swayed against us, and the
dead leaves went past in the whirlwind. A monstrous flight of pigeons
crossed the heavens, flying from west to east, and darkening the land
beneath like a transient cloud. We came to a plain covered with very
tall trees that had one and all been ringed by the Indians. Long dead,
and partially stripped of the bark, with their branches, great and
small, squandered upon the ground, they stood, gaunt and silver gray,
ready for their fall. As we passed, the wind brought two crashing to
the earth. In the centre of the plain something--deer or wolf or bear or
man--lay dead, for to that point the buzzards were sweeping from every
quarter of the blue. Beyond was a pine wood, silent and dim, with a high
green roof and a smooth and scented floor. We walked through it for an
hour, and it led us to the Pamunkey. A tiny village, counting no more
than a dozen warriors, stood among the pines that ran to the water's
edge, and tied to the trees that shadowed the slow-moving flood were
its canoes. When the people came forth to meet us, the Paspaheghs bought
from them, for a string of roanoke, two of these boats; and we made no
tarrying, but, embarking at once, rowed up river toward Uttamussac and
its three temples.

Diccon and I were placed in the same canoe. We were not bound: what
need of bonds, when we had no friend nearer than the Powhatan, and
when Uttamussac was so near? After a time the paddles were put into our
hands, and we were required to row while our captors rested. There was
no use in sulkiness; we laughed as at some huge jest, and bent to the
task with a will that sent our canoe well in advance of its mate. Diccon
burst into an old song that we had sung in the Low Countries, by camp
fires, on the march, before the battle. The forest echoed to the loud
and warlike tune, and a multitude of birds rose startled from the trees
upon the bank. The Indians frowned, and one in the boat behind called
out to strike the singer upon the mouth; but the werowance shook his
head. There were none upon that river who might not know that the
Paspaheghs journeyed to Uttamussac with prisoners in their midst. Diccon
sang on, his head thrown back, the old bold laugh in his eyes. When he
came to the chorus I joined my voice to his, and the woodland rang
to the song. A psalm had better befitted our lips than those rude and
vaunting words, seeing that we should never sing again upon this earth;
but at least we sang bravel