffection
of the colony, by the aid of which he
was enabled to concert with the other neighbouring
chiefs, a plan for the total destruction of the
infant settlement. This was now fast ripening to
a consummation. The wants of the colony, and
the difficulty of supplying them became every day
greater; and the people, instead of labouring to
ward them off in future by planting for the ensuing
year, spent a good portion of their time in
finding fault with their rulers, talking about their
privations, or in sitting on a little eminence nigh
by, which commanded a view of the Chesapeake
and its capes, anxiously watching for the ships,
which Smith, to quiet their murmurings, had assured
them were on their way from England with
supplies of men and provisions.
A party of these worthies, who in sober truth,
had special reason for grumbling, on the morning
consummate the massacre, precisely at noon, when
the people were at dinner, were seated on the little
knoll, looking anxiously towards the bay for a sail.
It was not then as now, when the whole expanse of
this noble water, is sprinkled day and night with
white sails, flitting to and fro, from the gallant
war-ship, with her cloud of snowy canvass, to the
little fishing smack appearing like a white speck
on the waters. All was solitary; nothing moved
but the world of waters heaving as with the breath
of life; and nothing seemed active, but the seabirds,
which could at times be dimly distinguished
winging their course far down the river. The
group consisted of one Jeffrey Shortridge, a
schoolmaster; Sicklemore, a farmer; Curll, a
barber; O`Reilly, an Irish gentleman; and our old
acquaintance, Newcut, who had escaped paying
the penalty of Justice Knapp's most politic decision.
O`Reilly was smoking a long Indian pipe;
the rest were idly lounging on the ground, leaning
on their elbows. O`Reilly first broke the silence.
“His majesty, King James of England—a murrain
take him for the wisest fool in all Christendom—maintains
that this same tobacco is a most
filthy abomination. Now to my mind, Master
Sicklemore, were it not for this same blessed invention
of smoking, which takes away one's appetite,
when there's nothing else to eat, and so
makes eating unnecessary, by the powers of Moll
credit to any improvement in world making.
Hey, Master Sicklemore,” at the same time puffing
a whiff in his face.
“A plague take your tobacco,” quoth Sicklemore,
“if we had planted corn instead, we should
have something else to eat now, besides dried
sturgeon.”
“There it is now, there it is,” rejoined O`Reilly,
“The true difference between my countrymen and
yours, is that your Englishman is always thinking
of eating, and your Irishman of drinking. Botheration,
farmer take a puff now to stay your
stomach, till these same slow sailing ships heave
in sight. 'Twill put you in good humour, and
that were a miracle in a hungry Englishman.”
“Nay, nay, I want none of thy smoke,” said
Sicklemore, “I've a notion it wont fill the belly,
so e'en keep it to thyself.”
“You wont? well just as you like; there's not
as much good fellowship in you, as there is between
a priest and a parson.”
“I'm thinking you'd better be doing something,
Master O`Reilly, to help along the colony. You'll
have cold water upon your resolution ere it be
long,” said the farmer.
“Faith, so it don't go down my throat, I care
not,” replied O`Reilly; “but look ye, Master
Sicklemore, I did not come here to work; I'd
enough of that in my own country, so there was
for it. Without vanity now, farmer, I look upon
myself to be the only real gentleman in the colony,
not excepting these same sprigs of nobility the president
hatchelled yesterday. The only man, honey,
that came here with liberal views.”
“Pray Master O`Reilly,” asked Newcut, “what
d'ye mean by liberal views?”
“A matrimonial speculation, my dear,” replied he.
The rest of the company hereupon set up a
long laugh, which neither put the good natured
Hibernian out of temper, nor out of countenance.
“Aye,” cried he, “a matrimonial speculation,
burn ye. I came in search of some copper
coloured heiress, with an estate to her back as big
as all Ireland.”
“Did you speed, Master O`Reilly,” asked Newcut.
“No, by St. Patrick!” cried he, laughing, “I
made up to some half a score of them as they
came here to show off their finery, but all my
English was thrown away on them, the little rogues.
I might as well have made love to a dumb fish, or
deaf adder, or a copper-head, as these copper
coloured creatures, God bless 'em!”
“How so?” quoth the tailor, the most inquisitive
man in the whole colony.
“Why they did'nt comprehend either words,
looks, or winkings, the only three languages I
know of. I made a glorious declaration to the
of love for that of hunger, and instead of
her sweet self, offered me a piece of raw bear's
meat.”
“Only an Indian bull,” cried Newcut, “but I
hope you were not discouraged?”
“Dis—dis—discouraged! what's that? There's
no such word in Irish, Master Newcut. It must
be Indian. Discouraged, no no; I've been treated
with bear's meat, by three princesses royal, since
then. I believe I might have carried off one, if
little Nathan, the puritan, he that scolds the bonny
birds for chirping on Sundays, had not got the
better of her with his psalmody.”
“Ah! let these slyboots alone for the women,”
cried Newcut, “but why did'nt you call him out,
and fight for her like gentlemen?”
“Faith, I did. I invited him to settle the preliminaries;
but he sent me word, though he did'nt
much mind giving a civil offence, it ran against
his conscience to make satisfaction.”
“Mighty satisfactory,” observed the other, “I
hope you proceeded no farther in the affair.”
“No, no, faith!” answered Master O`Reilly, “I
never meddle with people's consciences. I've seen
enough of that in my own country, which I only
love the better for having been treated like a dog
there. Conscience, Master Newcut, is naturally
a peaceable thing enough, till you point your finger
at it, and then 'twill fly in your face like a
as master Jeffrey Shortridge calls the
like, I should wish to know what brought you here,
my masters, one and all. Come, you Master Newcut?”
“I came to make coats for the aboriginals.”
“The devil you did? That now was rather an
aboriginal idea though, Master Newcut. If an
Irishman had made such a Judyism! I hope you
had plenty of business.”
“Business! saving a satin doublet for Master
Lavender, which he turned on my hands, as antediluvian;
and a cloak for Justice Knapp, which
he refused to pay for, I've not done a stitch, but
in the way of regenerating these rags.”
“Lamentable! lamentable!” exclaimed O`Reilly.
“But that's not the worst of it,” continued the
other, “I came within a single stitch of being
sent to make a bonfire for the savages, in the place
of Master Dole, had not the president reprieved
me. They say we shall be attacked one of these
days, on that account.”
“Let 'em come!” cried O`Reilly, snapping his
fingers. “By the powers, but I'll carry off an heiress
in the scuffle, or do for a king, and take possession
of his dominions by right of discovery. But
Master Sicklemore, may I crave to know what
brought you here. Could not the roast beef of
Old England keep you at home?”
“Marry, I came to teach the salvages our English
improvements in farming.”
“You did'nt now? I hope they took your intentions
kindly!”
“Kindly, I don't know what you call kindly,
not I. We caught one and set him to work with
a spade, with the which after a few trials, he did
knock me soundly on the pate, and then ran away
into the woods whooping like a devil incarnate.”
“A promising beginning,” rejoined O`Reilly.
“May I now take the liberty of inquiring, Master
Jeffrey Shortridge, what might have moved your
scholarship to these parts?”
Master Jeffrey, who had all this while been poring
over his book, without joining in the conversation,
now pulled off his specks, and shutting the
volume, very deliberately replied—“I came to
teach the wild indians tame learning, to wit: reading,
writing, the mysteries of science, philosophy,
and metaphysics.”
“By St. Patrick, the teacher of the whole universe,
but this is the most feasible project of all!
Did they show a reasonable aptitude for these
same mysteries?”
“Verily nay,” quoth Master Jeffrey.
“You don't say so?” replied the other.
“They did demur to A, B, C—they became exceedingly
restive at a, b—ab; impatient at monosyllables;
and when they came to join them together,
scampered away incontinently, like Master Sicklemore's
agricultural pupil.”
“Bad news for learning and philosophy,” cried
O'Reilly; “thus to be left alone howling in
the wilderness. Take a fool's advice now,
Master Jeffrey; go home to England and teach
the grown up gentry a little learning and politeness.
Faith, there's nobody wants them more for
all their bragging. You Master Curll, what makes
you here?”
“I came to shave the aboriginals,” quoth Curll;
but the villains are born without beards, on purpose
to destroy my vocation, I believe.”
“The rogues! it was rather ill natured though,”
rejoined O'Reilly.
“I was always served just so,” quoth Curll; “an
I had been a hatter, people would have been born
without heads on purpose to spite me.”
“What an ill natured world this is,” said the
other. “But there's no use in being melancholy,
that ever I heard of. Suppose I sing you a song
now, though faith 'twill be with a heavy heart, for
all mine are about home; and whenever the
thought of my country comes over me, my eyes
turn into wet quakers, and weep under their broad
lids; but I'll try: I lighted my pipe this morning
with a piece of an old ballad, and have had a
singing in my head ever since.
There was never a land like my own for full glasses;
Search all the world o'er, you'll not find to my thinking,
A land like old Ireland for love, wine and drinking.”
“There's never a rose, but that if it could speak,
Would beg for the bright tint that mantles their cheek;
And there's never a bottle, but that if it could think—
I mean speak—would invite every stranger to drink.”
“But what a villain I am,” cried he, suddenly
checking himself, “to be wasting my time here,
when I promised that pale, half perished angel,
Mistress Arabella Fenton, and that ghost of a
beauty, Anne Burras, to try and catch them some
fish, or shoot a bird for them this morning. So
good bye, if there's a fish in the river, by St. Anthony,
I'll have him.” Master O'Reilly then went
on his way towards the river side, and the rest dispersed
to their several avocations.
| CHAPTER IV. Tales of the good woman | |