Pocahontas (11 page)

On the sixth of September, the werowance of Paspihae sent back to us Richard Mutton, one of our boys who had run off. Our brave president, on seeing the boy missing four days before, had assured us that he would never be seen again.

"It is known," said Wingfield, "that the salvages are cannibals. Mutton he was and mutton he now is most certainly."

Instead, the naturals had fed the boy and treated him so kindly that he had begged to remain with them. But Paspihae brought him back as an assurance of his peace with us.

Though they often touched him and stroked his hair, no salvage had treated him cruelly. But our president did not spare him four strokes of the rod across his shoulders, one for each day of his desertion.

As young Richard sat nursing his stripes and huddled with the other boys, I overheard him telling them of his experiences.

"The men and women," Mutton whispered, "do not seem to hardly work at all, but they have aplenty of vittles to eat. They spend most of the night in singing or howling. Every morning they carry all the little children to the river's sides, but what they do there I do not know."

The other werowances did, like Paspihae, send back our men who had run off to them. Each of them was used well during their being with the naturals. But each man was so well rewarded with the rod—as had been young Richard—upon his return home, that it was assured each would take little joy to travel abroad without passport.

Now, their second harvest having come in, the naturals began to bring corn and flesh to us daily. In three weeks, more than twenty men had reared up able to work. Strength to work also brought us strength to make protest against the despotical practices of our president.

Those of us in the council went to the president to beg for better allowances, especially for the sick.

"I will not be partial," Wingfield replied, closing the trunk which had been open as we entered his tent. He then wiped something which looked much like a bit of conserve from his mouth and continued his righteous discourse. "If one had anything of me, every man shall have his portion according to his place. I shall grant no larger allowance to you or your privates. Were I to enlarge the proportion according to your requests, in a short time I would starve the whole company."

Then the gentle Wingfield looked down his long nose upon us. A look came over his face like that of a pig that thinks itself a fox. He raised his hands to the sky and then placed them upon his ample bosom.

"I would gladly give up my office. Indeed, I would earnestly urge you to bestow the presidency upon some other, for I would prefer to be a private man. Yet I cannot do so, for I am pledged to do His Majesty good service."

That night, Ratliffe and Martin and I resolved that action must be taken. If we did not act, others would surely do so. Gabriell Archer had brought to us a paper-book loaded full of articles against the president. No man or boy, it seemed, was without his just complaint. Even my friend Percy, who is honest yet also thick like unto a post, voiced his agreement. Therefore
we drew up certain articles in writing and took our oaths upon the Evangelists to observe them.

On the tenth of September, we went to the president's tent.

"We have here a warrant to depose the president," we told him. "He has proven himself unworthy to be either president or of the council. Therefore we discharge him of both and appoint John Ratliffe the new president."

Again that look of low cunning came over the face of Wingfield as he stood before us. It seemed he had expected this, for he held the charter in his hands.

"You would ease me," he said, "of a great deal of care and trouble. Yet the president may not be removed, as appeareth in Our Majesty's instructions for our government, except by the greater number of the voices of twelve councilors. You are but three. Thus I may not give up my office."

I shook my head. "If we do you wrong," I said, "then we must answer for it. You are president no longer."

With a readiness that was itself suspicious, Wingfield spread wide his hands.

"I am at your pleasure," he said, a serpent's smile upon his thick lips. "Dispose of me as you will without further garboil."

It is the job of our warriors to protect the people. We remember it at this time of the year whenever we look up into the sky. There we see in the stars the shape of Manguahaian, the Great Bear.

Long ago, they say, Manguahaian lived and walked upon the earth. Great Bear was so large that he could swallow a lodge with one gulp. He was a great danger to the people, who feared that he would destroy us all. Among us in those days there were four warriors who were great hunters. In the season of Taquitock, when the leaves fall, they promised that they would punish Great Bear, kill or drive him away so that the people would be safe. The
quiyoughsokuk
made circles of cornmeal and sprinkled grains of corn to see what Okeus would tell them. They read the message that these four warriors would be successful as long as they never gave up but always continued on until they had succeeded.

So those men sprinkled tobacco on the
pawcorance,
the sacred stone at the edge of their village. They washed themselves in the river as the sun rose and set out. Soon they found the giant footprints of the Great Bear. Seeing them coming, Great Bear became afraid and began to run, and the four warriors followed.

Great Bear ran upriver to the place where the land rises and becomes rocky. The four warriors stayed close behind Great Bear reached the mountains and began to climb, hoping to lose the hunters. But they continued on.

The day ended, but they ran on by the light of the moon. They climbed higher, where flakes of snow sparkled on the dark mountain. At last, Great Bear began to tire. The hunters came close enough to throw their spears and killed him.

Then one of them looked around. The lights of many fires sparkled all around them. Far below them was the earth. They had chased Great Bear up into the Sky Land, among the stars.

"
Look," one of the hunters shouted, "Manguahaian is alive again.
"

They turned and saw that Great Bear had risen to his feet and was running. The four hunters took up the pursuit once more. To this day, if you look up into the night sky you will see them. At Taquitock they strike Great Bear with their spears. He falls on his back, and his blood colors the leaves. But every year he rises again and runs, and faithful to their promise, the four warriors follow.

TAQUITOCK
TIME OF HARVEST
EARLY SEPTEMBER

I
T IS IMPORTANT
for us to keep our promises. It has always been that way among our people. One of my father's hard jobs is to punish those who do not keep their promises. Because he has the power to order someone punished—or even killed if the person has done a great wrong—my father is feared. I do not think he enjoys this job, but he has done it for many years and I have heard people saying that he is fair. (I have heard them saying this when they have not known I was listening to them.)

I have also seen people being punished. I did not want to watch, but my father told me that I should do so and that I should show no emotion or pity. That was very hard for me to do, for I do not like to see any person suffering. I watched as a man who often mistreated his wife was told to kneel before my father. Everyone was told what the man had done and reminded that all those who behaved in this way would suffer the same punishment. Then Uttomatomakkin beat the man with a stick. The man did not flinch or cry out, even though he was struck many times. When it was done, the man who had been punished stood and swore that he would never again do such a bad thing. Although I was not happy to watch, in the end it made me proud to see him behave as a man should behave.

Another of the bad things that requires harsh punishment is stealing from our own people. That is such a selfish thing, as selfish as not sharing your food with those of our people who are hungry. (Although my father, as Mamanatowic, always has greater stores of grain than anyone else, whenever there is a poor harvest, he makes certain that food is given out to all who need it.) A man or woman whose heart is greedy, who steals from his own people, is as worthless as a cracked pot. Just as water spills from a cracked pot so, too, honor leaks from a person who steals.

If someone is caught stealing three times, that person will be killed. The thief's death will not be an honorable one, of the sort that is given to enemy warriors taken in battle. During that kind of slow execution, a brave person is given the chance to prove their courage by not crying out or begging for mercy. Instead, someone who is a constant thief will be punished in just the same way one is punished for murdering one of our own people. That person will be thrown down on the great flat
pawcorance
and clubbed to death.

I have never watched anyone being executed. Even if someone deserves to die, my heart does not wish to see it. I think that I would try to stop it if I were forced to be present, even if the person was guilty of so terrible a crime as having a heart so selfish and twisted that he would steal from his own.

By stealing, I do not mean taking things from our enemies or from the Tassantassuk. When one is brave or clever enough to go into the village of an enemy nation and take something from them, that is not a bad thing. When the Coatmen first arrived, many of our people were clever enough to take many things from them. I know this because those things were always brought straight to my father. Taking things to give to the Mamanatowic is a very honorable thing, a deed that someone can brag about. Those who give them know that my father will use those items for the good of our people. So our people have obtained fine knives and beautiful jewelry to wear and even a few of the Coatmen's pots that do not break. The Tassantassuk are very careless. It almost seems as if they want to have their fine things stolen from them.

The one thing, though, that my father most wants no one has yet been able to steal. He wants some of the Coatmen's thunder sticks. But they are very cautious about guarding their weapons.

"It may be," I have heard my father say, "that the only way I will be able to get some of those new weapons will be to make their leader into one of my werowances. Then, because I will be his Great Chief, he will have to keep his promise to obey me and give me what I ask for."

I will now write what followeth in my own name and give the new president his title. I shall be the briefer, being thus discharged.

I was committed to a sergeant and sent to the pinnace, but I was answered with if they did me wrong they must answer it.

The 11th of September, I was sent to come before the president and council upon their court day.

They had now made Master Archer recorder of Virginia. The president made a speech to the colony that he thought it fit to acquaint them why I was deposed. I am now forced to stuff my paper with frivolous trifles, that our grave and worthy council may the better strike those veins where the corrupt blood lieth, and that they may see in what manner of government the hope of the colony now travaileth.

—FROM
A D
ISCOURSE OF
V
IRGINIA,
BY
E
DWARD
M
ARIA
W
INGFIELD

SEPTEMBER
11
TH
, 1607

I
THANK
G
OD THAT
I have never undertaken anything yet for which any could tax me of carelessness or dishonesty.
Seeing our former president on trial was a sad lesson for those who would value the state of his own belly above that of the general good. Yet so full of himself was Master Wingfield that he still puffed himself up one moment and the next looked to the heavens like one who has been wronged.

Each on the council voiced his reasons for deposing the former president. John Ratliffe stood with a small bag in his hand and spoke of how Wingfield had refused even the smallest necessities.

"I asked him for a pennywhittle and he denied it to me," Ratliffe said. "Whether my request was that one of the chickens he claimed were his and his alone be given to the common pot or that he grant me but a spoonful of beer, his answer was always a refusal. Instead, he served me with a handful of foul corn."

With that our new President reached into the bag, held up a handful of that corn which was grey and crawling with maggots, and then cast it down upon the earth.

To this, Master Wingfield's sole reply was to sigh like an innocent, then open wide his hands and turn his gaze to the sky. He ignored the muttering of the crowd of men who all had been given their own handfuls of such spoiled victuals by the generous gentleman.

I was next. I aimed my words not at greed, but at his haughtiness.

"He has called me a liar," I said. "He has said that though we are equal here, if he were in England he would think it scornful to make me his companion."

I waited to see if Wingfield would again repeat his own lie, that I had gone as a beggar around Ireland. He did not.

Captain John Martin then spoke. Master Martin is not only a ship's captain, his father is the Master of the Mint and
Lord Mayor of London. This was a gentleman upon whom the gentle Wingfield could not look down.

Captain Martin leaned close to Wingfield, staring him in the eye until Wingfield was forced to turn his own gaze to the ground.

"This man," Martin growled, "is no man at all. He has done slack service in our colony. Indeed, he does nothing but tend his own pot, spit, and oven." Martin clenched his fist and his face grew red. "He hath starved my son and denied him a spoonful of beer. I have friends in England shall be revenged on him, if ever he come to London."

Master Wingfield's own face paled, but seeing Captain Martin take his seat, he took courage.