Sir George Yeardley, Governor of the Virginia Colony in 1616, stood before the door of his cabin at Jamestown, busily engaged in conversation with a stout yeoman, who was clad in rough clothes, with a breastplate upon his chest, and a round iron helmet upon his head.

"We are in need of corn, Captain Brown," said he, "and we must, as heretofore, collect it from the Indians."

"But they have refused to give it to us," answered his military companion. "They are growing insolent and disrespectful."

"Have you tried Opechancanough?"

"Yea, and he had put me off with smiles and grimaces."

"Have you tried the Chickahominies?"

"Yea, and they have refused, point blank, to aid us."

"Then we must collect it by force or we shall starve. Therefore gather one hundred soldiers. We will march upon them tomorrow, and if they will stand, we will give them a right smart drubbing. At any rate, corn we must have and corn we shall get."

Next morning a force of soldiers marched out from the stockade and soon filled the many canoes, near by, by means of which they were carried up the river. They were armed with long swords, muskets, and knives. Their bullet pouches were well filled, their breastplates were newly polished, and the sun gleamed from their shining helmets and steel weapons. They laughed and chatted gayly, for they knew that the affair could have but one outcome, and that would be in their favor.

After a merry journey, the homes of the Chickahominies were seen in the distance, and, forming for the assault, the soldiers were soon beset by hundreds of painted warriors, whose yelping and screeching sounded wildly through the leafy thickets. "You dare not come on," cried one of the braves who had learned to speak English upon his visits to Jamestown, and as he spoke he fired an arrow at the oncoming whites, which struck one of the men full in the breastplate. "On, on," shouted Sir George Yeardley. "Give these red devils a lesson which they will not soon forget. Move cautiously, my men, and do not charge among these wild fellows until I give the signal." So, carefully and steadily, the troops moved forward in regular alignment, firing at intervals, and occasionally striking one of the screeching, jumping Indians with a bullet. They soon drove them beyond the village, seized enough corn to satisfy their needs, and turning toward home, beat a safe and slow retreat through the forest, being repeatedly fired upon by the savages.

As they neared Jamestown, Opechancanough—the younger brother of Powhatan—met them in the forest. He had succeeded to the position of Chief Sachem which his relative had held before him, and was apparently upon as friendly terms with the whites as his honored brother had been. With much show of warm friendship, he approached the leader of this successful foraging party, and, bending to the ground, said:

"You now have been fighting with the Chickahominies. I see that you have gathered much corn. You will need to make peace with them, now, or there will be much fighting. Ugh! Ugh! Let me make peace with these people for you. They are a great nation. They can do you much harm. Let me see that the peace pipe is smoked between you."

"Your suggestion is a good one," answered Yeardley. "I shall think it over," and motioning for his men to proceed, they were soon on their way to Jamestown.

Not many days after this, Opechancanough—with Yeardley's consent—went to the Chickahominies to secure a peace. He pretended that he had used great pains and solicitation to secure this, and so impressed this fact upon these Indians, that they proclaimed him king of their nation, and flocked from all sides with beads and copper presents to give to the new Sachem. From this time on the brother of Powhatan was content to be called the King of Chickahominy, and thus—of their own free will—a brave and resolute people came to be his subjects. For many years they had made a successful resistance to all attacks of other Indian tribes, and had frequently given the English a stout fight.

Opechancanough saw that the whites were increasing in Virginia in alarming proportions, and in his heart began to smoulder a longing to drive them out of the country of his forefathers. He was polite and civil to the settlers whenever he saw them, and no one could tell by talking to him that he meditated any attack upon the Colonists, but he was brooding over the situation at all times, and was determined that, when the time was ripe, he would take upon himself the duty of expelling the English from Virginian soil. No better preparation for war could have been made on his part than he effected when he secured the submission of the Chickahominies to his rule. It has even been thought that he, himself, stirred them up to open rebellion when the English had demanded corn from them, so that his own influence over them would be greater. For they knew of his hostile feelings towards the whites, and marvelled, when they appreciated that he could still be on such friendly terms with them that he was admitted to their councils.

In 1618 these Indians murdered several settlers, and although Opechancanough was asked to give satisfaction, he did not do so. He was requested to send in the heads of the offenders as a proof that they had met the fate which was due them, but although he promised to acquiesce to this demand, the English waited for months, and no word came from him. Thus a few of the more cautious of the Colonists began to fear that trouble was brewing with the politic, shrewd, and diplomatic King of the Chickahominies.

These fears had no evidence of being well grounded, from the actions of Opechancanough, for the artful Chieftain gave the English no open cause of offense, or any evidence of hostility. It is true that the white men suspected treachery, for one of the Jamestown Colonists writes, in 1620, "Now Opechancanough will not come to treat with us which causes us to greatly suspect his former promises that he is friendly to us and to our interests." But this slight uneasiness was soon forgotten, for when Sir Francis Wyatt succeeded Governor Yeardley a few years later messengers were sent to the Chief of the Chickahominies, and he received them with kindness, expressed the hope that the new President would have a pleasant time in Virginia, and renewed his former league with the colony, with apparent cheerfulness.

"I am much pleased to hear that the English are inhabiting this country," said he to one of the messengers, "and I think it would be well if some of your white families would settle among my people, and some of my Indians should settle at Jamestown. I confess that my own religion is not as perfect as that of you English, and I shall be glad to be baptized into the Christian faith. God loves you whites better than he does the red men, and he has given you knowledge of guns which spit fire, which we have never had. In proof of my love for my white brothers I shall give you guides to show you to rich mines far up the river, where you can get precious metals to send to your Mother Country in exchange for sheep, oxen, and provisions."

The English were naturally delighted with such talk, and, without the least suspicion that this wily Sachem was plotting murder in his heart, sent some of their best men to him to be guided to the mines. While they were away upon this expedition, Opechancanough dispatched a few of his followers to the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay to secure a quantity of poisonous herbs which grew there and which he wished to use in getting rid of the English. "We would know your feelings towards these whites," said his ambassadors to the red inhabitants of this country. "Are you friendly to these English invaders, or would you care to see them exterminated?"

"We are friendly. We need their trade. They do not harm us, nor do we intend to harm them," answered the spokesman of the Indians of the eastern shore.

"But they will soon take all the land which you have inherited from your forefathers, and will drive you into the sea. Come, join with us in exterminating these white invaders."

"No, no. We will remain at peace," said the men of the eastern shore, and so there was no hope of their aid in the insurrection which Opechancanough was planning. The storm was slowly gathering, and it was to soon burst upon the unsuspecting settlers like the tempestuous current of Niagara.

The white settlers had taken up plantations over a vast area of land, and some of them had farms at a considerable distance from the river, from each other, and from the stockade at Jamestown. Here, in fancied peace and seclusion, they tilled the soil, grew corn, wheat, and tobacco, and began to prosper in the wilderness. Their women and children were with them, the rough-hewn barns were full of cows, horses, and sheep, while—piled near their log houses—the ploughs and other imported implements of agriculture showed that the civilization of the whites was soon to bend the wilderness to its will, and make the virgin soil produce. There was no suspicion of an Indian attack. The red men loitered lazily about the cabins of the settlers, played with the dogs, slept in the sun, and bartered a few skins, which they had trapped, for grain and provisions. Apparently there was no thought or idea of violence. Opechancanough was friendly; his warriors were busy with fishing and hunting; and peace breathed its security over the soil of Virginia.

But the tempest of hatred and revenge, which had been gathering since the death of Powhatan, was to now break upon the devoted colony. Hiding his true intentions behind an aspect of friendliness and kindness, Opechancanough had made every preparation to exterminate the Colonists from England. He had silently passed the word to his warriors to make an attack upon the settlements upon the twenty-second day of March, 1622, and so carefully was the secret kept that not a word of the terrible news escaped to warn the defenseless whites. The various tribes, who banded themselves together for the attack, were stationed in the vicinity of several places where an advance against the settlements would be easy and swift. They were directed by Opechancanough to march with all speed to these stations—the day before the massacre—and, although the braves had to walk for great distances through a dense forest (guided only by the stars and moon), not a single straggler deserted the ranks of the Indians, nor did a single mistake occur. One by one—in single file—the warriors silently passed through the Virginian thickets, and, halting at short distances from the settlements, waited in the underbrush for the signal to advance.

In the early gray of this March morning, a redskin slipped silently through the wood from the clearing of a planter. He arrived at length to where his allies were crouching quietly in the shadows, and, raising his hand aloft, he said: "Ugh! Ugh! The time is good. Strike now!" Without further consultation, the long line of painted warriors slipped out from the forest into the clearing, rushed across the open space to the cabin of the settler who had dared to penetrate thus far into the wilderness, and soon a wild scream and savage warwhoop showed what had been the fate of the inhabitants. Flames soon burst from the roof—the log hut was ablaze—and, with loud screeches of joy, the Indian devils danced about the crumbling remains of the once peaceful home.

The savages knew exactly where every Englishman was to be found. Some entered the houses of their white friends, saying that they wished to trade. Others drew the owners out into the forest, telling them that they had skins there, which they wished to barter with them; and still others fell upon the Colonists as they were ploughing or working in the fields. The whites were totally unprepared and thoroughly surprised. Before they could think, they were seized, struck down, and murdered. In one short hour, and almost at the same time, three hundred men, women, and children were thus brutally dispatched, before they had an opportunity to seize anything to defend themselves with. Wild screams of terror went up in the wilderness, as the Indians completed their butchery, and there were none there who could aid the defenseless Colonists of Virginia.

But the Indians did not have an easy time with all the whites whom they attacked. When they rushed in upon Nathaniel Causie—an old soldier of Captain Smith's—he seized an axe, and, although wounded by several arrows, when a savage tried to stick a knife into him, he struck him such a blow with his weapon that he fairly cut him in two. This terrified the other Indians so that they fled, while Causie ran to the settlements farther inland to warn the whites of their peril. At a place called Warrasqueake, a Mr. Baldwin stood off about fifty braves with his musket, and by barricading himself in his house finally drove the savages away single-handed. Not far away from his home, two settlers held their house against sixty Indians, and hit so many of the screeching red men that the war party finally withdrew, falling upon the house of a stout old historian, called Ralph Hamer, who kept them off with a spade, armed his sons with pitchforks and axes, and, as the Indians had no guns, kept them away from his log hut, after a battle lasting over two hours. At Martin's Hundred a family of four persons hid in the cellar of their house and were entirely overlooked by the yelping warriors, although seventy-three of the English settlers were slain near by. With horrible yells of delight, the Indians mutilated the dead bodies of the slain and tortured the dying settlers with the cruelest of devices.

At Jamestown a fortunate incident occurred. A settler, living just opposite the town, had an Indian servant called Chanco. This red man's brother told him of the proposed attack on the day before the outbreak, so, running to his master, Chanco cried out, "Quick, quick, you must run away. Opechancanough, he come tomorrow with his men, and murder you."

"How do you know this, Chanco?" asked the startled Colonist.

"My brother, he tell me just now. Quick, to the settlements."

Now, believing what his servant told him, the settler ran to the shore, leaped into a boat, and rowing rapidly across the James River, warned the inhabitants of Jamestown of their peril. They quickly armed themselves, mounted their howitzers on the stockade, closed the gates, and presented such a formidable appearance to the followers of Opechancanough when they appeared before the walls next day, that they quickly withdrew into the forest.

The first attack was over, but war had just begun. The settlers deserted their cabins and gathered in the larger towns for mutual defense. Their smaller towns—like Henrico and Charles City—were abandoned, their scattered plantations were deserted, their iron works and glass works were given up, their fields of corn and vineyards were destroyed, and the men armed for revenge upon Opechancanough, the cruel. A body of soldiers was formed—called the Long Knives—who carried muskets and exceedingly sharp dirks which they would plunge into an Indian's hide with as much pleasure as they stuck them into the dead carcass of a deer. All but six plantations were left to their fate and there had been eighty prosperous farms on the James River. Three overseers and owners refused to leave their property, mounted cannon on stockades around their houses, armed their servants, and determined to give the Indians a severe drubbing if they ever dared to attack them. The forests and underbrush near all the houses of the whites were burned for several miles, so there would be no protection to the skulking savages, and these—not daring to make an attack in force—made short and sudden incursions on the settlements, carrying off corn, cattle, and sometimes unfortunate people. The whites gave the red men no quarter when they caught them. The Long Knives were as bloodthirsty as were the savages themselves.

So many whites had been captured by the Indians that the Governor at Jamestown finally sent some envoys to treat with Opechancanough for their exchange.

"I shall not do aught that you wish of me," replied the haughty Chief to the requests of the ambassadors. "Am I not King of this country? Do I not own it by direct descent from my parents? Does the Indian not hold this land from the Great Father? And, as for this picture of the Great Father of the English which you bring me," here he turned to a portrait of James the First which the envoys had given him, "to show my feelings for him, I hereby step on him." So saying, he threw the portrait upon the ground and put his foot so heavily upon the face of good King James that he broke it into a hundred portions. Thus, seeing that they could have no effect upon the irate monarch, the envoys withdrew to their canoes and paddled home to Jamestown, as angry as it is possible to conceive.

The imagination can well picture what the feelings of the settlers must have been at this time. Surrounded in the forest by a skulking foe who watched their movements with vindictive hatred, they feared to venture into the open unless in numbers and well armed. Forced to flee from their plantations, they huddled together in the stockaded towns like so many sheep, unable to till any fields save those in the vicinity of their own fortifications, and continually fired at (while ploughing or working upon their harvests) by the lurking savages. A few of their numbers had escaped from the hands of the Indians and had brought news of torture which made the blood boil and which the pen cannot picture. The smouldering ruins of their once peaceful homes dotted the surrounding country. Wives, sisters, children, had fallen before the ruthless tomahawk, and, stirred by feelings of the greatest hatred, the white men longed for an opportunity to have a fair fight with the crafty redskins; and so busily made bullets for serving in an advance into the land of the enemy.

In the autumn and winter of 1622, a series of attacks upon the savages was made by the irate white men. More Indians are said to have been slain at this time than had ever fallen before the hands of the English since the settlement of Jamestown. And the tactics employed by the Colonists do not show them to have been the men of sweet and gentle disposition which they are often said to have been, for, in order to get even with their red enemies, they availed themselves of a stratagem as cruel and treacherous as any which the Indians utilized against the whites. A peace was offered to the followers of Opechancanough, which they accepted, and the understanding was had between red men and whites that the savages would be left alone while they planted and harvested their corn crop. So, believing in the word of the palefaces, the Indians tilled the soil, planted their corn, and were about to harvest it, when the English surrounded them, fell upon them in all directions at a given hour upon an appointed day, killed hundreds of the defenseless savages, and destroyed a vast quantity of provisions. Among these cruelly murdered were several of the most famous war captains, and for some time Opechancanough, himself, was said to be among the slain, a rumor which caused great rejoicing among the whites. But—after some months—it was learned that this crafty chieftain was still at large and as active as ever before.

"I shall yet have the head of this arch conspirator," cried Governor Wyatt, when news was brought him that Opechancanough was alive. "Come, men, we will march against this murderous varlet, raze his village to the ground, and chase him into the foothills of the Blue Ridge." He had no need to urge on the Virginian Long Knives; they were only too anxious for an opportunity to attack the despoiler of the peace of their adopted country, so, in the spring of 1625, a goodly body of stout rangers pushed into the forest in the direction of Pamunkey—the stronghold of the Chief of the Chickahominies. Their advance was cautious, stealthy, sure, yet, as they came to the vicinity of the Indian town, wild cries echoed from every side, they were shot at from the brush, and, before they realized it, they were in a furious melÉe with the followers of Opechancanough. But the Long Knives knew how to fight in Indian fashion, and crouching behind logs and fallen trees, they soon began to pick off the screeching braves, who darted from tree to tree in the endeavor to dodge the straight shots of the palefaces. The fight was hot and furious. The Long Knives pressed on to Pamunkey, and, although the red men made a stout rally before the village, they were beaten back, only to see the smoke soon curling from their burning wigwams and storehouses. Governor Wyatt, in person, now urged on his men to a renewed attack on the braves, and, although the Indians were beaten off through the forest, the whites could not pursue them as far as Mattapony, only four miles distant, and the principal depot and rallying point of Opechancanough. Satisfied with the day's work, the English now retreated to their own settlements, leaving the Indians in full possession of their most valued town.

The war had now lasted for three years, and in spite of all their efforts, the English had not driven the Indians from their rallying places and settlements. "By heaven, they know how to fight," said stout Governor Wyatt, "and this Opechancanough is more than a match for us. But I will catch them again with the same stratagem which I used before, and I will wipe these treacherous war dogs from the soil of this country." So saying, he sent a proclamation to the Chickahominies and Pamunkies, requesting them to come to a certain place for a conference, where he intended to surround and capture most of them. But the plan failed of success, and these Indians—under the direct guidance of Opechancanough—were more troublesome than ever. At this period they refused absolutely to have anything to do with either Wyatt or his representatives. The skirmishing went on for four years between the angry white men and the bloodthirsty red warriors, and at the end of that time, a march was made by the Indian braves towards Jamestown, which so alarmed the Governor that he collected every available man to stem the outbreak.

The two armies met in a stout skirmish soon afterwards. It was a hot fight, and, as usual, the Indians were worsted in the affair. They withdrew to the forest, beaten but not overawed, while the Colonists were too much injured to follow them. A peace commission was now sent to Opechancanough, but he refused to listen to any overtures from the whites. He scoffed at all ideas of a settlement of the difficulties which lay between himself and the Colonists, and withdrew in sullen anger into the forest. "By all that I love," cried Governor Wyatt, "I will force this fellow to treat with me," and sending a large armed force towards Pamunkey, some time later, he secured a temporary truce with the fierce Opechancanough. But so little dependence was placed on it, that, while the commissioners on both sides were adjusting the preliminaries, a proclamation was issued by the Governor which forbade the Colonists from either parleying or trading with the Indians. The truce was understood to be only a temporary affair, yet for nine years no further hostilities occurred between the settlers from England and the red men. Meanwhile more and more white Colonists came to Virginia. The settlements rapidly increased in size, while the Indians, through disease and lack of medical knowledge, did not increase with any great rapidity.

Opechancanough was not yet a friend to the white man, although he was apparently upon friendly and peaceable terms with the Colonists. Nursing his anger and resentment, he remained at his home in the forest, meditating upon the best means for expelling the English from the country and secretly forming a plan for another massacre of the plantation owners. Moody, vindictive, sour, the old Chieftain would sit gloomily before his wigwam, speculating upon the future and dreaming of the cheerful moment when he would be able to have Virginia for his own people. Thus he brooded, while dissensions grew among the Colonists and an insurrection against the Governor of Virginia took place among the English. The time had again come for Opechancanough to strike. The moment had arrived which he had waited for through nine long years, and, rousing himself from the torpor which had held him for this period, he determined upon a great and decisive blow which would rid him forever of the accursed English.

The great Chieftain was now very aged. His voice shook as he gave his orders. Yet, when he had sent out word for a gathering of his warriors, his commands were taken to the very remotest tribes of his confederacy with speed and accuracy. As in the first outbreak, he again determined to attack the scattered settlements at a certain time, to station large forces near the points to be assaulted, and to give the more distant posts to the leading Chiefs of the several nations in his confederacy of Indian tribes. He, himself, was to lead the advance against the settlements nearest to Mattapony; the whole Indian force was to assemble without making any noise, and if any brave was found who had breathed a word of the conspiracy, he was to be immediately shot to death and all his family with him. The whites were to be completely annihilated, and no quarter was to be shown to either women, children, or aged persons. It was a great design, well thought out, carefully concealed, and thoroughly prepared. Let us see how it succeeded.

When the signal for attack was given, the hidden warriors poured forth from the forest, and swept down upon the plantations like a flight of locusts. As in the massacre many years before, the Colonists were totally unprepared for this sudden advance, and, at first, hundreds of them fell before the raiding parties of the bloodthirsty red men. Five hundred men, women, and children perished under the tomahawks of the followers of Opechancanough: the scourge of Virginia. Many others were carried away in captivity. Their log houses, supplies of corn, household utensils, farming instruments, and live stock were destroyed. Their houses were burned with all that they contained. Only a few, who lived in the remotest plantations, were able to make an escape to the more thickly populated portions of Virginia and warn the inhabitants that the Indians were again upon the war path. Dissensions among the Colonists were speedily forgotten. Under the dread of a frightful slaughter, the settlers, who had been warring with each other, determined to march together against the red men. Their ploughs were left in the furrows. All who were able to bear arms were enrolled in a militia in defense of the Colony, and a chosen body, under the command of Governor Berkeley, marched into the enemy's country. Blood was in their eyes, and in their hearts was the one word—revenge.

The fighting which now occurred was bloody. No historian has left a record of it, but we can well imagine how the infuriated Englishmen fell upon the followers of Opechancanough when they found them. The Indians were checked in their advance upon the peaceful settlers. They were beaten back, defeated again and again, and were forced to give up their invasion. Berkeley's troops were light-armed and lightly dressed, so that they could move with speed against the little warriors of the forest. Some of them had horses and on these they could often head off the flying redskins and effect their capture. They did great damage and often routed the followers of Opechancanough when the battle which they were fighting with the English was very even.

As for Opechancanough, himself, he had become extremely feeble and decrepit from old age and was unable to walk. Borne about on a litter by four stout braves, he directed the fighting of his warriors and, although weak in body, still possessed a proud and imperious spirit. His flesh became macerated, his sinews lost their elasticity, and his eyelids were so heavy that he could not see, unless they were lifted up by the hands of his faithful attendants. In this forlorn condition he was directing the course of a battle, when Berkeley's horse burst through the thicket in the rear of his men, and, terrified by fear of capture, his own attendants were forced to run away. The great Chief was left upon the ground, and soon a cheering body of Colonists stood around him, howling with the pleasure of having taken—after years of attempt—the bold, resolute Chief of the Chickahominies and their allied tribes. By special command of Governor Berkeley he was carefully carried to Jamestown, where people crowded around in wonder to see the fallen monarch of the Virginian wildwood.

The English had now lost their vindictive hatred for this wily monarch. They saw the man who had inspired such terror in a forlorn and abject condition. Shattered by age and misfortune, he presented a sorry appearance, as he lay, half dead, upon the litter of boughs and deerskins which his own people had fashioned for him. To the honor of the Colonists, they treated the distinguished captive with tenderness and the respect which his appearance and talents demanded, while he, himself, was as proud and haughty as a Roman Emperor. He uttered no complaint or showed no uneasiness at his capture. Fearing that he would be tortured, he showed no humility, and was imperious, defiant, and spirited in his language and demeanor. So, he lay, curiously gazed upon by the gaping Colonists, and eagerly watched by the soldiers who had effected his capture.

Opechancanough reclined thus for several days attended by his affectionate Indian servants, who had begged permission to wait upon him. He was near ninety years of age, and it is said that Governor Berkeley proposed to take him to England, as a living argument to counteract the representations made by some persons in that country, that Virginian climate was too unhealthy for any one to gain long life who resided there. The great Chief was reserved and silent, and, as if anxious to show his English enemies that there was nothing in their presence to even arouse his curiosity, he rarely allowed his attendants to raise his eyelids. Thus he was lying, when one of the soldiers set to guard him raised his gun, and, in a spirit of revenge for all the suffering which the great Chieftain had caused, shot him through the back. He was grievously wounded, but did not die immediately.

To the last moment of his life, the haughty Opechancanough preserved the dignity and serenity of his bearing. He made no murmur of pain or fear and stolidly awaited the end which was rapidly approaching. Only a few moments before he expired he heard an unusual amount of noise in the room where he lay, and requesting his attendants to raise his eyelids, saw a number of Colonists crowding around him in order to gratify their curiosity and amazement. The dying Chieftain raised himself weakly upon one arm, and, with a voice and air of authority, asked that Governor Berkeley be immediately called in. When the latter made his appearance, Opechancanough cried out, in a thin and trembling voice: "Had it been my fortune, sir, to have taken Sir William Berkeley prisoner, I should never have exposed you as a show for my people."

A few hours later the mighty Sachem breathed his last, amid the weepings and lamentations of his Indian attendants. He had been an implacable enemy to the whites; he had led two fairly successful insurrections against them, and he had been the cause of untold misery and suffering. Yet, he felt that his cause was a just one; he saw that he must either exterminate the English or they would exterminate his own people, and he fought for the preservation of his race. His own countrymen were more under his control than under that of Powhatan, himself, and they considered him to be in no way related to Powhatan, but represented him as a prince of a foreign nation, come from a great distance somewhere in the southwest: probably Mexico. He has been called by some a politic and haughty prince, and one English statesman has named him the Hannibal of Virginia. At any rate he was a man of influence, power, and ability. His record is a good one for an Indian, and had his followers been possessed of the knowledge of civilization and warfare which the white men held, there is little doubt that Virginia, for many years, would have been the exclusive habitation of the redskins. Peace to the ashes of misguided and unfortunate Opechancanough of Virginia. He fought for a cause which, from his viewpoint, was as just as that of his conquerors. He was never captured in battle until old age made it impossible for him to escape, and he died by a foul and unexpected blow, from one of a race which should be well ashamed of such a deed.