Section 2 of 22 - Table of Contents
CHAPTER II
POCAHONTAS AND THE MEDICINE MAN
Some months later on there came a hot day such as sometimes appears in
the early spring. The sun shone with almost as much power as if the corn
were high above the ground in which it had only just been planted with
song and the observance of ancient sacred rites and dances. Little
leaves glistened like fish scales, as they gently unfurled themselves on
the walnut and persimmon trees about Werowocomoco, and in the forest the
ground was covered with flowers. The children tied them together and
tossed them as balls to and fro or wound them into chaplets for their
hair; the old squaws searched among them for certain roots and leaves
for dyes to stain the grass cloth they spun, called pemmenaw.
The boys played hunters, pretending their dogs were wild beasts, but the
bears and wolves did not always understand the parts assigned them and
frolicked and leaped up in delight upon their little masters instead of
turning upon them ferociously. The elder braves lay before their lodges,
many of them idling in the sunshine, others busied themselves making
arrows, fitting handles to stone knives or knotting crab nets. Two
slaves, brought home prisoners by a war party, were hollowing out a
dugout, which the Powhatans used instead of the birchbark canoes
preferred by other tribes. They had cut down an oak tree that, judging
from its rings, must have been an acorn when Powhatan was a papoose,
seventy years before. They had burned out a portion of the outer and
inner bark and were now hacking at the heart of the wood with sharp
obsidian axes.
The squaws were also all busy out of doors, though they chatted in
groups as eagerly as if their energy were being expended by their
tongues only. Many were at work scraping deerskin to soften it before
they cut it into robes for themselves or into moccasins for the men.
Here and there little puffs of smoke that seemed to come from beneath
the earth testified to the dinners that were being cooked under heated
stones.
Pocahontas was seated upon a small hill overlooking the village. As the
chief's daughter, it was only on special occasions and as an honored
guest, that she joined the knots of squaws or maidens chatting before
the wigwams. But she was not alone now in solitary grandeur. She was
accustomed to surround herself, when she desired company, with a number
of younger girls of the tribe who obeyed her, less because she was the
daughter of the feared werowance, than because she had a way with her
that made it pleasant to do as she willed and difficult to oppose her.
Cleopatra, her youngest sister, sat beside her, trying to coax a
squirrel on the branch above them to come down and eat some parched corn
from her hands.
Over Pocahontas's knees was spread a robe of raccoon skin, smooth,
painted in a wide border. Along the edge of this she was embroidering a
deep pattern of white beads made from sea shells. A basket of reeds
beside her was full of other beads, large and small, white, red, yellow
and blue.
"What doth thy pattern mean, Pocahontas?" asked the girl nearest her.
"As it is not one any of our mothers hath ever wrought before, thou must
have a meaning for it in thy mind." "Yes," assented the worker, "it
differeth from all other patterns because my father differeth from all
other werowances. It meaneth this that I sing:
"Powhatan is a mighty chief,
As long as the river floweth,
As long as the sky upholdeth,
As long as the oak tree groweth,
So long shall his name be known.
"See, this line is for the river, this one that goeth up straight is the
oak tree and this long line all wavy is the heavens. I make this for my
father because I am so proud of him."
"But why, Pocahontas," asked another of her companions, "dost thou not
use more of these red beads? They are so like fire, like the blood of an
enemy; why dost thou refer the white?"
Pocahontas held her bone needle still for a moment and her face wore a
puzzled expression.
"I cannot answer thee exactly, Deer-Eye, since I do not know myself. I
love the white beads as I love best to wear a white robe myself, or a
white rabbit hood in winter. In the woods I always pick the white
flowers, and I love the white wild pigeon best of all the birds except
the white seagull. And the white soft clouds high in the heavens I love
better than the red and yellow ones when the sun goeth down to sleep in
the west. Yet I cannot say why it is so."
As noon approached the day grew hotter, and the fingers wearied of the
work. Down in the village the men had ceased their activities and lay
stretched out on the shady side of the lodges; only the squaws preparing
dinner were still busy.
"Let us go to the waterfall," cried Pocahontas, jumping up suddenly.
"Each of you go and beg some food from her mother and hurry back here. I
will put my work away and await ye here."
The maidens flew down the hill while Pocahontas and Cleopatra carried
the robe and the basket to their lodge. Then, a few minutes later, they
were rejoined by their companions and all started off laughing as they
ran through the woods.
The stream that flowed into the great river below was now still wide
with its spring fulness. A mile away from Werowocomoco it fell over high
rocks, then rushing down a gentle incline bubbled over smooth rocky
slabs, and made a deep pool below them.
The maidens tossed off their skirts and stood for a moment hesitatingly
on the shore. Mocking-birds sang in the oaks above them, startled by
their shrill young voices, and on the bare branches of a sycamore tree
that had been killed by a lightning bolt a score of raccoons lay curled
up in the sunshine.
Pocahontas was the first to spring into the stream, but her comrades
quickly followed her, laughing, pushing, crying out the first chill of
the water. Only Cleopatra remained standing on the shore.
"Come," called Pocahontas to her; "why dost thou tarry, lazy one?"
"I will not come. The water is too cold."
Cleopatra was about to slip on her skirt again when her sister splashed
through the stream to her and half pushed, half pulled her into the pool
and then to the rocks partly submerged in the water. There was much
screaming and calling, slipping from the rocks into the pool and
clambering from the pool back on to the rocks. The water was now
pleasantly warm and the dinner awaiting them was forgotten in the
pleasure of the first bath of the season.
Deer-Eye, in trying to pull herself back on the rock, caught hold of
Cleopatra's foot, who slipped on the mossy surface and fell backwards
into the water, hitting her head against a sharp edge. She lost
consciousness and sank down into the pool.
Almost before she had disappeared beneath the water Pocahontas had
sprung after her, and groping about on the fine smooth sand of the
bottom, she caught hold of her sister and brought her to the surface.
Then, with the aid of the terrified maidens, she lifted her up on the
bank, the blood flowing freely from a cut on her head. After vainly
trying to staunch the wound with damp moss, Pocahontas commanded:
"Hasten as though the Iroquois were coming, and cut me some strong
branches."
They obeyed her, hurriedly throwing their skirts about them, and then
with their stone knives severed branches and tied them together with
deer thongs which they tore from the fringe of their girdles. On top of
these they placed leafy branches and lifted the unconscious Cleopatra on
to this improvised stretcher. In spite of their remonstrances,
Pocahontas insisted upon taking one end of it, while the strongest two
of her playmates bore the other.
Through the woods they walked, as silent now as they had been noisy
before, but Pocahontas thought her heart-beats sounded as loud as the
war drums of the Pamunkeys.
They were still distant many minutes' walk to the village when they
caught sight of Pochins, a medicine man famous among many tribes for his
powerful manitou, his guardian spirit, which enabled him to communicate
with the manitous of the spirit world.
"Pochins, oh Pochins," cried out Pocahontas, "come and help us. I fear
my sister is dying, and that I have killed her. She did not wish to go
into the water, Pochins, and I pulled her in and now she hath cut her
head and the blood floweth from it so that I can not stop it."
The shaman made no answer, but bent down from his great height and
looked carefully at the wound, then he took the end of the stretcher
from Pocahontas, saying:
"I will bear her to my prayer lodge here nearby."
Even then through the trees they caught sight of the bark covering of
the lodge, which few persons had ever entered. The maidens shuddered at
the sight of it, for none of them knew what mysterious terrors might lie
in wait for them there. Nevertheless they followed Pochins as he bore
Cleopatra inside and laid her on the ground. From an earthen bowl he
took certain herbs and bound the leaves, after he had moistened them,
over the wound. Soon Pocahontas, crouching at her sister's side, could
see that the blood had ceased to flow. But no sign of life could be
detected in the little body lying there. The hands and feet were clammy
and though Pocahontas rubbed them vigorously, she could feel no warmth
stirring in them.
The shaman paid, however, no further heed to her. From another bowl he
took out a rattle of gourd, and from a peg on one of the rounded
supports of the roof he lifted down a horrible mask painted in scarlet,
and this he fastened over his face. Then, waving the children out of the
way, he began to dance about the two sisters and to chant in a loud
voice, shaking the rattle till it seemed as if the din must waken a dead
person.
"My medicine is a mighty medicine," he exclaimed in his natural voice to
Pocahontas. "Wait a little and thou shalt see what wonders it can do."
And indeed in a few moments Pocahontas felt the pulse start in her
sister's arm, saw her eyelids quiver and her feet grow warm. And when
the shouting and the shaking of the rattle grew even louder and more
hideous, Cleopatra opened her eyes and looked about her in astonishment.
"Mighty indeed is the medicine (the magic) of Pochins," cried the shaman
proudly as he laid aside mask and rattle; "it hath brought this maiden
back from the dead."
Pocahontas now had to soothe the child, terrified by the sights she had
seen and the sounds she had heard. She patted her arms and spoke to her
as if she were a papoose on her back:
"Fear not, little one, no evil shall come to thee. Pocahontas watcheth
over thee. She will not close her eyes while danger prowleth about. Fear
naught, little one."
And Cleopatra clung to her, feeling a sense of security in her sister's
fearlessness.
By this time the news of the accident had spread through the village and
several squaws, led by Cleopatra's mother, came running to Pochins's
lodge. Finding Cleopatra was able to rise, they carried her back with
them. The other maidens, now the excitement was over, remembered their
empty stomachs and hurried off to recover the dinner they had left
behind at the waterfall.
Pocahontas did not go with them. She still sat on the ground beside the
medicine man while he busied himself painting the mask where the color
had worn off.
"Shaman," she asked, "tell me where went the manitou of my sister while
she lay there dead?"
"On a distant journey," he answered; "therefore I had to call so loudly
to make it hear me and return."
"Who taught thee thy medicine?" she questioned again.
"The Beaver, my manitou, daughter of Powhatan," he answered.
"And who then will teach me; how shall I learn?"
"Thou needest not such knowledge, since thou art neither a medicine man
nor a brave. I, Pochins, will call to Okee, the Great Spirit, for thee
when thou hast need of anything, food or raiment or a chief to take thee
to his lodge."
"But I should like to do that myself, Pochins," she remonstrated. "Thou
dost not know how many things I long to do myself. Let me put on thy
mask and take thy rattle, just to see how they feel."
"Nay, nay, touch them not," he cried, stretching out his hand. "The
Beaver would be angry with us and would work evil medicine on us."
Pochins was not fond of children. His dignity was so great that he never
even noticed them as he strode through the village. But the eager look
in Pocahontas's eyes seemed to draw words out of him. He began to talk
to her of the many days and nights he had spent alone, fasting, in the
prayer lodge until some message came to him from Okee, some message
about the harvest or the success of a hunting party. Pocahontas was so
interested that she asked him many questions.
"Tell me of Michabo, Michabo, the Great Hare," she coaxed, as she moved
over on a mat Pochins had spread for her.
"Hearken, then, daughter of The Powhatan," he began, his voice changing
its natural tone to one of chanting, "to the story of Michabo as it is
told in the lodges of the Powhatans, the Delawares and of those tribes
who dwell far away beyond our forests, away where abideth the West Wind
and where the Sun strideth towards the darkness.
"Michabo dived down into the water when there was no land and no beast
and no man or woman and he was lonely. From the bottom took he a grain
of fine white sand and bore it safely in his hand in his journey upward
through the dark waters. This he cast upon the waves and it sank not but
floated like a tiny leaf. Then it spread out, circling round and round,
wider and wider as the rings widen when thou casteth a stone into a
still lake, till it had grown so large that a swift young wolf, though
he ran till he dropped of old age, could not come to its ending. This
earth rose all covered with trees and hills and beasts and men and
women, and Michabo, the Great Hare, the Spirit of Light, the Great White
One, hunted through earth's forests and he fashioned strong nets for
fishing and he taught the stupid men, who knew naught, how to hunt also
and to catch fish that they might not die of hunger.
"But Michabo had mightier deeds to do than the slaying of the fat deer
or the netting of the salmon. His father was the mighty West Wind,
Ningabiun, and he had slain his wife, the mother of Michabo. So when
Michabo's grandmother had told him of the misdeeds of his father,
Michabo rose up and called out to the four corners of the world: 'Now go
I forth to slay the West Wind to avenge the death of my mother.'
"At last he found Ningabiun on the top of a high mountain, his cheeks
puffed out and his headdress waving back and forth. At first they talked
peacefully together and the West Wind told Michabo that only one thing
in all the world could bring harm to him, and that was the black rock.
"'Wert thou the cause of my mother's death?' questioned Michabo, his
eyes flashing, and Ningabiun calmly answered 'Yes.'
"So Michabo in his fury picked up a piece of black rock and struck at
Ningabiun with all his might. A terrible conflict was this, such as hath
never been seen since; the earth shook and the lightnings flashed down
the sides of the mountain. So great was Michabo's strength that the West
Wind was driven backwards. Over mountains and lakes Michabo drove him
and across wide rivers, till they two came to the very brink of the
world. Ningabiun feared that his son was going to push him off and cried
out:
"Hold, my son, thou knowest not my power and that it is impossible to
kill me. Desist and I will portion out to thee as much power as I have
given to thy brothers. The four quarters of the globe are theirs, but
thou canst do more than they, if thou wilt help the people of the earth.
Go and do good, and thy fame will last forever.'
"So Michabo ceased from the battle and went down to help our fathers in
the hunt and in the council and in the prayer-lodge; but to this day
great cliffs of black rock show where Michabo strove with his father,
the West Wind."
[Illustration: Decorative]
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