The Princess Pocahontas | Page 8

the little body lying there. The hands and feet were clammy
and though Pocahontas rubbed them vigorously, she could feel no
warmth stirring in them.
The shaman paid, however, no further heed to her. From another bowl
he took out a rattle of gourd, and from a peg on one of the rounded
supports of the roof he lifted down a horrible mask painted in scarlet,
and this he fastened over his face. Then, waving the children out of the
way, he began to dance about the two sisters and to chant in a loud
voice, shaking the rattle till it seemed as if the din must waken a dead
person.
"My medicine is a mighty medicine," he exclaimed in his natural voice
to Pocahontas. "Wait a little and thou shalt see what wonders it can do."
And indeed in a few moments Pocahontas felt the pulse start in her
sister's arm, saw her eyelids quiver and her feet grow warm. And when
the shouting and the shaking of the rattle grew even louder and more
hideous, Cleopatra opened her eyes and looked about her in
astonishment.
"Mighty indeed is the medicine (the magic) of Pochins," cried the
shaman proudly as he laid aside mask and rattle; "it hath brought this
maiden back from the dead."
Pocahontas now had to soothe the child, terrified by the sights she had
seen and the sounds she had heard. She patted her arms and spoke to
her as if she were a papoose on her back:
"Fear not, little one, no evil shall come to thee. Pocahontas watcheth
over thee. She will not close her eyes while danger prowleth about.
Fear naught, little one."
And Cleopatra clung to her, feeling a sense of security in her sister's
fearlessness.
By this time the news of the accident had spread through the village

and several squaws, led by Cleopatra's mother, came running to
Pochins's lodge. Finding Cleopatra was able to rise, they carried her
back with them. The other maidens, now the excitement was over,
remembered their empty stomachs and hurried off to recover the dinner
they had left behind at the waterfall.
Pocahontas did not go with them. She still sat on the ground beside the
medicine man while he busied himself painting the mask where the
color had worn off.
"Shaman," she asked, "tell me where went the manitou of my sister
while she lay there dead?"
"On a distant journey," he answered; "therefore I had to call so loudly
to make it hear me and return."
"Who taught thee thy medicine?" she questioned again.
"The Beaver, my manitou, daughter of Powhatan," he answered.
"And who then will teach me; how shall I learn?"
"Thou needest not such knowledge, since thou art neither a medicine
man nor a brave. I, Pochins, will call to Okee, the Great Spirit, for thee
when thou hast need of anything, food or raiment or a chief to take thee
to his lodge."
"But I should like to do that myself, Pochins," she remonstrated. "Thou
dost not know how many things I long to do myself. Let me put on thy
mask and take thy rattle, just to see how they feel."
"Nay, nay, touch them not," he cried, stretching out his hand. "The
Beaver would be angry with us and would work evil medicine on us."
Pochins was not fond of children. His dignity was so great that he never
even noticed them as he strode through the village. But the eager look
in Pocahontas's eyes seemed to draw words out of him. He began to
talk to her of the many days and nights he had spent alone, fasting, in

the prayer lodge until some message came to him from Okee, some
message about the harvest or the success of a hunting party. Pocahontas
was so interested that she asked him many questions.
"Tell me of Michabo, Michabo, the Great Hare," she coaxed, as she
moved over on a mat Pochins had spread for her.
"Hearken, then, daughter of The Powhatan," he began, his voice
changing its natural tone to one of chanting, "to the story of Michabo as
it is told in the lodges of the Powhatans, the Delawares and of those
tribes who dwell far away beyond our forests, away where abideth the
West Wind and where the Sun strideth towards the darkness.
"Michabo dived down into the water when there was no land and no
beast and no man or woman and he was lonely. From the bottom took
he a grain of fine white sand and bore it safely in his hand in his
journey upward through the dark waters. This he cast upon the waves
and it sank not but floated like a tiny leaf. Then it spread out, circling
round and round,