Mad merry Yule-tide was in full possession of London as the coach
containing the Lady Rebecca and her party posted up from Plymouth.
Rolfe eagerly pointed out to Pocahontas the various places of
interest as they came into South Wark.
“Here on our left, sweetheart, is Erber House, once the home of
Sir Francis Drake. See that round tower lying to the west of it?
That is Paris Garden, where the common folk resort to witness the
bear-baiting. Yonder to the northeast rises the Tower of London.
Long ago its walls resounded with mirth and feasting, now it is a
gloomy prison house. Now turn your dear eyes to the northwest, here,
in this direction. That pile of buildings is Whitehall, where King
James holds court. Inigo Jones, the famous architect, is building a
magnificent banqueting hall there for the sovereign, and—Why, what is
the matter now? Our coach has come to a standstill,” he said abruptly.
Putting his head out of the window, Rolfe saw a crowd of revelers
dressed in fantastic garb surging around the six white horses
drawing the coach. The oaths of the postilion were met by the jeers
of the mob swinging upon the bridle reins.
“Make way for the Lady Rebecca of Virginia, you scum of South Wark.
She is the King’s guest!” shouted the angry jehu.
“Is that the commodity you carry? Up, my merry men, let’s have a look
at her,” exclaimed the ringleader.
Up on the wheels scrambled three or four adventurous spirits, to peer
through the coach windows at the famous Indian princess.
“She is fairly well-favored, saving her copper skin,” sang out the
Lord of Misrule.
The sound of his voice attracted the attention of Adam, seated beside
the postilion.
“By my soul, ’tis scatterbrain Jack Saunders. Halloa there! Jack,
don’t you remember your old comrade?”
“Father Christmas! If ’tis not bottle-nose Adam Clotworthy. I would
know your ill-favored visage in Africa. Say, man, how did you escape
the scalping-knife, and what has become of the Falstaff paunch you
carried about?”
“My own prowess kept off the savages,” replied Adam. “As to my
paunch, I had to consume my own fat during the Starving Time, like
the bears over yonder do in winter. Say, lad, I thought you had been
buried long ago by your ranting spouse, Meg. Her temper must have
improved vastly to allow you to go junketing around like this.”
Jack scratched his shock head, and whispered with a sly wink, “She
thinks I am down at Deptford, looking after repairs on old Sir
Francis Drake’s ship. Come down, Adam, and have a cup of ale for
the sake of old times. We will go to the tavern hard by and make a
roaring night of it.”
Adam shook his head and drew himself up proudly. “I cannot, Jack, I
am body-servant to Master John Rolfe, husband of the Lady Rebecca.
Besides, there is a little lad in there whom I love as if he were
mine own. I have to keep straight for his sake.”
While this conversation was taking place, and the revelers were still
tormenting the driver, a band of London apprentices, with clubs in
their hands and flat caps on their heads, were coming at a swinging
pace across London Bridge, from the north side of the Thames. On
perceiving the revelers blocking the way, they raised the cry of
“Clubs, clubs!” and bore down upon the mummers. Swinging their
cudgels right and left upon the heads of the luckless maskers, they
quickly cut a wide path for the coach.
Down upon the plunging horses came the long curling whip of the
postilion. Smarting under the stinging lash, they plunged forward
under the gateway of London Bridge, surmounted by a row of ghastly
heads set on pikes; and sweeping forward across the bridge, swerved
to the left, rattled down the street echoing with the postilion’s
horn, and drew up with a flourish before the Mermaid Inn.
Out came the obsequious host with many bows to greet them. “Why,
Master Rolfe, you are a sight to gladden the heart. And this is the
Lady Rebecca, your wife? I need not tell you, honored madam, that all
London welcomes you.”
“Yes,” said Rolfe, “we have just had a sample of their good will on
South Wark side of the Thames.”
“The Lady De La Warre was here a week ago come Tuesday, to engage
rooms for your party, Master Rolfe. They are in readiness and I will
conduct you to them,” said the landlord.
Up a crooked stairway went Pocahontas, followed by her party, to
a suite of rooms overlooking the Thames. Wreaths of holly and
mistletoe hung from the ceiling and twined around portraits of King
James and Queen Elizabeth. Through the diamond-paned window could be
seen the shipping plying back and forth upon the river.
While our friends were seated at breakfast the next morning a servant
appeared with the information that Lady De La Warre waited below to
pay a visit to the Lady Rebecca.
Rolfe hastened down to conduct this lady to the presence of his wife.
In came the stately dame, rustling in violet silk and Flanders lace.
“Welcome to London, Lady Rebecca,” she said. “My husband has often
told me of your many kindnesses to our colony in Virginia. I feel
that we are already acquaint.”
Both ladies curtsied low to each other, each taking note of the
other’s appearance in the meanwhile.
When they were seated Lady De La Warre said to Pocahontas, “It will
give me much pleasure to present you at court. I have many skilled
needlewomen waiting to provide you with a suitable robe.”
“Pocahontas thanks Lady De La Warre for her kind interest. She is
happy to be in the land of the pale-faces.”
“You must come and be my guest until after your appearance at court.
My lord seconds the invitation and sends greetings. He is away now
with the King, who is hunting at Theobalds.”
“Please convey our sincere respects to your noble lord, my lady. Your
kind invitation we gladly accept,” replied Rolfe, answering for his
wife.
“Now I must take my departure,” said Lady De La Warre, rising. “I
will send my coach for you to-morrow.”