What you are about to read is a living excerpt - that is, the story of a famous scene from our past, brought to life. You will walk in their shoes and feel what they felt while coming away with a greater appreciation for our beginnings. Comments are welcome! |
A Living Excerpt |
What you are about to read is a living excerpt - that is, the story of a famous scene from our past, brought to life. You will walk in their shoes and feel what they felt while coming away with a greater appreciation for our beginnings. Comments are welcome! |
Jamestown, 1607 Pocahontas sat weaving beads along strings made of dried animal gut when she heard a commotion erupt within Werowocomoco. She rushed out of the longhouse to see warriors scurrying through the village, waving their spears. Pocahontas ventured to the main longhouse, hoping her father would give an explanation for the ruckus. Instead the quiyoughcosuck ordered her away while the council conferred with Chief Powhatan. Pocahontas wandered meekly outside, waiting for some word to explain the frenzy. Suddenly a call came forth. The tribe gathered in front of the longhouses, staring wide-eyed at a parade of braves marching in from a northern village. Councilors left the meeting with Powhatan to watch the procession from the doorway of the longhouse. Pocahontas hoisted herself up on a log for a better view of the proceedings. One by one they marched by until her gaze fell on the familiar locks of fiery hair belonging to a prized captive guarded by the braves. A lump formed in the pit of her stomach. Her extremities began to twitch. No, it can't be...not my netoppew here in Werowocomoco! "Jonsmith!" she mourned aloud. "Yes, it is Jonsmith," confirmed Raccoon who stood beside her with a look of triumph on his face. "I am told your netoppew traveled around many villages, speaking lies to keep himself from harm. Some hailed him a great werowance with magical powers." Raccoon tossed his head in contempt. "But I already told Chief Powhatan and the councilors who this tassantasse really is. He is a betrayer of the people and kills many braves. Now Chief Powhatan will decide his fate." Pocahontas trembled at Raccoon's words. "Will you ask that Jonsmith be put to death?" "That is for the chief to decide. But after he killed our braves and then tried to kill me, he must pay the consequences. And you know what that means." Pocahontas slid from the log to the ground. Tears trickled down her smooth cheeks. Jonsmith, you can't die! She wandered about the village in distress until she came to the outlying longhouse where the warriors guarded Jonsmith. She paused to gather her courage before venturing forward. At the door covered by animal skin, a brave lashed out a sharp spear. "Chief Powhatan has declared that no one will see the captive until the feast." "But I am the princess and..." The brave shook his head. "I'm sorry, Princess, but this is the command of Chief Powhatan." Pocahontas turned and walked away. Grief filled her heart. Despite Raccoon's right to justice, she could not bear to see her netoppew die. He had been her teacher and her friend. Pocahontas considered offering prayers of worship to Ahone and Okewas to spare Jonsmith's life, but found no comfort that the gods would hear her pleas. She then thought of Hunter's God, the Creator God of the white men. Perhaps He would spare her friend. After all, Jonsmith was one of His devoted subjects. Hunter said many times that the Creator God heard his prayers when he knelt on the ground in a ceremonial position. "I cast my cares upon Him for He cares for me," Hunter would tell her before falling to his knees and asking his God for help. Pocahontas found an isolated place away from the activity of the village. There she fell to her knees as she had seen Hunter do. She placed her head in her hands and prayed in broken English, "Creator God, help Jonsmith. Save. No bad. Please!" **** That night, Pocahontas wandered out into the cold darkness, heading for the longhouse where Jonsmith was held prisoner. The bright pinpoints of light in the night sky winked at her as if trying to draw away her attention, yet her thoughts remained fixed on Jonsmith's wellbeing. The next day his fate would be decided by her father in a special ceremony prepared by the people and directed by the quiyoughcosuck. She noticed the two braves, assigned to guard the longhouse, standing off to one side and speaking to each other in low voices. She crept silently past the murmuring braves and slipped into the darkened interior of the longhouse. Her netoppew sat on the ground in the corner of the dwelling. The might and power she had once admired in Jonsmith were gone, replaced by tattered clothing and a weary spirit. His orange hair hung in strings around his face. He sat up against the wall of the longhouse with his hands tied behind his back, his head slumped to his chest as if trying in vain to catch a bit of sleep. When she approached, his head slowly came up. A dark bruise similar to the black color adorning a raccoon encircled one eye. Lash marks were evident on his neck and arms. Blood stained his shirt and matted his beard. Pocahontas winked back the tears before coming to his side and kneeling down beside him. "P-Pocahontas," he said in a gravelly voice. "You shouldn't be here." Pocahontas fumbled for a wooden dipper of water in a nearby pot, which she brought to his cracked lips. He drank deeply and murmured a feeble thank you. They exchanged silent stares for a moment or two before he gestured to the door with a nod of his head. "Be off with you. Leave." He repeated in Algonkian, "Vtteke." Pocahontas shook her head. "No Pocahontas trouble," he told her, then spoke in Algonkian, "Vtteke." "Jonsmith no bad," she said in English. "Raccoon say Jonsmith marrapough (enemy) of Powhatan. Kill braves." Jonsmith widened his eyes. "Raccoon! He's alive...he, uh...Raccoon kekughes?" Pocahontas nodded. He exhaled and leaned his head against the wall of the longhouse. "So Raccoon is angry over what happened in the woods. Rightly so." He sat upright and stared at Pocahontas. "You must believe that I was only defending myself from those murderin' heathen. 'Twas the only way. I must stay alive...my village needs me...whether they will admit it or not. I couldn't have my limbs pierced by those arrows. Raccoon's one of your own people, and I knew he could." Pocahontas shook her head, unable to understand his many words. "No see, Jonsmith." Jonsmith sighed and closed his eyes. "You don't understand me. No one understands me, not even the men in my village. They are all thirsty for riches and power, without any knowledge of what it takes to survive in this land. But I must trust in the Almighty to keep me alive so I can keep Jamestown alive. Thrice the Almighty has saved me from the murderin' savages in these villages." He then prayed, "Almighty God, if I can still be of use to You, keep me by Your grace even now." He lifted his face to find Pocahontas studying him. His arms shifted against the binding around his wrists. "Well, for whatever it brings me, give Raccoon a message will you? Say in English to Raccoon...say...John Smith is sorry for what happened. Say...Raccoon is a goodly guide." "To Raccoon, Jonsmith sorry," Pocahontas repeated. "Raccoon is a good guide." He nodded with a faint smile. "Good. Thank you. Vtteke, Pocahontas." "Jonsmith...Pocahontas mawchick chammay (the best of friends)," Pocahontas said before hastening to her feet to deliver his message. **** The following day, orders were issued to prepare large quantities of food for a feast at high noon. The women hastened to fulfill the request. Cooking fires were stoked. Venison steaks were cut and prepared. Corncake batter was mixed and poured into earthen pots, ready to bake inside beds of burning embers. Other pots were filled with water for stewing ears of corn. Pocahontas watched the flurry of activity all around her in growing apprehension. The fervent action of the women as they hurried to assemble the feast, along with the warriors decorating themselves in red paint, all pointed with a dreadful certainty that Jonsmith was to die. Death for a captive in Werowocomoco meant a terrible ordeal of suffering and torment. Several methods were used, including sharpened mollusk shells and bones to dismember and disembowel the unfortunate soul, or using heavy clubs to break open the skull. Pocahontas paced back and forth, wondering what she could do to stop this madness. She must intervene on behalf of her friend, but how? The braves, arrayed in vivid color, gathered together to begin a dancing ritual around the longhouse where Jonsmith kept a silent vigil, waiting to be brought before the chief. Whoops and yells pierced the air, accompanied by a steady drumbeat. When the dance was completed, several of the braves went inside to bring forth the weary man. A hush fell over the celebrating villagers. They watched the white man stumble towards the longhouse belonging to Chief Powhatan. Inside the dwelling, a haze of blue smoke from a bonfire filled the rustic interiors. The small area was crowded with spectators. Powhatan, the great chief of the entire confederation, sat with his arms folded, covered by a robe made of raccoon skins. Two young women flanked him. Lining the sides of the longhouse were rows of men and women who occupied positions of authority within the village. Ornamental feathers poked out in every direction. Pocahontas drew in a sharp breath when Jonsmith entered the longhouse. He appeared thin and exhausted. He never acknowledged her presence among the people, but kept his attention riveted on her father who sat tall and commanding on his throne of long poles, decorated with animal skins. Powhatan ordered Jonsmith to wash his hands and dry them with turkey feathers given to him by one of the young women. Following the ceremonial cleansing came the great feast. Young maidens filed into the longhouse, bearing food in wooden bowls. Jonsmith refused to partake of the food set before him, but remained on the ground in front of the fire, staring into the flames. All around him the Indians enjoyed food and drink as if celebrating a victory over a defeated foe. Pocahontas only looked on from the rear of the longhouse in growing apprehension. She touched no food either, but kept her sights focused on the bent head of matted hair sitting dejectedly in the middle of the longhouse. What is Jonsmith thinking? she wondered. Does he know I am here? Did he realize how much I want him spared, despite the wishes of the tribe? After finishing his portion of venison and stewed maize, Powhatan cleared his throat to begin an interrogation of his prisoner, using Raccoon as the interpreter. "Why have the tassantasses come to our land?" Jonsmith slowly rose to his feet, his eyes darting to the array of tawny colored faces and beady, black eyes staring at him. "Great Chief, we...the white men...we come to this land in peace. Our ship from the Great Waters suffered damage. We only wait for our capt'n, Capt'n Newport if you will, to return from the land of England with another seaworthy ship." Powhatan frowned and lowered his head to his councilors who whispered furiously in his ear. He then nodded and asked, "Why have you built a wooden village on the hunting land of the Paspahegh?" Jonsmith shrugged his shoulders. "We must have a place to live, Great Chief. We call Jamestown our home, as this village is your home." Powhatan studied him with narrow eyes. "Why were you in the Orapacks? Why did you kill braves?" "I seek the passage to the back ocean," he explained. "'Twas not my intention to kill anyone, but savages ambushed me from the woods." He narrowed his eyes. "One must protect himself in a foreign land, and from savages too eager to shoot arrows rather than talk peace. I only seek peace and goodly trade between our people." Raccoon glared at Jonsmith before interpreting the explanation. Whispers abounded. Powhatan considered the explanation, then with a nod of his head, three warriors rushed at Jonsmith. They bound his wrists behind his back and forced him down to his knees with his head resting on a stone. Out of the darkness came several braves armed with wooden clubs, heavy enough to crush his skull in a single stroke. "Listen to what I say!" Jonsmith protested, staring hard into the eyes of the great leader who returned the stare. "I am the white werowance of the wooden village! You kill me and my men will come and destroy your village. I swear it! We have many thunder sticks. Listen to my words!" A heavy hand only pushed his head down on the rock. He inhaled a sharp breath and closed his eyes. "There will be no peace between our people if you do this," he told Powhatan, his muscles tensing as the braves lifted the clubs to deal the deathblow. "Great Chief, this is not the way!" a voice cried out in the midst of the gathering. Pocahontas rushed forward, falling down beside Jonsmith and using herself to protect him from the deadly beating. The entire assembly gasped in shock. Jonsmith flicked open his eyes to see Pocahontas, clad in white animal skins and a mantle of white feathers, draped over him like a cloud from heaven. Pocahontas ignored the glaring eyes and scowl painted on the face of the quiyoughcosuck. She sought only one thing to find some measure of compassion within the hardened leader of the confederation. "As your daughter, Chief Powhatan, custom allows me to claim the life of one captive as a brother and mighty werowance for his leadership and power. The white man, Jonsmith, is a mighty werowance of his people. I claim his life this day." A hush fell over the assembly. All eyes focused on Powhatan. After a time, Powhatan stood to address the assembly. "May it be as Matoaka has spoken. This white man is now entrusted to her and made a brother of the Powhatan tribe as our custom dictates." Tears of relief slid down the face of Pocahontas. She rose to her feet and retreated to the rear of the longhouse. The braves released Jonsmith. A joy unlike anything she had ever experienced filled her heart. COPYRIGHT 2003, Lauralee Bliss. All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced without the written consent of the author. |
