Sunlight glinting between huge forest trees, and blue skies
over-arching the Indian village of Werewocomoco on the York River in
Virginia, where Powhatan, the mighty "Werowance," or ruler over thirty
tribes, was living.
Through Orapakes and Pamunkey and other forest settlements a long line
of fierce warriors were marching Indian file, on their way to
Werewocomoco, leading a captive white man to Powhatan for inspection
and for sentence. As the warriors passed into the Indian village, they
encountered crowds of dusky braves and tattooed squaws hurrying along
the wood trails, and when they halted at the central clearing of the
village, the crowd closed in around them to get a better view of the
captive. At the same time there rose a wild clamor from the rear of
the throng as a merry group of shrieking, shouting girls and boys
darted forward, jostling their way through the crowd.
Their leader was a slender, straight young girl with laughing eyes
such as are seldom seen among Indians, and hair as black as a crow's
wing blown about her cheeks in wild disorder, while her manner was
that of a happy hearty forest maiden. This was Matoaka, daughter of
the Werowance Powhatan, and although he had many subjects as well as
twenty sons and eleven daughters, not one was ruled so despotically as
was he himself, by this slender girl with laughing eyes, for whom his
pet name was Pocahontas, or in free translation, "little romp."
Having established themselves in the front row of the crowd the girls
and boys stood eagerly staring at the prisoner, for many of them had
never seen a white man before, and as Pocahontas watched, she looked
like a forest flower in her robe of soft deer-skin, with beaded
moccasins on her shapely feet, coral bracelets and anklets vying with
the color in her dark cheeks, while a white plume drooping over her
disordered hair proclaimed her to be the daughter of a great chief. In
her health and happiness she radiated a charm which made her easily
the ruling spirit among her mates, and compelled the gaze of the
captive, whose eyes, looking about for some friendly face among the
savage throng, fastened on the eager little maiden with a feeling of
relief, for her bright glance showed such interest in the prisoner and
such sympathy with him as was to endear her to his race in later
years.
The long line of braves with their heads and shoulders gaily painted
had wound their slow way through forest, field, and meadow to bring
into the presence of the great "Werowance" a no less important captive
than Captain John Smith, leader in the English Colony at Jamestown by
reason of his quick wit and stout heart. The settlers having been
threatened with a famine, the brave Captain had volunteered to go on
an expedition among neighboring Indian villages in search of a supply
of corn. The trip had been full of thrilling adventures for him, and
had ended disastrously in his being taken prisoner by Opechancanough,
the brother of Powhatan. The news of Smith's capture having been
carried to the great Werowance, he commanded that the pale-faced
_Caucarouse_, or Captain, be brought to him for sentence. And that was
why the warriors marched into Werewocomoco, Opechancanough in the
center, with the firearms taken from Captain Smith and his companions
carried before him as trophies. The prisoner followed, gripped by
three stalwart Indians, while six others acted as flank guards to
prevent his escape, and as they passed into Werewocomoco they were
greeted by yelling savages brandishing weapons and surging forward to
get a better glimpse of the white captive. The procession halted for a
few minutes at the village clearing, then moved slowly on to
Powhatan's "Chief Place of Council," a long arbor-like structure where
the great Werowance was waiting to receive Captain Smith.
The crowd of boys and girls followed in the wake of the warriors until
the Council Hall was reached, when they all dropped back except their
leader. Pushing her hair from her low brow, that she might see more
clearly, and walking with the erectness of a Werowance's daughter,
Pocahontas entered the hall and stood near her father where she could
not only watch the white captive, who appealed strongly to her fancy,
but could also note Powhatan's expression as he passed judgment on the
prisoner.
With inscrutable reserve and majestic dignity the great ruler bowed as
the captive was led before his rustic throne, where he reclined in a
gorgeous robe of raccoon-skins. On either side of the Council Hall sat
rows of dusky men and women, with their heads and shoulders painted
red, some of the women wearing garments trimmed with the white down
from birds' breasts, while others wore long chains of white beads
about their necks.
It was a picturesque sight for English eyes, and fearful though he was
of foul play, the Captain could not but appreciate the brilliant
mingling of gay colors and dark faces. As he stood before the Chief,
there was a clapping of hands to call an Indian woman, the Queen of
the Appamattock, who brought water to wash the captive's hands, while
another brought a bunch of feathers to dry them on. "What next?"
Captain Smith wondered as he watched further preparations being made,
evidently for a feast, of which he was soon asked to partake.
Under the circumstances his appetite was not keen, but he felt obliged
to pretend to a relish that he did not feel, and while he was eating
his eyes lighted up with pleasure as he saw by her father's
side--though he did not know then of the relationship--the little
Indian girl whose interest in him had been so apparent when he saw her
in the village. He dared not smile in response to her vivid glance,
but his gaze lingered long on the vision of youth and loveliness, and
he turned back to his meal with a better appetite.
The feast at an end, Powhatan called his councilors to his side, and
while they were in earnest debate Captain Smith knew only too well
that his fate was hanging in the balance. At last a stalwart brave
arose and spoke to the assemblage. The captive, so he said, was known
to be the leading spirit among the white settlers whose colony was too
near the Indians' homes to please them, also in his expedition in
search of corn he had killed four Indian warriors with "mysterious
weapons which spoke with the voice of thunder and breathed the
lightning," and he had been spying on their land, trying to find some
secret means by which to betray them. With him out of the way their
country would be freed from a dangerous menace, therefore he was
condemned to death.
Doomed to die! Although he did not understand their words, there was
no misunderstanding their intention. Immediately two great stones were
rolled into the hall, to the feet of Powhatan, and the Captain was
seized roughly, dragged forward and forced to lie down in such a
position that his head lay across the stones. Life looked sweet to him
as he reviewed it in a moment of quick survey while waiting for the
warriors' clubs to dash out his brains. He closed his eyes. Powhatan
gave the fatal signal--the clubs quivered in the hands of the
executioners. A piercing shriek rang out, as Pocahontas darted from
her father's side, sprang between the uplifted clubs of the savages
and the prostrate Captain, twining her arms around his neck and laying
her own bright head in such a position that to kill the captive would
be to kill the Werowance's dearest daughter.
[Illustration: POCAHONTAS SAVES CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH]
With horror at this staying of his royal purpose, and at the sight of
his child with her arms around the white man's neck, Powhatan stared
as if at a hideous vision, and closed his ears to the sound of her
voice as her defiant Indian words rang out:
"No! He shall not die!"
The savages stood with upraised weapons; Powhatan sat rigid in the
intensity of his emotion. Watching him closely for some sign of
relenting, Pocahontas, without moving from her position, began to
plead with the stern old Chief,--begged, entreated, prayed--until she
had her desire.
"Let the prisoner go free!"
Through the long Council-room echoed Powhatan's order, and a
perfunctory shout rose from the savage throng, who were always quick
to echo their Chief's commands. Captain Smith, bewildered by the
sudden turn of affairs, was helped to rise, led to the beaming girl,
and told that the condition of his release from death was that he
might "make hatchets and trinkets" for Pocahontas, the Werowance's
dearest daughter. So his deliverer was the daughter of the great
Chief! With the courtly manner which he had brought from his life in
other lands he bent over the warm little hand of the Indian maiden
with such sincere appreciation of her brave deed that she flushed with
happiness, and she ran away with her playmates, singing as merrily as
a forest bird, leaving the pale-faced _Caucarouse_ with her royal
father, that they might become better acquainted. Although she ran off
so gaily with her comrades after having rescued Captain Smith, yet she
was far from heedless of his presence in the village, and soon
deserted her young friends to steal shyly back to the side of the
wonderful white man whose life had been saved that he might serve her.
During the first days of his captivity--for it was that--the Captain
and Powhatan became very friendly, and had many long talks by the
camp-fire, by means of a sign language and such words of the Algonquin
dialect as Captain Smith had learned since coming to Virginia. And
often Pocahontas squatted by her father's side, her eager eyes intent
on the Captain's face as he matched the old ruler's marvelous tales of
hoarded gold possessed by tribes living to the west of Werewocomoco,
with stories of the cities of Europe he had visited, and the strange
peoples he had met in his wanderings. Sometimes as he told his
thrilling tales he would hear the little Indian maid catch her breath
from interest in his narrative, and he would smile responsively into
her upturned face, feeling a real affection for the young girl who had
saved his life.
From his talks with Powhatan the Englishman found out that the great
desire of the savage ruler was to own some of the cannon and
grindstones used by the colonists, and with quick diplomacy he
promised to satisfy this wish if Powhatan would but let him go back to
Jamestown and send with him warriors to carry the coveted articles.
This the wily Indian ruler promised to do, and in return offered him
a tract of land which he did not own, and from which he intended to
push the settlers if they should take possession of it. And Captain
Smith had no intention of giving either cannon or grindstones to
Powhatan, so the shrewd old savage and the quick-witted Captain were
well matched in diplomacy.
Meanwhile, Powhatan's interest in his white captive became so great
that he gave him the freedom he would have accorded one of his own
subjects, even allowing Pocahontas to hunt with him, and when evening
came she would sit by the great fire and listen to her Captain's
stories of his life told with many a graphic gesture which made them
clear to her even though most of his words were unintelligible.
Then came a day when the captive was led to a cabin in the heart of
the forest and seated on a mat before a smoldering fire to await he
knew not what. Suddenly Powhatan appeared before him, fantastically
dressed, followed by two hundred warriors as weirdly decorated as he
was. Rushing in, they surrounded the frightened Captain, but quickly
dispelled his fears by telling him that they were all his friends and
this was only a ceremony to celebrate his speedy return to Jamestown,
for the purpose of sending back cannon and grindstones to their Chief.
This was good news. The Captain showed hearty appreciation of the
favor, and at once said his farewells. Powhatan, the inscrutable, who
bade him a dignified good-by, repeated his promise to give him the
country of the Capahowsick, which he did not own, and said he should
forever honor him as his own son. Then, with an escort of twelve
Indians, Captain Smith set out for Jamestown, and beside him trudged
Pocahontas, looking as resolute as if she were in truth a forest
Princess escorting her chosen cavalier through the wilderness.
As they picked their way along the rough trail, the Captain told her
such tales of the settlement as he could make clear to her and
repeated some simple English words he had been trying to teach her. As
he talked and as she said over and over the words she had learned,
Pocahontas gripped his arm with rapt interest and longed to follow
where he led. But night was coming on, it was unwise for her to go
beyond the last fork of the trail, and so, reluctantly, she parted
from her new and wonderful friend. But before she left him she darted
to the side of a trusty warrior and gave a passionate command, then
started swiftly back on the long wood path leading to Werewocomoco.
The next night no one could make her laugh or join in the dances
around the big fire, nor did she show any likeness to the
light-hearted, romping, singing little tomboy, ringleader among her
playmates. Pocahontas had lost a comrade, and her childish heart was
sore at the loss. But when the warriors returned from Jamestown she
became merry and happy again, for had the _Caucarouse_ not sent her
back strings of beads more beautiful than any she had ever seen
before, such as proved surely that he had not forgotten her?
The truth of the matter was, that on reaching the colony, Captain
Smith showed the Indians a grindstone and told them to carry it back
to Powhatan, but when they tried to lift it and found its great weight
they were utterly disconcerted. Then the wily Captain showed them a
cannon purposely loaded with stones, and had it discharged among the
icicle-laden trees, which so terrified the savages that they ran away
and refused to take another look at it. Then Captain Smith cleverly
suggested that they carry back trinkets in place of the articles which
were so heavy, and the Indians went happily away without the promised
gifts, but bearing many smaller things, some of which the Captain was
thoughtful enough to suggest be given to Pocahontas as a slight token
of his appreciation of her great service to him.
Little he dreamed, man of the world though he was, that the small
courtesy would mean as much to the Indian maiden as it did, nor could
he know that from that hour the dreams of Pocahontas were all to be
built around the daily life of the pale-faced men in the Jamestown
settlement. Even when she joined her playmates in her favorite games
of Gus-ga-e-sa-ta (deer buttons), or Gus-ka-eh (peach-pit), or
even,--tomboy that she was,--when she turned somersaults with her
favorite brother Nantaquaus and his comrades, she was so far from
being her usual lively self that the boys and girls questioned her
about the reason. In reply she only flung back her head with an
indifferent gesture, and walked away from them. Later when the great
fires blazed in Council Hall and Long House, she sought the trusty
warrior who had accompanied Captain Smith to Jamestown, and he gave
her such news of the settlers as he had heard from the Indians who
loafed about Jamestown. They were on friendly terms with the white
men, who let them come and go at will as long as they were peaceful
and did not try to pilfer corn or firearms.
Winter came with its snow and zero weather, and Pocahontas heard of
great hunger and many privations among the colonists. She held a long
secret conversation with the Indian warrior who knew of her interest
in the pale-faced _Caucarouse_, then, at twilight of a bitter cold
day, she stole out from her wigwam, met the warrior at the beginning
of the Jamestown trail, and after carefully examining the store of
provisions which she had commanded him to bring, she plunged into the
gloomy wood trail with her escort, hurrying along the rough path in
the darkness, until she reached the rough stockade guarding the
entrance to the settlement.
The man on watch, who had heard many glowing descriptions of the
maiden who had saved his Captain's life, recognized her at once and
admired her exceedingly as she stood there in her dusky imperiousness,
demanding to see the Captain. Astonished, but pleased at her coming,
Smith quickly came to greet her and was enthusiastic in his thanks for
the provisions she had brought. Then by the flare of a torch he showed
his eager guest as much of their little village as could be seen in
the fast-falling darkness, enjoying her questions and her keen
interest in such buildings and articles as she had never seen before.
She responded to the Englishmen's cordiality with shy, appreciative
glances and would have liked to linger, but it was too late for her to
remain longer, and the colonists crowded around her with expressions
of regret that she must leave and renewed thanks for her gifts. Then
Pocahontas and her Indian escort started back toward Werewocomoco,
taking the trail with flying feet that her absence might not be
discovered.
From that day she often found her way to Jamestown, carrying stores of
provisions from her father's well-filled larder, sometimes going in
broad daylight, with rosy cheeks and flying hair, after her morning
swim in the river, at other times starting out on her errand of mercy
at twilight, always protected by a faithful warrior who was on terms
of intimacy with the settlers and felt a deep pride in their
admiration for Pocahontas, whom they called "The Little Angel," and
well they might, for they would have gone without food many a time
during that bitter winter but for her visits.
As for Powhatan, he was too well accustomed to the forest excursions
of his "dearest daughter," and to having her roam the neighboring
country at will, to watch her carefully. He knew that his daughter was
safe on Indian territory, never dreaming that she would go beyond it,
and as her guide was loyal, there was no one to prevent her from
following out her heart's desires in taking food to her Captain and
his people.
But as time went on and Powhatan heard more of the wonderful firearms
and useful articles possessed by the white men, he became not only
bitterly jealous of them, but determined to secure their arms and
articles for his own use. "So when the valiant Captain made another
visit to Werewocomoco and tried to barter beads and other trinkets for
corn, the old chief refused to trade except for the coveted firearms,
which the Captain declined to give. But he did give him a boy named
Thomas Salvage, whom Powhatan adopted as his son, and in exchange gave
Smith an Indian boy, Namontack. Then there were three days of feasting
and dancing, but of trading there was none, and Captain Smith was
determined to get corn." He showed Powhatan some blue beads which took
the Indian ruler's fancy and he offered a small amount of corn in
exchange for them, but the Captain laughed scornfully. Those beads
were the favorite possession of Kings and Queens in other countries,
why should they be sold to Powhatan? he asked. Powhatan became
eager--offered more corn. The Captain hesitated, shook his head, and
played his part in the transaction so well that when at last he gave
in, he had secured three hundred bushels of corn for the really
worthless beads!
In the following months the Indians threw off their mask of
friendliness for the colonists and began to steal the firearms so
coveted by Powhatan. For some time the white men were patient under
the annoyance, but when knives and swords began to go, a watch was set
for the thieves, and nine of them were caught and detained at the
Jamestown fort, for Captain Smith suspected treachery on Powhatan's
part and determined to hold them until all the stolen articles were
sent back. In return the Indians captured two straggling Englishmen
and came in a shouting throng to the fort clamoring for the release
of the imprisoned Indians. Out came the bold Captain and demanded the
instant freeing of the settlers. His force and tactics were so
superior to those of the savages that they were obliged to give up
their captives. Then the Captain examined his Indian prisoners and
forced them into a confession of Powhatan's plot to procure all the
weapons possible from the colonists, which were then to be used to
kill their rightful owners. That was all the Captain wanted of the
Indians, but he still kept them imprisoned, to give them a wholesome
fright. Powhatan, enraged at hearing of the failure of his plot
against the white men, determined that his warriors should be freed at
once. He would try another way to gain his end. From his rustic throne
in the Council Hall he sent for Pocahontas. She was playing a game of
Gawàsa (snow-snake) with two of her comrades, but left them instantly
and ran to the Council Hall. Long and earnestly Powhatan talked to
her, and she listened intently. When he had finished a pleased
expression flashed into her black eyes.
"I will do what you wish," she said, then ran back to join in the game
she had left so suddenly.
The next morning she went swiftly along the forest trail now so
familiar to her, and at length approached the settlers' stockade and
demanded audience with the Captain. He was busy chopping trees at the
other end of the settlement, but dropped his ax at the summons and
hurried to bid the little maiden welcome with the courtly deference he
always showed her, whether he really felt it or not. With folded arms
and intent silence he listened to her plea:
For her sake would he not give up the Indians detained in the fort as
prisoners? Powhatan was very anxious that the pleasant relations
between himself and the Englishmen should not be disturbed by such an
unfriendly act as holding his men captive. Would the noble
_Caucarouse_ not free them for the sake of that maiden who had saved
his life?
Captain Smith listened with a set expression and soldierly bearing and
tried to evade glancing into the girl's eager eyes, but found it
impossible. One look broke down his iron determination, and bending
over her hand with his Old World chivalry, he said:
"Your request shall be granted. They shall be freed, but not in
justice, simply as an act of friendship for you, who saved my life."
His intention was clear, though his words were not understood.
Joyfully Pocahontas beamed and blushed her rapturous thanks. Smith,
none too happy over the result of Powhatan's shrewd move, called forth
the sullen warriors from the fort, and sent them on their way back to
Werewocomoco, led by victorious Pocahontas.
But the Indian girl did not spend all of her time in such heroic deeds
as this, nor in dreaming of the pale-faced _Caucarouse_. She was
usually the merry, care-free child of the forest and daily led her
mates in sport and dance. Once when the Captain went to Werewocomoco
to confer with Powhatan on matters concerning neighboring tribes, and
found the great Chief away from home, Pocahontas did the honors of the
village in her father's place. After sending an Indian runner to
request the old ruler to return, she invited Smith and his companions
to be seated in an open space before the huge fire which had been
built for their benefit.
There, with the clear starlit sky over their heads, and the forest on
all sides, they awaited the pleasure of their dusky hostess. But she
remained away from them for so long that they grew uneasy, fearing
some plot against them. While the Captain was wondering what to do in
case of treachery, the woods suddenly resounded with wild shrieks and
hideous yells. All jumped to their feet, but stepped back at sight of
Pocahontas, who darted from the woods to the Captain's side and said
that there was nothing to fear, that she would not allow a hair of the
white men's heads to be injured, but had merely arranged a masquerade
to amuse her guests while they awaited Powhatan's coming. Then she
flitted back into the forest, and presently she danced out, leading a
band of thirty young Indian girls, whose bodies were all stained with
puccoon and painted with gay colors, while such garments as they wore
were made of brilliant green leaves. "Pocahontas, as leader, wore a
head-dress of buck's horns and girdle of otter-skin; across her
shoulder was slung a quiver filled with arrows, and she carried a bow.
Her companions all carried rattles made of dried gourds, or clubs, or
wooden swords as they rushed out of the forest yelling and swaying to
weird music while they formed a ring around the fire. There they
joined hands and kept on dancing and singing in a weird, fantastic way
for an hour, when at a whoop from their leader they all ran into the
forest, but soon came back in their ordinary Indian dress, to spread a
feast before the white men and spend the remainder of the evening in
dancing and revels, after which, by the light of flaming torches, they
escorted their guests to their tents for the night."
The next morning Powhatan came back, and was told Captain Smith's
errand. He had come to invite the old Werowance to visit Jamestown, to
receive gifts which Captain Newport, a colonist who had just come back
from England, had brought from King James. The King had been much
interested in what Newport told him about the Indian ruler, and
thought it would be a fine idea to send him back some presents, also a
crown, which he suggested might be placed on the savage's head with
the ceremonies of a coronation, and the robe thrown over his
shoulders, while he was proclaimed Emperor of his own domains. This
ceremony, King James thought, might bring about a warmer friendship
between the red men and the colonists,--a result much to be desired.
And so Captain Smith gave the invitation while Pocahontas, never far
away when her _Caucarouse_ was at Werewocomoco, listened eagerly for
her father's reply.
Powhatan received the invitation in silence and smoked a long time
before answering. Then he said:
"If your King has sent me presents, I also am a King, and this is my
land. Eight days will I stay to receive them. Your father (Newport) is
to come to me, not I to him, nor yet to your fort."
Wily Powhatan! He had no intention of visiting the white men's
stronghold, when by so doing he might walk into some trap they had
laid for him!
And so Pocahontas was disappointed in her eager hope of going with her
father to the settlement where her white friends lived, and where she
could see her wonderful Captain daily. But there was no help for it.
Powhatan resisted both her pleading and the arguments of the Captain,
who was obliged to carry back the old Werowance's refusal to Captain
Newport.
"Then we will take the gifts to him!" said Newport, stoutly. "The King
would never forgive me if I did not carry out his wish."
And so to Werewocomoco went the two Captains together, bearing their
offerings to Powhatan, who received them with dignity, and showed a
mild interest when presented with a bedstead and a basin and pitcher
such as the English used. But when Captain Smith tried to throw the
coronation robe over his shoulders he drew away haughtily, wrapped his
own mantle around him, and refused to listen to argument or entreaty.
Namontack hastily assured him that the garments were like those worn
by the English and would do him no harm, and Pocahontas, seeing the
Captain's eagerness to accomplish his end, and also keenly interested
in this new game, begged her father to accept the beautiful gifts. Her
words influenced the old ruler, and, standing as stiff and straight as
a wooden image, he let himself be dressed up in the garb of English
royalty. Then he was told to kneel while the crown was placed on his
head, but this was too much for even Pocahontas to expect of him. He
folded his arms and stood like a pine-tree. In vain Pocahontas urged,
in vain the two white men bent and bowed and knelt before him to show
him what he ought to do.
At last Captain Smith grew impatient and laid a powerful hand on the
Werowance's broad shoulders; unconsciously he stooped. The crown was
hurriedly placed on his head, and a volley of shots was fired to show
that the ceremony was over. At the shots Powhatan sprang free like a
wild creature, sure that he had been trapped, and Captain Smith
appealed to Pocahontas to explain to her terrified father that the
firing was only part of the program. Meanwhile both Captains bowed
ceremoniously before the savage ruler, calling him by his new
title--Emperor--and finally soothed and reassured, he stood as erect
and dignified as of old, and beckoning majestically to Namontack, bade
him bring his old moccasins and mantle to send to King James in return
for the crown and robe!
Much amused, Captain Newport thanked him and received the gift, but
told him that more than moccasins or mantles, the Englishmen desired
his aid in attacking a neighboring and hostile tribe. In this desire,
however, Powhatan showed no interest, and the two Captains were
obliged to leave Werewocomoco without his co-operation, which would
have been of much benefit in subduing the unfriendly tribe. But the
coronation ceremony had been accomplished; that was one thing for
which to be thankful and Captain Newport had for the first time seen
the charming Indian girl who had become such an ally of the settlers,
so he felt well repaid for the visit, although to him Pocahontas
showed none of the spontaneous sympathy which she gave so joyously to
Captain Smith.
And now again came winter and with it privation and hunger for the
colonists. Corn must be procured. There was only one man stout-hearted
enough to venture on another expedition in search of it, and that was
Captain Smith. He decided to go to Werewocomoco once more, and if he
found the new-made Emperor rebellious, to promptly make him prisoner
and carry away his stores of corn by force.
While the Captain and his men were making ready to start on the
expedition, to their great surprise messengers arrived from Powhatan
inviting Captain Smith to visit Werewocomoco again if he would bring
with him men to build a house and give the Emperor a grindstone, fifty
swords, some firearms, a hen and rooster, and much beads and copper,
for which he would be given corn.
Immediately forty-six Englishmen set out on a snowy December day, in
two barges and a pinnace, for Werewocomoco. The first night they spent
at the Indian village of Warrasqueake, where a friendly chief warned
Captain Smith not to go further.
"You shall find Powhatan to use you kindly," he said, "but trust him
not, and be sure he have no opportunity to seize on your arms, for he
hath sent for you only to cut your throats."
On hearing these words many of his comrades would have turned back,
but the Captain spoke to them in such courageous words that in spite
of the warning all continued on their way.
While they were journeying on toward their destination, Pocahontas,
at Werewocomoco, was daily with her father, watching him with alert
ears and eyes, for she saw that the old ruler was brooding over some
matter of grave import, and she drew her own inference. Only when
planning to wage war on an alien tribe or plotting against the
Jamestown settlers did he so mope and muse and fail to respond to her
overtures. Late one evening, when she saw two of his loyal warriors
steal to his side, in order to hear their conversation better she
climbed a near-by tree and listened to their muttered words. Her
suspicions were confirmed. There was need of her intervention again.
From that moment until she had foiled Powhatan's design, she was on
guard day and night watching and waiting for the coming of the
Englishmen, often lying sleepless in her wigwam to listen for some
unwonted noise in the hushed forest.
When the party from Jamestown reached the Indian village the river was
frozen over for a half-mile from shore. With his usual impetuous
courage the Captain broke the ice by jumping into the frozen stream,
and swam ashore, followed by the others, who were ashamed to be less
courageous than he. It was nearly night, and they took possession of a
deserted wigwam in the woods near the shore and sent word to Powhatan
that they were in immediate need of food, as their journey had been a
long one, and asked if he would not send provisions at once. In
response an Indian runner came to their wigwam bearing bread, turkeys,
and venison, much to the delight of the half-starved colonists.
Refreshed by a good meal, they slept heavily in the still forest, and
early the next morning went to pay their respects to Powhatan, who was
in his "Chief Place of Council" awaiting their visit in his gala robe
of luxurious skins and elaborate feather head-dress. His greeting was
courteous, but he at once turned to Captain Smith and asked:
"When are you going away? I did not invite you to come."
Although taken by surprise, quick-witted Captain Smith did not show
his feelings, but pointing to a group of Indian warriors standing
near, he said:
"There are the very men who came to Jamestown to invite us here!"
At this Powhatan gave a guttural laugh and changed the subject at
once, by asking to see the articles which Captain Smith had brought
for exchange. Then began a long and hot discussion in which neither
the Captain nor the wily Emperor gained a point. Powhatan refused to
trade unless the white men left their firearms on their barges and
would barter corn only for the coveted articles. Captain Smith would
not accede to his demands even to get the much-needed corn, and was on
his guard because of the warning he had received, knowing that
Powhatan was only waiting for the right moment to kill him.
The debate went on for hours, during which there had been only one
trade made when Smith exchanged a copper kettle for forty bushels of
corn. Annoyed at this, he determined to take matters into his own
hand. Beckoning to some friendly Indians, he asked them to go to the
river bank and signal to his men on the barges to come ashore with
baskets to take back the corn for which he had traded the kettle.
Meanwhile he kept up a brisk conversation with the old Werowance to
divert his attention, assuring him that on the next day he and his men
would leave their firearms on the ships, trusting to Powhatan's
promise that no harm should come to them.
Powhatan was too clever to be fooled by any such delightful promise;
he knew the quick-witted Captain was probably playing the same game
that he was, and feared lest the white man should be quicker than he
at it. He slyly whispered a command to a young warrior, and at a sign
from him two gaily decorated squaws darted forward and, squatting at
the feet of the Captain, began to sing tribal songs to the beating of
drums and shaking of rattles, and while they sang Powhatan silently
drew his fur robe about him and stole away to a forest retreat long
prepared for an hour of danger. Before him went a supply of
provisions, and with him some women and children, but not Pocahontas.
Meeting her father in his hasty flight, she listened to his request
that she go with him, but with a laughing gesture of refusal she fled
through the woods to the place where the white men were grouped. The
old Chief's power over his daughter had been greatly weakened by the
coming of the colonists to Jamestown, and who knows what a fire of
envy that may have kindled in his heart?
As soon as the Emperor reached his hiding-place, he sent an old Sachem
in war paint and feathers back to Captain Smith, bearing a valuable
bracelet as an offering, and saying that his chief had fled because he
feared the white man's weapons, but if they could be laid aside, he,
Powhatan, would return to give the colonists an abundance of corn.
Captain Smith, with arms folded and flashing eyes, refused the
bracelet and the request, and the Sachem went back to carry the news
to Powhatan.
Pocahontas had watched the interview with breathless interest, and
when she saw the old warrior turn away, and knew that Captain Smith
had foiled her father's intent, she knew that the brave _Caucarouse_
was in great danger. That night, while all the Englishmen except their
leader were out hunting, the Captain sat alone in his wigwam musing on
ways and means to gain his end. There was a sound in the still
forest--a crackling of underbrush--he roused at a light touch on his
arm. Pocahontas stood by his side, alone in the darkness; swiftly she
whispered her message and he understood its gravity only too well.
"My father is going to send you food, and, if you eat it, you will
die," she said. "It is not safe for you to stay here any longer. Oh,
go! I beg you, go!"
She was shivering in her fear for his safety, and the Captain was
deeply moved by her emotion. Raising her hand to his lips in his
wonted fashion, he thanked her and offered her the choicest beads in
his store for a remembrance, but she would not accept them!
"He would want to know where I got them, and then he would kill me,
too," she said, and vanished as silently and swiftly as she had come.
As she had reported, soon there came warriors from Powhatan bearing
huge vessels filled with food, smoking hot. The Chief had returned to
Werewocomoco, they said, and wished to show his good-will to the white
men. Would they partake of a feast which he had sent?
They set down their burden of tempting food, and the Captain's eyes
gleamed; with a profound bow he thanked Powhatan for his courtesy, but
he said:
"When we English make a feast for any one, we ourselves first taste
each dish before we offer it to our guests. If you would have me eat
what you have brought, you must first taste of each dish yourselves."
His manner was defiant as he stood waiting for them to accept his
challenge, and, seeing they made no move to touch what they had
brought, he said, still more defiantly:
"Tell your Chief to come on and attack us. We are ready for you!"
So soldierly was he, that the frightened Indians turned and fled,
while the colonists hastily threw away the food Powhatan had sent. The
old ruler had again been checkmated by his daughter's loyalty to the
white men and the Captain's courage.
Early the next morning, when the tide was right, the white men were
able to leave Werewocomoco, and all on board the barges drew sighs of
relief as they sailed away from the Emperor's stronghold.
While they had been absent from Jamestown a party had set out for a
neighboring island, but a great storm having come up, their boat had
been swamped and all on board drowned. As they were the men who had
been left in charge of the colony during Smith's absence, it was
necessary to send him word immediately, and one of the survivors,
Richard Wyffin, was sent on the errand. When he arrived at
Werewocomoco the colonists had left, and Powhatan was in a sullen fury
against them for having outwitted him. Wyffin's life was in danger,
and he must escape as quickly as possible. Pocahontas hurried to his
rescue and at a moment when there were no Indians to see, she took him
to a forest hiding-place where he could safely spend the night. Later,
under cover of the darkness, she crept to the spot, awakened him and
led him to the edge of the woods, directing him to take the opposite
trail from that on which her father's braves were watching to capture
him. And so he escaped and joined the other colonists at Pamunkey,
where they had gone from Werewocomoco, Captain Smith being determined
either to get corn from Opechancanough or to burn his storehouses, for
he, like Powhatan, had promised to trade with the white men. But he
proved treacherous, too, and Captain Smith, exasperated and desperate,
sprang on him and "in a fierce encounter nearly knocked the breath out
of his huge body, then jammed him up against the wall, placed the
muzzle of his gun at his breast, and, seizing him by his scalp-lock,
dragged him out into full view of his assembled subjects and gave him
the alternative--
"'Your corn or your life!'
"Under the circumstances Opechancanough promptly decided to give the
corn, and with a ship full of the much-needed provisions the settlers
sailed triumphantly back to Jamestown."
When this was reported to Powhatan it greatly increased his respect
for the pale-faced _Caucarouse_, but he was still enraged at the
failure of his plan to kill him, and he commanded his warriors to
capture him as soon as possible; but meanwhile events occurred which
worked for the Captain's good. A Chickahominy Indian had stolen
various articles from the settlers, among them a pistol. He escaped,
but his two brothers, who were known to be his accomplices, were
captured and one held in the Jamestown fort, while the other was told
to go for the pistol, and if he did not return with it in twelve hours
his brother would be hung. Away went the Indian--while the Captain
took pity on the poor naked wretch imprisoned in the cold cell and
sent him some food and charcoal for a fire--the fumes from which
suffocated him. When his brother came back with the pistol he lay
senseless on the ground. Captain Smith at once hurried to the spot and
worked so hard to revive him that he recovered, and the next morning
was well enough to leave the fort with his brother, both of them
having been given substantial presents of copper. The story was told
among the tribe as a miracle, and the belief became current that to
his other virtues the brave Captain added that of being able to raise
men from the dead. Then one of Powhatan's warriors secretly secured a
bag of gunpowder and pretended that he could use it as the English
did. His dusky comrades crowded around to watch him manage the strange
article, but in some way it caught fire, and blew him, with one or two
more, to death. This happening so awed and terrified those Indians who
saw the accident that they began to be superstitious about the
knowledge of the settlers, who could make such powerful things obey
their will. It was better to be a friend than foe of the white man, so
even Powhatan concluded, and warriors from all the neighboring tribes
came to Jamestown bringing presents, also stolen articles, and begging
for friendly relations instead of attempting to capture Captain Smith.
Then came an event which forever changed the life of Pocahontas, the
Captain's staunch admirer. He, after having adventured up the James
River to visit a struggling colony there, was sailing down the river
feeling weary and discouraged, as he had many enemies working against
him at Jamestown, and was so disheartened that he determined to leave
Virginia forever. As he lay musing and trying to sleep in the stern of
the ship, a bag of gunpowder exploded, wounding him so badly that he
leaped into the water to cool the burning agony of his flesh. He was
rescued and the ship sailed for Jamestown with all possible haste. His
wounds were dressed, but he was in a dangerous condition and there was
no skilled surgeon to care for him, so his plight was pitiable. An
Indian carried the sad news to Pocahontas, who at once deserted her
comrades for solitary brooding in the forest. Then she took the long
wood trail to Jamestown. Hours later one of the settlers found her
standing outside the stockade, peering through the cracks between the
logs as though it were some comfort to see into the village where her
Captain lay--that Captain who held her heart in his keeping. She would
have stood there less quietly had she known that an enemy of his had
stolen into his cabin and at that very moment was holding a pistol to
the wounded man's bosom, trying to nerve himself to do a deed he had
been bribed to do! But his courage failed, his hand dropped, and he
crept out into the silent night, leaving the wounded man unharmed.
While Pocahontas stood on tiptoe outside the stockade, straining her
eager eyes for a glimpse of the Captain's cabin, there were footsteps
beside her--a hand was laid on her shoulder, and a voice asked:
"Why are you here at such an hour, Pocahontas?"
It was one of the colonists who was Captain Smith's loyal friend.
Pocahontas turned to him, gripping her slender hands together in an
agony of appeal.
"He is not dead?" she asked. The man shook his head and a glad light
flashed into the girl's eyes.
"He has many enemies," she said. "Can you do nothing to nurse him back
to health?"
Tears stood in her black eyes, and her appeal would have softened a
heart less interested in the Captain's welfare than was her hearer's.
Promising to watch over the brave Captain and care for him as his own
kin, the white man soothed and comforted Pocahontas, and at last
induced her to leave her place at the fort and go back to
Werewocomoco, and never did the Captain know of her long vigil for his
sake that night.
Reaching the Indian village without her absence having been
discovered, she went about her daily routine of work and play as if
nothing had happened, but every sound in the still forest caused her
heart to beat fast, and she was always listening for an approaching
footstep bringing news of her beloved. Then a warrior brought the
tidings--Captain Smith was dead. Dead! She could not, would not
believe it! _Dead!_ He who was so full of life and vigor was not
dead--that was too absurd. And yet even as she reasoned with herself,
she accepted the fact without question with the immobility of her
race; and no one guessed the depth of her wound, even though all the
tribe had known of her devotion to the pale-faced _Caucarouse_ whose
life she had saved.
From that day she went no more to Jamestown, nor asked for news of
the settlers, and soon the gay voice and the laughing eyes of the
"little romp" were missing, too, from Werewocomoco. Pocahontas could
not bear the sights and sounds of that village whose every tree and
trail was dear to her because of its association with her Captain. She
had relatives among the Potomacks, and to them she went for a long
visit, where in different surroundings she could more easily bear the
loneliness which overpowered her, child of a savage and unemotional
race though she was. It may have been also that Powhatan was beginning
to distrust her friendship with the white men. At all events, she, who
was fast blossoming into the most perfect womanhood of her race,
remained away from home for many months. Had she dreamed that Captain
Smith was not dead, but had sailed for England that he might have
proper care for his injury, and also because of the increasing enmity
against him in the colony, she would have gone about her work and play
with a lighter heart. But she thought him dead, and in the mystic
faith of her people saw him living in every tree and cloud and
blossoming thing.
Powhatan had respected Captain Smith, but for the white men as a race
he had more enmity than liking, and now he and his neighbors, the
Chickahominies, again refused to send any provisions to Jamestown, and
again the colonists faced a famine. Captain Argall, in command of an
English ship, suggested once more going to Werewocomoco to force
Powhatan into giving them corn, and soon sailed up the Potomac toward
the Indian village. One night on the way up, while the ship lay at
anchor near shore, an Indian came aboard with the news that the
Emperor's dearest daughter, Pocahontas, was staying among the
Potomacks visiting a chief named Japazaws. The unscrupulous Captain
had an idea. If he could capture Pocahontas and hold her for a ransom
he would surely be able to gain anything he demanded from Powhatan. No
thought of the kindness and loyalty of the Indian maiden to the white
man interfered with his scheming. Corn he must have, and here was a
way to obtain it. He quickly arranged with the Indian for an interview
with the Chief Japazaws, who proved to be quite as unscrupulous as
Captain Argall, and for a copper kettle promised to deliver Pocahontas
into the Captain's hands--in fact, to bring her aboard his vessel on
the following day.
Having taken his wife into his confidence, Japazaws told her in the
presence of Pocahontas that the white Captain had invited her to visit
his ship. She retorted that she would like to accept, but would not go
unless Pocahontas would go too. Japazaws pretended to be very angry at
this:--
"I wish you to go," he exclaimed; "if you do not accept I will beat
you until you do."
But the squaw was firm.
"I will not go without Pocahontas," she declared.
Pocahontas was very kind-hearted, as the chief and his wife knew, so
at once she said:
"Stop beating her; I will do as she wishes!"
Captain Argall gave them a cordial greeting and had a lavish feast
prepared in their honor, and while they were talking together he asked
Pocahontas if she would not like to see the gun-room. She assented,
entirely unsuspicious of any treachery, and was horrified when she
heard the door fastened behind her, and knew that for some reason she
was a prisoner. Terror-stricken,--brave girl though she was,--she
pounded violently on the door and cried as she had never cried before
in all her care-free life, begging "Let me out!" but in vain. She
could hear Japazaws and his wife weeping even more violently than she
on the other side of the door, and begging for her release, but it
was only a pretense. The door remained locked, and as soon as the
couple were given the copper kettle and a few trinkets, they left the
ship contentedly. After that there was an ominous silence on the
vessel, except for the sobbing of the Indian girl, who was still more
frightened as she felt the motion of the ship and knew they were
getting under way.
But as they sailed down the river to Jamestown, the captain unlocked
the door and the girl was allowed to come out of her prison. She faced
him with a passionate question:
"What wrong have I done that I should be so treated--I who have been
always the loyal friend of the English?"
So noble was she in her youth and innocence, that the captain was
horrified at the deed he had done and could do no less than tell her
the truth. He assured her that she had done no wrong, that he well
knew that she was the white man's friend, and that no harm should
befall her, but that it was necessary to take firm measures to secure
provisions for the starving colonists. Hearing this, she was less
frightened and became quiet, if not in spirit, at least in manner,
giving no cause for trouble as they entered the harbor. But her heart
was filled with sadness when she again saw that fort to which she had
so often gone with aid for her vanished friend whose name now never
passed her lips.
Indian girls mature rapidly, and the maiden who had first attracted
Captain Smith's attention was no less lovely now, but she was in the
full flower of womanliness and her charm and dignity of carriage
compelled respect from all.
Powhatan was in his Place of Council when a messenger from Jamestown
demanded audience with him and gave his message in quick, jerky
sentences:
"Your daughter Pocahontas has been taken captive by the Englishmen,"
he said. "She will be held until you send back to Jamestown all the
guns, tools, and men stolen from them by your warriors."
The old chief, terrified, grief-stricken, and in a dilemma, knew not
what to say, for though he loved his daughter, he was determined to
keep the firearms taken from the English. For a long time he was deep
in thought. Finally he replied:
"The white men will not harm my child, who was their very good friend.
They know my wrath will fall on them if they harm a hair of her head.
Let her remain with them until I shall have made my decision."
Not another word would he say, but strode out from the Council Hall
and was lost in the forest.
Three months went by without the Englishmen receiving a word from him,
and Pocahontas meanwhile became their inspiration and joy, giving no
sign that she feared her captors or objected to her captivity. Then
Powhatan sent seven white men who had been held by the Indians to the
settlement, carrying a gun which had been spoiled for use. Their
leader brought this message from the Indian Emperor:
"If you will send back my daughter I will send you five hundred
bushels of corn and be your friend forever. I have no more guns to
return, as the remainder have been lost."
Prompt was the retort:
"Tell your Chief that his daughter will not be restored to him until
our demand has been complied with. We do not believe that the guns
have been lost."
The runner took back the message, and again nothing more was heard
from Powhatan for several months, during which time the colonists
became so deeply attached to the young captive that they dreaded to
think of the settlement without her cheery presence. Especially did
John Rolfe, a young widower, who was by report "an English gentleman
of approved behavior and honest carriage," feel a special interest in
the charming young savage; in fact he fell in love with her, but felt
that he must convert her to the Christian religion before asking her
to become his wife. So he devoted much time to instructing her in the
doctrines of the white man's faith. Pocahontas accepted the new
religion eagerly, and little did John Rolfe guess that to her it was
the religion of Captain John Smith,--a new tie binding her to the man
who she believed had gone forever beyond her sight, but who would be
forever dearest to her loyal heart, untutored girl of the forest
though she was. It is doubtful, too, whether John Rolfe would ever
have made any headway in her affection had she not believed her
beloved Captain to be dead. However that may have been, she became a
convert to Christianity, and John Rolfe asked her to marry him.
When almost a year had gone by with no word from Powhatan, the
colonists were very angry and decided to force the issue. A party in
command of Sir Thomas Dale, who had come from England to be the leader
of the Jamestown settlement, sailed for Werewocomoco, taking
Pocahontas with them, hoping that when Powhatan heard of the presence
of his dearest daughter at his very door he would relent and yield to
their demands.
But Powhatan was not at Werewocomoco. Anticipating just such a visit,
he was in a safe retreat, and his warriors who thronged to the river
bank to meet the white men at once attacked them, and there was lively
skirmishing until two brothers of Pocahontas heard of her arrival.
Hurrying to the river bank, they quelled the turmoil and hastily
paddled out to the ship, where they were soon standing beside their
sister, seeing with joy that despite her captivity she was well and
happy, with the same merry light in her black eyes as she had in her
forest days. Their feeling deepened into awe when with downcast eyes
and flushed cheeks she told them of John Rolfe's love for her and of
her attachment for him. Their sister girl of the forest, kin of the
red men,--going to marry an Englishman from that marvelous land across
the sea, of which one of their tribe who had visited it had brought
back the report: "Count the stars in the sky, the leaves on the trees,
and the sand upon the seashore--such is the number of the people of
England!" Pocahontas, their little sister, going to marry an
Englishman!--the stalwart Indian boys could scarcely believe the tale,
and on leaving the ship they hurried to their father's forest retreat
to tell their wondrous tale. The old Chief listened with inscrutable
reserve, but his eyes gleamed with exultation and in his heart he
rejoiced. His daughter, child of an Indian Werowance, to become wife
of a white man,--the two races to be united? Surely this would be a
greater advantage than all the firearms that could be bought or
stolen!
But if he expected that the breach between the white men and the red
would be at once healed, he was mistaken. Although Pocahontas greeted
her brothers so cordially, she would have nothing to do with her
father or any of his braves, and when Powhatan desired to see her she
sent back the imperious message:
"Tell him if he had loved his daughter he would not have valued her
less than old swords, pieces, and axes; wherefore will I still dwell
with the Englishmen who love me!"
And back to Jamestown she presently sailed with those men of the race
to which she had been loyal even in her captivity.
That Powhatan did not resent her refusal to see him after his long
silence, but probably admired her for her determination, was soon
shown. Ten days after the party reached Jamestown an Indian warrior,
Opachisco, uncle of Pocahontas, and two of her brothers, arrived
there, sent by Powhatan to show his approval of his daughter's
alliance with an Englishman, although nothing would have induced him
to visit the white man's settlement himself, even to witness the
marriage of his dearest daughter.
Having become a convert to the white man's faith, Pocahontas was
baptized according to the ritual of the Christian church, taking the
name of Rebecca, and as she was the daughter of an Emperor, she was
afterwards called "Lady Rebecca;" but to those who had known her in
childhood she would ever be Pocahontas, the "little romp."
And now the Indian maiden, who by her loyalty to the white race had
changed the course of her life, was about to merge her identity in
that of the colonists:--
"On a balmy April day, with sunshine streaming through the open
windows of the Jamestown chapel, the rude place of worship was filled
to overflowing with colonists, all eagerly interested in the wedding
of John Rolfe with the dusky princess who was the first Christian
Indian in Virginia."
The rustic chapel had been decorated with woodland blossoms, and its
windows garlanded with vines. Its columns were pine-trees cut from the
forest, its rude pews of sweet-smelling cedar, and its simple
Communion table covered with bread made from wheat grown in
neighboring fields, and with wine from the luscious wild grapes picked
in near-by woods.
There, in the beauty and fragrance of the spring day, up the aisle of
the chapel passed the young Indian bride on the arm of John Rolfe, who
looked every inch an English gentleman in his cavalier's costume. And
very lovely was the new-made Lady Rebecca in her gown of white muslin
with its richly embroidered over-dress given by Sir Thomas Dale. Her
head-dress of birds' plumage was banded across her forehead, Indian
fashion, with a jeweled fillet, which also caught her floating veil,
worn in the English way, which emphasized her dark beauty. On her
wrists gleamed many bracelets, and in her deep eyes was the look of
one who glimpses the future and fears it not.
Slowly they advanced up the aisle, and halted before the altar, a
picturesque procession; the grave, dignified Englishman, who now and
again cast adoring glances at his girlish bride, of an alien forest
race; the old Chief of a savage tribe, in his gay ceremonial trappings
and head-dress; the two stalwart, bronzed young braves, keenly
interested in this great event in their sister's life, all in a
strange commingling of Old World and New, auguring good for the future
of both Indians and colonists.
The minister of the colony repeated the simple service, and Lady
Rebecca, in her pretty but imperfect English, repeated her marriage
vows and accepted the wedding-ring of civilized races as calmly as if
she had not been by birth a free forest creature. Then, the service
ended, down the aisle, in the flickering sunlight, passed the
procession, and there at the chapel door, surrounded by the great
forest trees which had been her lifelong comrades, and with the wide
sky spreading over her in blue benediction, we have a last glimpse of
the "little romp," for Pocahontas, the Indian maiden, had become Lady
Rebecca, wife of John Rolfe, the Englishman.
* * * * *
Three years later Pocahontas, for so we still find it in our hearts to
call her, visited England with her husband and little son Thomas, to
see with her own eyes that land across the sea where her husband had
been brought up, and of which she had heard such wonderful tales. One
can well imagine the wonder of the girl of the forest when she found
herself out of sight of land, on the uncharted ocean of which she had
only skirted the shores before, and many a night she stole from her
cabin during that long voyage to watch the mysterious sea in its
majestic swell, and the star-sown heavens, as the ship moved slowly on
to its destination.
London, too, was a revelation to her with its big buildings, its
surging crowds of white men, its marks of civilization everywhere,
and, girl of the outdoors that she had ever been, her presentation at
Court, with all that went before and after of the frivolities and
conventionalities of city life, must have been a still greater marvel
to her. But the greatest surprise of all awaited her. One day at a
public reception a new-comer was announced, and without warning she
found herself face to face with that Captain of her heart's youthful
devotion! There was a moment's silence, a strained expression in the
young wife's dark eyes, then Captain John Smith bent over the hand of
John Rolfe's wife with the courtly deference he had given in Virginian
days to the little Indian girl who was his loyal friend.
"They told me you were dead!"
It was Pocahontas who with quivering lips broke the silence, then
without waiting for a reply she left the room and was not seen for
hours. When she again met and talked with the brave Captain, she was
as composed as usual, and no one could say how deeply her heart was
touched to see again the friend of her girlhood days. Perhaps the
unexpected sight of him brought with it a wave of home-sickness for
the land of her birth and days of care-free happiness, perhaps she
felt a stab of pain that the man to whom she had given so much had not
sent her a message on leaving the country, but had let her believe the
rumor of his death--perhaps the heart of Pocahontas was still loyal to
her first love, devoted wife and mother though she was. Whatever may
have been the truth, Lady Rebecca was proud and calm in the presence
of the Captain after that first moment, and had many conversations
with him which increased his admiration for the gracious forest
Princess, now a lady of distinction in his own land.
The climate of England did not agree with Pocahontas, her health
failed rapidly, and in the hope that a return to Virginia would save
her life, her husband took passage for home. But it was too late;
after a sickness of only a few hours, she died, and John Rolfe was
left without the vivid presence which had been his blessing and his
joy.
Pocahontas was buried at Gravesend on the 21st of March, 1617, and as
night fell, and John Rolfe tossed on a bed of anguished memories, it
is said that a man muffled in a great cloak stole through the darkness
and knelt beside the new-made grave with bowed head and clasped hands.
It was Captain Smith who came to offer reverent tribute to the girl
who had given him so much, asking nothing in return, a girl of savage
lineage, yet of noble character and great charm, whose blossoming into
the flower of civilization had no parallel. Alone there, in the somber
night, the silent figure knelt--the brave Captain of her loyal
devotion paying tardy homage to Pocahontas, the girl of the Virginia
forest, the white man's steadfast friend.
DOROTHY QUINCY: THE GIRL OF COLONIAL DAYS WHO HEARD THE FIRST GUN
FIRED FOR INDEPENDENCE
A small, shapely foot clad in silken hose and satin slipper of palest
gray was thrust from under flowing petticoats of the same pale shade,
as Dorothy Quincy stepped daintily out of church on a Sabbath Day in
June after attending divine service.
John Hancock, also coming from church, noted the small foot with
interest, and his keen eye traveled from the slipper to its owner's
lovely face framed in a gray bonnet, in the depths of which nestled a
bunch of rosebuds. From that moment Hancock's fate as a man was as
surely settled as was his destiny among patriots when the British
seized his sloop, the _Liberty_.
But all that belongs to a later part of our story, and we must first
turn back the pages of history and become better acquainted with that
young person whose slippered foot so diverted a man's thoughts from
the sermon he had heard preached on that Lord's Day in June.
Pretty Dorothy was the youngest daughter of Edmund Quincy, one of a
long line of that same name, who were directly descended from Edmund
Quincy, pioneer, who came to America in 1628. Seven years later the
town of Boston granted him land in the town that was afterward known
as Braintree, Massachusetts, where he built the mansion that became
the home of succeeding generations of Quincys, from whom the North
End of the town was later named.
As his father had been before him, Dorothy's father was a judge, and
he spent a part of each year in his home on Summer Street, Boston,
pursuing his profession. There in the Summer Street home Dorothy was
born on the tenth of May, 1747, the youngest of ten children.
Evidently she was sent to school at an early age, and gave promise of
a quick mind even then, for in a letter written by Judge Quincy, from
Boston to his wife in the country, he writes:
Daughter Dolly looks very Comfortable, and has gone to
School, where she seems to be very high in her Mistresses'
graces.
But the happiest memories of Dorothy's childhood and early girlhood
were not of Boston, but of months spent in the rambling old mansion at
Quincy, which, although it had been remodeled by her grandfather, yet
retained its quaint charm, and boasted more than one secret passage
and cupboard, as well as a "haunted chamber" without which no house of
the period was complete.
There we find the child romping across velvety lawns, picking posies
in the box-bordered garden, drinking water crystal clear drawn from
the old well, and playing many a prank and game in the big, roomy home
which housed such a lively flock of young people. Being the baby of
the family, it was natural that Dorothy should be a great pet, not
only of her brothers and sisters, but of their friends, especially
those young men--some of whom were later the principal men of the
Province--who were attracted to the old mansion by Judge Quincy's
charming daughters. So persistent was little Dolly's interest in her
sisters' friends, that it became a jest among them that he who would
woo and win fascinating Esther, sparkling Sarah, or the equally lovely
Elizabeth or Katherine Quincy, must first gain the good-will of the
little girl who was so much in evidence, many times when the adoring
swain would have preferred to see his lady love alone. Dorothy used to
tell laughingly in later years of the rides she took on the shoulders
of Jonathan Sewall, who married Esther Quincy, of the many small gifts
and subtle devices used by other would-be suitors as bribes either to
enlist the child's sympathies in gaining their end, or as a reward for
her absence at some interesting and sentimental crisis.
Mrs. Quincy, who before her marriage was Elizabeth Wendall, of New
York, was in full sympathy with her light-hearted, lively family of
boys and girls. Although the household had for its deeper inspiration
those Christian principles which were the governing factors in family
life of the colonists, and prayers were offered morning and night by
the assembled family, while the Sabbath was kept strictly as a day for
church-going and quiet reflection, yet the atmosphere of the home was
one of hospitable welcome. This made it a popular gathering-place not
only for the young people of the neighborhood, but also for more than
one youth who came from the town of Boston, ten miles away, attracted
by the bevy of girls in the old mansion.
Judge Quincy was not only a devout Christian and a respected member of
the community, he was also a fine linguist. He was so well informed on
many subjects that, while he was by birth and tradition a
Conservative, giving absolute loyalty to the mother country, and
desirous of obeying her slightest dictate, yet he was so much more
broad-minded than many of his party that he welcomed in his home even
those admirers of his daughters who were determined to resist what
they termed the unjust commands of the English Government. Among these
patriots-to-be who came often to the Quincy home was John Adams, in
later days the second President of the United States, and who was a
boy of old Braintree and a comrade of John Hancock, whose future
history was to be closely linked with the new and independent America.
Hancock was, at the time of his first visit to the old Quincy mansion,
a brilliant young man, drawn to the Judge's home by an overwhelming
desire to see more of pretty Dorothy, whose slippered foot stepping
from the old meeting-house had roused his interest. Up to the time
when he began to come to the house, little Dorothy was still
considered a child by her brothers and sisters, her aims and ambitions
were laughed at, if she voiced them, and she was treated as the family
pet and plaything rather than a girl rapidly blossoming into very
beautiful womanhood.
As she saw one after another of her sisters become engaged to the man
of her choice, watched the happy bustle of preparation in the
household, then took part in the wedding festivities, and saw the
bride pass out of the old mansion to become mistress of a home of her
own, Dorothy was quick to perceive the important part played by man in
a woman's life, and, young as she was, she felt within herself that
power of fascination which was to be hers to so great a degree in the
coming years. Dorothy had dark eyes which were wells of feeling when
she was deeply moved, her hair was velvet smooth, and also dark, and
the play of feelings grave and gay which lighted up her mobile face
when in conversation was a constant charm to those who knew the
vivacious girl. When she first met John Hancock she had won an
enviable popularity by reason of her beauty and grace, and was admired
and sought after even more than her sisters had been; yet no
compliments or admiration spoiled her sweet naturalness or her charm
of manner.
In those days girls married when they were very young, but Dorothy
withstood all the adoration which was poured at her feet beyond the
time when she might naturally have chosen a husband, because her
standards were so high that not one of her admirers came near to
satisfying them. But in her heart there was an Ideal Man who had come
to occupy the first place in her affection.
As she had sat by her father's side, night after night, listening
while John Adams spoke with hot enthusiasm of his friend John Hancock,
the boy of Braintree, now a rising young citizen of Boston, the
resolute advocate of justice for the colonies, who stood unflinchingly
against the demands of the mother country, where he thought them
unfair,--the conversation had roused her enthusiasm for this unknown
hero, until she silently erected an altar within her heart to this
ideal of manly virtues.
Then John Hancock came to the old mansion to seek the girl who had
attracted his attention on that Sabbath Day in June, little dreaming
that in those conversations which Dorothy had heard between her father
and John Adams she had pieced together a complete biography of her
Hero. She knew that in 1737, when the Reverend John Hancock was
minister of the First Church in the North Precinct of Braintree
(afterward Quincy), he had made the following entry in the parish
register of births: