Far away on the Potomac, where the steamers now toll their bells in
passing, Pocahontas had lived for the last three years, in the wigwam
of Japazaws.
Roaming by the river’s bank she lived over again the happy days when
she had called Smith “father” and he had called her “child.” What
had become of him—was he still living? she wondered. She would ask
Powhatan to send some one to England to find out, for she could not
bear to go to Jamestown and miss him at every turn.
Looking down the river she descried a ship approaching, filled with
white men. Calling Japazaws, and pointing to the ship, she said,
“Pocahontas will not see the pale-faces now. Her heart is sorrowful,
for there is no friendship between us. Powhatan does not heed the
pleadings of his best-loved daughter.”
Hastening down to the shore, Japazaws welcomed with loud shouts of
joy Captain Argall and his crew.
“Japazaws is greatly honored by your coming. Opechancanough has told
him of the presents you bestow. Everything in his poor village is
at your command.” And he bade his squaw bring refreshments for his
guests and tobacco for their pipes.
Pocahontas, who had disappeared, heard the echo of their voices
and found herself unable to keep away. Perhaps they could tell her
something of her “father.” She must find out. Coming forward, she
added her welcome to that of the Indians.
“Pocahontas once loved your people and came to Jamestown to visit
them.”
“I have heard many kind things of her whom the pale-faces call the
‘Blessed Pocahontas,’” Argall replied.
“Has the chief with the shining body returned!” she inquired.
“No, he is dead,” replied Argall, who was of the nature that does not
mind telling a wanton lie.
She turned sorrowfully away. All links with the happy past were
broken. There was no one at Jamestown now who would love her as her
“father” had done. It would only bring pain to visit there again.
While Argall was talking with Pocahontas a happy inspiration seized
him. He would take her, by force if necessary, to Jamestown as a
hostage of peace between Powhatan and the settlers. Fame would come
to him and no doubt he would be rewarded. Nothing could be better,
he thought, and he immediately set to work on the well-known greed of
Japazaws to gain his end.
“Come down to the ship, Japazaws; I have something to show you.”
When they arrived there he brought forth a kettle, and placing it
before the longing eyes of the Indian, said, “Look at this copper
kettle; see how it shines and glistens. Only great kings use them—not
even Powhatan has one like it.”
“How many bushels of corn does the white chief want?”
“Not one bushel shall it cost you,” replied Argall. “Only a little
thing, a very little thing, I ask in return.”
“What does the great chief desire?” inquired the crafty Japazaws.
“Bring Pocahontas as a captive to my ship to-morrow and the kettle
is yours. Also I will bestow many presents of guns and hatchets when
next you visit Jamestown.”
“Japazaws dare not. Powhatan would kill,” said Japazaws.
“He need never know. Tell him that I took her and then turned the
great guns of my ship upon you.”
“It is enough. Japazaws will do it to show his love for the white
man. Forget not the copper kettle.”
Back went Japazaws and told his wife of his bargain, but she was very
unwilling to betray Pocahontas.
“Japazaws will beat hard if the squaw not obey.” At that threat she
quailed and consented to aid him.
The next day she told Pocahontas that she and her husband were going
on board the white man’s ship and wanted her to go, too. There would
be no danger, she said. The pale faces were friends. All would be
well.
Captain Argall received them with a great show of friendship and
spread a feast in their honor. English food that they had never
tasted was placed before them.
“Taste of this, Japazaws,” said Argall, handing a dish of veal
sweetbread to him.
Japazaws took a huge mouthful, rolled it around once or twice, and
then spit it out upon the floor. “Ugh! Bad mush!” exclaimed the
disgusted chief.
After the repast was over Argall enticed Pocahontas into the gun-room
to look at the wonderful cannon. While she was marveling at the great
guns he said, “You are to go with me to Jamestown as a hostage for
your people. There will be peace with Powhatan, and the murder of
our people will cease.”
A long heart-broken wail floated over the water. In came running
Japazaws and his squaw to learn the cause of her sorrow.
“Japazaws take Pocahontas back. The white chief would make her a
captive,” cried the unhappy girl.
“I will turn the great guns on his wigwams and kill his people if he
carries you away,” said Argall.
All the while Japazaws was making the welkin ring with howls. “How is
Japazaws to answer to Powhatan?” he yelled, at the same time treading
hard on the pet corn of Argall to remind him of the copper kettle.
As Argall’s ship moored at the landing at Jamestown many of the
settlers came down to meet him and hear of his adventures.
“Whom think you I have brought back with me, as a captive?” cried
Argall pompously.
“Not Powhatan?” exclaimed Laydon.
“Pshaw! might as well try to put salt on a snipe’s tail as catch that
old rat. But I have the next best thing—Pocahontas, his daughter.”
Then he narrated the manner of her capture.
“How could you have the heart to do it?” said a woman standing by.
“I can do anything that will redound to my own personal gain,”
replied Argall.
“You men are ever hunting down some poor female,” remarked the wife
of a settler, who had recently bought her for forty pounds of tobacco.
“I take notice that they are very careful to be caught,” returned
Argall. “I will now fetch the captive from the gun-room.”
Disappearing within the ship, he presently came out leading a maiden,
slow of gait and with bowed head.
“Welcome back to Jamestown, Pocahontas, friend of the English,” cried
Adam Clotworthy, who still retained vivid remembrances of her bounty.
Throwing back her head she faced the group of colonists, and in
accents of blended scorn and pain poured forth the recital of her
wrongs:
“What is this you do to Pocahontas, daughter of Powhatan?
Where is the memory of her kindness?
When starvation slayed your people and sickness
Laid them low, many times she came with food.
When Powhatan plotted destruction, through sleet
And storm she came, braving her father’s anger,
Because of the love she bore you.
Now Pocahontas is taken from her people and
Walks a stranger among you.”
Then from among the men stepped fair-haired, blue-eyed young Rolfe
and in low accents tried to comfort her.
“Do not be so sorrowful, maiden. We will be as kindred to you. John
Rolfe will be your brother and protect you with his life.”
“Let her come to me,” said the matron, Anne Laydon. “She needs a
woman’s care. She shall live with me and I will befriend her.” And
putting her arm around the waist of the Indian maiden she led her to
her cabin.
John Laydon had steadily prospered, and as the first fruits of his
gain he erected a pleasant house for Anne. Furniture from the mother
country was brought over, a piece at a time, for his cherished wife.
Now he welcomed the poor little captive in friendly words.
“John Laydon has not forgotten the kindness of Pocahontas in the
years that are past. She is welcome to his house.”
“Pocahontas shall share the room with my baby girl. Will she not love
the little papoose?” said Anne.
The Indian maid, who loved everything that was small and helpless,
went down on her knees beside the cradle to caress the pink toes and
kiss the dimpled hands of the little two-year-old baby. In a few days
the little one could be seen holding on by the fringe on Pocahontas’s
skirt as she toddled after her.
Under the capable supervision of the young matron Pocahontas
commenced to learn the art of housekeeping. Following Anne, who
flitted from one spot to another like a hummingbird, she learned to
manage the spinning-wheel and loom. Various tiny garments for the
baby daughter of her benefactress were made by Pocahontas, whose
skilful fingers soon learned the use of the steel needle. Always some
bright bit of Indian decoration could be found on them. She made
dainty moccasins, embroidered in beads of many colors, for the tiny
feet.
At first her Indian blood chafed against the narrow confines of
Jamestown, shut up within the palisades; but after a while other
forces began to work within her, and she became more reconciled as
the year drifted by.
Rolfe’s pity and sympathy for her made him seek her society
frequently. He conceived the idea of instructing her in the Christian
religion, and teaching her how to read and speak the English language
with fluency. She constantly reminded him of a slender lily, swaying
in the breeze, and when alone with her he always called her Lily.