The great emperor Opecancanough, of whom we have already told you, hated the whites even more than his brother Powhatan. He was a warrior of rare skill, much the superior in all respects to Opitchapan, the successor of Powhatan. Before the death of the latter, Opecancanough secured the title of king over the free tribe of the Chickahominy.

This chief was never a friend of the whites. He had several quarrels with them, and had not been king long when he began plotting to destroy the settlements. One cannot help admiring the cunning and skill displayed by this arch enemy of the English. He formed his plans with such secrecy that not a hint of them reached the settlers before the hour of the outbreak. Two days before the date of the massacre, a party of Indians guided several Englishmen through the woods, and sent one of their youths to live among the white men, that he might learn their language. A messenger who visited the chief was treated with the utmost kindness, and told that peace with the white man should last as long as the stars held their places in the sky. The settlers lent their boats to the Indians who paddled to and fro as they chose. More than one pioneer who had been fixed upon as a victim, sat with the dusky assassins at his table on the morning of the massacre.

The awful blow fell on March 22, 1622, with the suddenness of a lightning bolt from the blue sky. The warriors seemed to spring from the ground. Neither sex, nor old age, nor prattling infant was spared. The toilers in the fields were shot down, women and children tomahawked, and in the space of one hour, three hundred and forty-seven victims lay stretched in death. Among these were six members of the council and many of the leading people. The number of plantations was reduced from eighty to six.

The massacre raged up and down the James, and all the settlements would have been destroyed, but for the warning of a Christian Indian, Chanco, who was able to make known the peril in time for some of the people to save themselves. White men can become as savage as Indians when their rage is aroused. The summer months were spent in strengthening the fortifications and in preparing for a campaign against the Indians. Every man and boy able to handle a gun was drilled in its use. So deadly was the general temper that time was not taken for the planting of more than half a crop. When everything was ready, the settlers took the field, and began hunting down the savages as if they were so many rabid dogs. No mercy was shown to any one. They were followed far into the gloomy forests and shot wherever sight was gained of them. Finally, the whites seemed to grow weary, and sent word to the Indians that they were now ready to forgive and make peace with them. Under this pledge the warriors came forward, but the moment they were within the power of the settlers, the latter assailed them without mercy. This treachery was without excuse. For a long time it was believed that Opecancanough was among the slain, but such was not the fact, as the settlers were doomed to learn to their cost.

Now comes one of the most awful scenes in all the great story of American history. The seasons came and went and all was serene and peaceful, so far as the keenest scouts among the settlers could learn. Men passed to and fro in the native villages, trusting themselves for days with the savages, who could have wrought their will with them; they were received by the grim Opecancanough himself, who told of his sorrow that his chiefs and warriors had ever forgotten their friendship for the pale faces, and he assured them that no such wrong could ever occur again; the Indians visited Jamestown and the different settlements, just as they had done years before, without the slightest distrust on the part of their hosts.

Opecancanough was past three-score and ten when the massacre of 1622 took place. His athletic figure yielded slowly to the passing years, the black strands that dangled about his shoulders were whitened by the snows of many winters, and the coppery countenance became seamed with wrinkles. He stepped across the four-score mark, and finally ten more years were added to his great age, with slight weakening of his vigor and strength.

And all through the circling years, this wonderful chieftain was completing his plans for another massacre of the people that had come across the ocean to steal away the hunting grounds of the red men. Deep in the gloomy depths of the wilderness, he and his chiefs met, where no white man ever saw them, and whispered their plans to one another. Every dusky breast was thrilled by the hope that has nerved myriads of Indians from the hour that the white men began building their cabins on American soil; it was that of destroying root and branch these invaders of their homes.

The chiefs and warriors did not need to be told by Opecancanough that they were staking everything on this single attempt. They had failed by the narrowest chance in 1622, and could not afford to fail again. The secret must be kept, and the wonder of it is that it was kept for twenty-two years. Not a whisper reached the ears of the settlers, nor did any one seem to feel the first throb of misgiving. Through the spring blossoming of flowers, the sultry fervor of summer, the whirling snow and ice of winter, the plotters continued to gather in the twilight depths of the woods, guarded by vigilant sentinels, whom the most cunning scout could not pass, and they talked and smoked their pipes and shook their heads and brought their dreadful plot to perfection. Warriors and chiefs died, and, as we know, the great leader of them all steadily approached the age of a century, but still the blow was withheld, for all was not ready. Incredible as it may seem, Opecancanough was nearly a hundred years old when he gave the order to attack the settlements. By this time, his iron frame had become so feeble that he could not walk. His warriors carried him on a litter, that he might lead in the assault that should not leave a white man or woman on the soil of Virginia.

One cause for fixing upon April 18, 1644, for the attack was the state of affairs at Jamestown. The chief kept himself informed, and he knew of the bitter quarrels that were raging there. Revolts had broken out, and the condition of the people invited the long postponed assault. Opecancanough sent his swiftest runners to the distant tribes of the confederacy which he had built up during the many years that had flown since the first massacre.

He meant to lead in person the five nearest tribes, while the more remote ones were placed under the command of their different chiefs. Thus, by a simple plan, the hundreds of savages from the mouth of the Chesapeake to the sources of the principal rivers which flow into it, were joined into a compact force, easily handled without confusion. This fearful horde was to be hurled against the settlements at the same hour, and there could be no turning back after the first tomahawk had fallen.

There was no warning as before. The thunderbolts struck the whole line of settlements at the same hour and almost at the same moment.

Owing to the turmoil of those times, we have no reliable account of the great massacre in Virginia in 1644, but five hundred people fell victims to the ferocity of the Indians, who raged up and down the James for two days. Many were carried into captivity, while cabins, crops, farming implements, and all manner of property were destroyed. The fleetest of foot escaped in some instances, and made haste to Jamestown, which flew to arms. All who were able to handle a weapon were called, and every twentieth man was placed under the immediate command of Governor Berkeley, who hurried his preparations for marching into the Indian country, every soldier as resolute as he to destroy those who were making such awful havoc among the plantations.

Berkeley, afterwards known as the tyrannical Governor of Virginia, was a young man at that time, and a good military officer. When he led his body of picked horsemen against the Indians, he resolved to keep up the warfare until he captured the leader himself. He pushed the pursuit with all vigor and finally ran Opecancanough down, and made him prisoner. Like the Roman conquerors, he brought him as a token of his triumph to his capital, but it is to be said to the credit of Berkeley that he treated his royal captive with the respect due to his fame and prowess. He placed him in proper quarters, and set a guard about the building to keep back those who might wish to gaze upon the distinguished prisoner.

The condition of Opecancanough at this time was pitiful. He was barely able to raise an arm or a foot, and became so feeble that when he wished to make use of his eyes, some one had to lift the lids for him. Still he kept to a striking degree his kingly dignity. Hearing confusion one day about his prison, he had his eyes opened for him, and noticed a number of persons peering into the room. He sent for Governor Berkeley and said, reproachfully, "Had it been my fortune to make you prisoner, I would not have exposed you as a show to my people."

The Governor gave strict orders to save the captive from all annoyance. Struck by the vitality of the chief, he thought of sending him to England, not only as proof of the prowess of the ruler of Virginia, but as evidence of the good qualities of the climate, which many visitors had said was bad.

This plan, however, was defeated by the cruelty of one of the guards. Thinking upon the ruin and death that had been wrought by Opecancanough, he raised his musket one day and sent a bullet through the body of the prisoner. Thus died the most remarkable Indian connected with the early history of Virginia. His influence over his countrymen was greater than Powhatan's had ever been. His complaint was that the whites were fast taking all the hunting lands from the Indians, and that the overthrow and ruin of the latter could be prevented only by the massacre of the invaders. In this attempt, like many leaders of his race, he failed, and comparative peace followed his death for many years.