Chapter XII

‘True, I am late,’ Pamunky said,
‘But my lateness to atone,
‘I bring you here a captive bound,
‘The mighty chief, Sir John.’
A moment, struck with deep surprise,
Each warrior held his breath,
And a stillness reign’d through all the crowd,
Like that in the halls of death.
First Powhatan at the prisoner glanced,
Then at Nemattanow,
Who look’d as though he’d sink to earth
With wonder, shame, and wo.
And when the first surprise was o’er,
The gathering throngs drew round,
And a mighty swell of triumph rose,
That shook the very ground.
Warrior and chief, and old and young,
Pour’d their full voices out,
And never did woods give echo back
To such a ringing shout.
When silence was again restored
The old chief waved his hand,
And with imperial look and tone,
To all gave this command.
‘The evening shades begin to fall,
‘Let noise and revel cease;
‘Our three days’ feasting now requires
‘A night of rest and peace.
‘The captive to the inner hall
‘Convey with special care,
‘And forty of our bravest men,
‘Till morning, guard him there.
‘To-morrow let our feast again
‘With double rites be crown’d,
‘And a double song of victory
‘Through all our tribes resound;
‘Then solemn council shall decide
‘What fate shall be prepared
‘For this proud chief, that in our realm
‘Our sovereign power has dared.
‘And thou, Nemattanow, shalt be--’
Here turn’d the monarch round,
But lo! the fierce Nemattanow
Was nowhere to be found.
His name was shouted on the air
A thousand times in vain,
And runners flew this way and that,
O’er rugged hill and plain;
And hall and lodge were search’d throughout,
And grove and glen explored,
But all the search till night set in
No tidings could afford.

XIII.

Again the day is dawning,
And the revellers are out,
And their whooping and their cheering
Might be heard for miles about;
And the day is spent in feasting,
And ’tis joy and music all,
Save where the mighty monarch,
In his great council-hall,
In his royal robes is sitting,
And his war-chiefs round him wait,
To decide in solemn council
Their illustrious captive’s fate.

XIV.

Though many honor’d brave Sir John
For his spirit bold and high,
The solemn council now decide
That brave Sir John must die;
For this alone, they deem’d, would serve
To appease great Okee’s wrath;
And safety to the monarch’s realm
Required the strange chief’s death.
So great a foe and terrible
Their tribes had never known:
Hence ’twas decreed, that in his fall,
Great Powhatan alone
Was worthy to inflict the blow
This mighty chief to slay;
And all demanded that the deed
Be done without delay.

XV.

The monarch sitteth on his throne,
In his dignity array’d;
Mysterious power is in his eye,
That maketh man afraid;
The women of his court stand up
With awe behind the throne,
But his daughters in their beauty sit
On either hand alone;
While all around the spacious hall
Long rows of warriors stand,
With nodding war-plume on each head,
And each with weapon in his hand;
And scalps and trophies line the walls,
That fifty wars supplied,
And richest robes and shining belts
Appear on every side.
And all is placed in fit array
To take the captive’s eye,
When he should come within the hall
To be condemn’d and die--
For ’twas not meet to take the life
Of so great and strange a man,
Till he had seen the greatness too
Of great King Powhatan.