Virginia -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
broadest, fell to playing noiselessly, cursing beneath their breath.
Mr. Peyton leaned his elbow on his knee, and his chin upon his hand, and
allowed the dreamy beauty of the afternoon to overflow a poetic soul.
At length, and when the patience of the whites was well-nigh exhausted,
the pipe came back to where the half king sat with lowered eyes and
impassive face. He laid it down beside him and rose to his feet,
gathering his mantle around him.
"My white fathers are welcome," he said in a sonorous voice. "Very
welcome to the Chickahominies is the face of the white father, who rules
in the place of the great white father across the sea. Their corn feast
is not yet, and yet my people rejoice. Our hearts were glad when my
father sent word that he would this day visit his faithful
Chickahominies. Our ears are open: let my father speak."
"I thank Harquip and his people for their welcome," said the Governor
coldly. "I have ever found them full of words. They profess loyalty to
the great white father beyond the seas, but they forget his good laws
and disobey his officers. I am weary of their words."
"Tell me," said Harquip, with a sombre face, "are they good laws which
drive us from our hunting grounds? Are they good laws which take from
us our maize fields? Does the great white father love to hear our women
cry for food? or is his heart Indian and longs for the sound of the war
whoop?"
"That is a threat," the Governor said sternly.
The Indian waved his hands. "Have we not smoked the peace pipe?" he
said coldly.
"Humph!" said the Governor then, "I am not come to listen to idle
complaints. Your grievances as to the land shall be laid before the
next Assembly, and it will pass judgment upon them—justly and
righteously, of course."
"Ugh!" said the Indian.
"I am here," continued the Governor, "to ask certain questions of the
Chickahominies, and to lay certain commands upon them which they will do
well to obey."
"Let my father speak," said the Indian calmly.
"Why did you shelter in your village the man with the red hair? Word
was sent to all the tribes, to the Nansemonds, the Wyanokes, the
Cheskiacks, the Paspaheghs, the Pamunkeys, the Chickahominies, that he
should be delivered up if they found him among them. Why did the
Chickahominies hide him?"
"In the night time, the red fox came to the village of the
Chickahominies and burrowed there. The eyes of my people were closed:
they saw him not."
"Humph! Why did you not carry your guns to the Court House when the
tribes were ordered to do so, a fortnight ago, and leave them there,
taking in exchange roanoke and fire-water?"
"My fathers asked much," said the half king gloomily. "My young men
love their sticks-that-speak. They love to see the deer go down before
them like maize before the hail storm. My fathers asked much."
"How many guns has your village?"
"Five," was the prompt reply.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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