POCAHONTAS IN ENGLAND
It was an eager, happy Pocahontas that set sail with her husband. Master
Rolfe, her child and last--but not in his own estimation--Sir Thomas
Dale. With them, too, went Uttamatomakkin, a chief whom Powhatan sent
expressly to observe the English and their ways in their own land.
Everything interested Pocahontas on the voyage: the ship herself, the
hoisting and furling of sails in calms and tempests, the chanteys of the
sailors as they worked, the sight of spouting whales and, as they neared
the English coast, the magnificence of a large ship-of-war, a veteran,
so declared the captain, of the fleet which went so bravely forth to
meet the Spanish Armada. During the long evenings on deck Rolfe told her
stories of real deeds of English history and fancied romances of poets;
and all were equally wonderful to her.
She could scarcely believe after she had sailed so many weeks over the
unchanging ocean, where there were not even the signs to go by that she
could read in the trackless forest, that there was land again beyond all
the water. It was a marvel which no amount of explanations could
simplify that men should be able to guide ships back and forth across
this waste. Perhaps this more than any of the wonders she was to see
later was what made her esteem the white men's genius most.
And then one day a grey cloud rested on the eastern horizon. Pocahontas
saw a new look in her husband's face as he caught sight of it.
"England!" he cried, and then he lifted little Thomas to his shoulder
and bade him, "Look at thy father's England."
Even before they stepped ashore at Plymouth Pocahontas's impressions of
the country began. On board the ship came officers from the Virginia
Company to greet her and put themselves and the exchequer of the Company
at her disposal. Was she not the daughter of their Indian ally, a
monarch of whose kingdom and power they possessed but the most confused
idea. They had arranged, they said, suitable lodgings for Lady Rebecca,
Master Rolfe and their infant in London and--with much waving of plumed
hats and bowing--they would attend in every manner to her comfort and
amusement.
These men were different from any Pocahontas had ever seen; the
colonists were all, willy nilly, workers, or at least adventure lovers.
These comfortable citizens were of a type as new to her as she to them.
As they rode slowly on their way to London at every mile of the road she
cried out with delighted interest and questioned Rolfe without ceasing
about the timbered and stuccoed cottages, the beautiful hedges, the rich
farms and paddocks filled with horses and cattle. At midday and at night
when they stopped at the inns, she was eager to examine everything, from
the still-room to the fragrant attics where bunches of herbs hung from
the rafters. Yet even in her girlish eagerness she bore herself with a
dignity that never allowed the simplest to doubt that, in spite of her
dark skin, she was a lady of high birth.
"Ah! John," she said, "this is so fair a land; I know not how thou
couldst leave it. I can scarcely wait when I lie abed at night for the
morn to come. There is ever something new, and new things, thou knowest,
have ever been delightful to my spirit."
"And to mine also, Rebecca," he answered; "for that reason did I seek
Wingandacoa and rejoiced in its strangeness, even as thou dost rejoice
in the strangeness of my country."
The nearer they drew to London the more there was to see. The highway
was filled with those coming and going from town; merchants, farmers
with their wares, butchers, travelling artisans, tinkers, peddlers,
gypsies, great ladies on horseback or in coaches, who stared at
Pocahontas, and gentlemen who questioned the servants about her. And
Pocahontas asked Rolfe about all of them, of their condition, their
manner of living and what their homes were like within.
When they reached the outskirts of London the crowds increased so that
Pocahontas turned to Rolfe and asked:
"Why do all the folk run hither and thither? Is there news of the return
of a war party or will they celebrate some great festival?" And she
could hardly believe that it was only a gathering such as was to be seen
every day. However, as soon as those in the crowd caught sight of her
they began to press more closely to gaze at her and at Uttamatomakkin,
who looked down at them as unconcernedly as if he had been accustomed
to such a sight all his life. Officers of the Virginia Company appeared
just then with a coach, into which they conducted Pocahontas, Rolfe and
little Thomas, so that they escaped from the curiosity of the crowd.
The days that followed were filled with strange and new enjoyments.
Mantuamakers and milliners brought their wares, and Lady Rebecca soon
began to distinguish what was best in what they had to offer. She drove
in the parks, was rowed down the river in gorgeous barges, had her
portrait painted in a gold-trimmed red robe with white collar and cuffs
and a hat with a gold band upon it, received the great ladies who came
out of curiosity to see for themselves what an Indian princess might be
like. All of them had only kind things to say about "the gentle Lady
Rebecca."
The Bishop of London was in especial interested in this heathen
noblewoman who had become a Christian. He was her escort on many
occasions and decided to give a great ball in her honour.
"What will they do, Master Bishop?" she asked of the dignitary who had
grown as fond of this new lamb in his flock as if she were his own
daughter. "What will all the ladies do at a ball?"
"They will dance."
"Dance!" exclaimed Pocahontas in amazement, who had never seen any other
kind of dancing than that which she herself, clad in scant garments, had
been wont to practice before she became the wife of an Englishman. This,
she now knew, was not of a character suited for English ladies. So, some
days later, watching the stately measures and the low reverences of
ladies and their cavaliers, Pocahontas wondered what pleasure they could
find in such an amusement.
"Perchance, though," she suggested to the good Bishop, "it is some
religious ceremony which I know not."
The Bishop laughed so at this idea that Pocahontas could not help
laughing, too, though she did not understand what was funny in her
speech.
After the dance was over the ladies came to be presented to Lady
Rebecca. They did not know what they ought to talk to the stranger
about; but one of them in a dull mouse-colored tabby, with sad-colored
ribbons, remarked languidly:
"What a fine day we are having."
"Fine!" exclaimed Pocahontas, looking up at the grey sky through the
window, which to be sure had not dropped any rain for twenty-four hours,
"but the sun is not shining. I should think here in England ye would
wear your gayest garments to brighten up the landscape."
"Then the Lady Rebecca doth not like our country?" queried the dame in
grey.
"Ah, but yea. In truth it pleaseth me mightily, all but the dark skies.
And they tell me that is because of the smoke of the city."
Then Pocahontas's eyes caught sight of an older woman whom Rolfe was
escorting towards her. There was something about her appearance that was
very pleasing. She was a little above medium height, with hair silvered
in front and with cheeks as full of color as the roses she carried in
her hands. Pocahontas felt at once that here was a woman whom she could
love. Her manner was as dignified as that of any lady in the
assemblage, but there was a heartiness in her voice and in her glance
which made Pocahontas feel at home as she had not before felt in
England.
"This is Lady De La Ware, whose husband, thou knowest, Rebecca, was
Governor of our Colony," said Rolfe, "and she hath brought these English
roses to thee." Then he strolled off, leaving the two women together.
"They are very beautiful, thy flowers," said Pocahontas, smiling at them
and at their giver, "and sweeter than the blossoms that grow in my
land."
"Yet those are wonderful, too. I have heard of many glorious trees and
vines which grow there and I would that I might see them."
"If thou wilt cross the ocean with us when we return, I will show thee
many things that would be as strange to thee as thy land is to me. I
would take thee to my father, Powhatan, and he would give dances in
thine honour that would not be"--and she laughed again at the
thought--"like the ball my Lord Bishop giveth me."
Lady De La Ware smiled, too. She had been told something about the
Indian customs.
"Perhaps some day thou shalt take me to thy father's court; but now I am
come to take thee to that of our Queen. She hath expressed her desire to
see thee shortly. A letter which was written her by Captain John Smith
about thee hath made her all the more eager to do honour to one who hath
ever befriended the English."
"Captain John Smith hath written to the Queen about me?" said
Pocahontas, marvelling.
"In truth, and since his words seemed to me worthy of remembrance, I
have kept them in my mind." He begins:
"'If ingratitude be a deadly poyson to all honest vertues, I must be
guiltie of that crime if I should omit any meanes to be thankfull. So it
is that some ten years ago being in Virginia, and taken prisoner by the
power of Powhatan, their chief King, I received from this great savage
exceeding great courtesy, especially from his son, Nautauquas, the most
manliest, comeliest, boldest spirit I ever saw in a savage, and his
sister, Pocahontas, the King's most dear and well beloved daughter,
being but a child of twelve or thirteen years of age, whose
compassionate pitiful heart, of my desperate estate, gave me much cause
to respect her--she hazarded the beating out of her own brains to save
mine ... the most and least I can do is to tell you this, because none
so oft tried it as myself, and the rather being of so great a spirit,
however her stature, if she should not be well received, seeing this
Kingdom may rightly have a Kingdom by her means--' And much more there
was, Lady Rebecca, which I cannot now recall."
Lady De La Ware did not know that Pocahontas believed Smith dead, and
Pocahontas, not imagining anything else, thought Smith must have written
this letter from Jamestown before he died; and her heart grew warm
thinking how, even dying, he had done what he could for her happiness on
the mere chance of her going to England. The truth of the matter was
that Smith was then at Plymouth, making ready to start on an expedition
to New England; and though he did not expect to see Pocahontas, he
wished England, and first of all England's Queen, to know what they owed
this Indian girl.
It happened not long after that "La Belle Sauvage," as the Londoners
sometimes called Pocahontas, and Rolfe were being entertained at a fair
country seat. An English girl, much of the age of her guest, whose
curiosity about the ways of the Indians was restrained only by her
courtesy, had been showing her through the beautiful old garden. They
had talked of Virginia, and Mistress Alicia coaxed:
"Wilt thou not take me with thee. Lady Rebecca, when thou returnest
thither?
"But see," and she peered through an opening in the high yew hedge,
"yonder cometh Master Rolfe with a party of gentlemen. Oh! one of them
is a brave figure of a man, though he weareth not such fine clothes as
some of the others. By my troth! 'tis Captain John Smith, and of course
he cometh to greet thee. I would I might stay to hear what ye two old
friends have to say to each other."
It seemed to Pocahontas that hours elapsed during the few minutes she
was alone after Mistress Alicia left her, while her husband was guiding
her guests to her through the garden's winding mazes. How could Smith be
alive when she knew that he was dead? Even as she caught in the distance
the sound of his voice, she asked herself if in truth she had ever heard
of his death from anyone but the councillors in Jamestown.
The well-known voice was no longer weak as when she had last heard it
bid her farewell. There they were, the gentlemen all bowing to her but
remaining in the background, while Rolfe came forward with Smith.
"I have brought thee an old friend, Rebecca," he said.
Pocahontas saluted him, but words were impossible.
John Smith afterwards wrote concerning this interview:
"After a modest salutation, without any word, she turned about, obscured
her face, as not seeming well contented, and in that humor her husband
with divers others, we all left her two or three hours."
Seeing that she preferred to be alone, the men departed to talk over the
affairs of the Virginia Colony since Smith had left Jamestown.
Pocahontas, sitting quietly on a garden bench near the carp pond, went
over in her thought all that had taken place in her own life since then.
Then she saw him coming towards her again, alone, and she stretched out
her hand to him.
"My father," she cried, "dost thou remember the old days in Wingandacoa
when thou earnest first to Werowocomoco and wert my prisoner?"
"I remember well. Lady Rebecca," he said, leaning down to kiss her hand,
"and I am ever thy most grateful debtor."
"Call me not by that strange name. Matoaka am I for thee as always. Dost
thou remember when I came at night through the forest to warn thee?"
"I remember, Matoaka; how could I forget it?"
"Dost thou remember the day when, lying wounded before thy door, thou
didst make me promise to be ever a friend to Jamestown and the English?"
"I have thought of it many a day."
"I have kept my promise, Father, have I not?"
"Nobly, Matoaka; but it is not meet that thou shouldst call me father."
Then Pocahontas tossed her head emphatically, and this gesture brought
back to Smith the bright young Indian maiden who, for a moment, had
seemed to him disguised by the stately clothes of an English matron.
"Thou didst promise Powhatan," she cried, "what was thine should be his,
and he the like to thee; thou calledst him father, being in his land a
stranger, and by the same reason so must I do thee."
"But, Princess," he objected, "it is different here. The King would like
it not if I allowed it here; he might say it was indeed truth what mine
enemies say of me, that I plan to raise myself above them."
"Wert thou afraid to come into my father's country and caused fear in
him and all his people but me, and fearest thou here I should call thee
father? I tell thee then I will and thou shalt call me child, and so
will I be for ever and ever thy countryman."
Smith smiled at her eagerness, yet was deeply touched by it.
"Call me then what thou wilt; I can fear no evil that might come to me
from thee."
Pocahontas then spoke a few words to him in the Powhatan tongue, anxious
to see if he still remembered it. And he answered her in her language.
She was silent, but Smith could see that something was disturbing her.
"What is it, Matoaka; what words wait to cross the ford of thy lips?" he
asked.
"They did tell me always," she replied, "that thou wert dead and I knew
no more till I came to Plymouth, yet Powhatan did command
Uttamatomakkin to seek thee and know the truth, because thy countrymen
will lie much."
"Think of it no more. Little Sister, if thou still let me call thee
that. I am not dead yet and I have many journeys to make. I thank fate I
had not yet sailed for that coast to the north of Jamestown they call
'New England,' so that I might greet thee once again. When I return we
shall have many more talks together."
"I shall not be here, Father; we too shall set sail ere long. I have
been happy here in thy land, but I am now suffering from an illness they
tell me is called homesickness."
"That is an illness which may be easily remedied, Matoaka. But when thou
art come again to Wingandacoa forget not the England and the friends
which can never forget thee."
* * * * *
In the days that followed Lady De La Ware, touched by the affection
Pocahontas manifested towards her, accompanied her everywhere, to the
wonderful masque written by the poet, Ben Jonson, which was performed at
the Twelfth Night festival, and to the play written by Master Will
Shakespeare that he called "The Tempest," which represented court folk
cast ashore on an island in the western ocean.
Everything was so full of interest that her new life seemed to be
leading her further and further away from the old simple existence of
forest and river. Then came the presentation to the Queen, Anne of
Denmark, consort of James First of England and Sixth of Scotland. Lady
De La Ware had seen that Lady Rebecca's costume suited her dark skin and
hair.
Before coming to the presence chamber there were many halls and
anterooms filled with courtiers and ladies, whose curious glances might
have dismayed any woman who had not grown accustomed to a life at court;
but Pocahontas passed on unconscious of them all.
In the large hall which they entered last, hung with rich tapestries and
furnished with dark oaken chairs and settles covered with royal purple
velvet, a few pages and the Queen's ladies alone kept her company. As
Pocahontas and Lady De La Ware advanced, the Queen motioned every one
else to withdraw to the farther end of the chamber. She curtsied in
return to the obeisances made by Pocahontas and her sponsor, but did not
stretch forth her hand to be kissed as she would have done had she not
considered this stranger before her as a princess of royal blood.
"I thank thee for coming," she said graciously. "I have much desired to
see thee. Captain Smith was right when he reminded me of what our people
owe thee, he most of all."
"He was dear to my people also," answered Pocahontas.
"Hath Your Majesty heard how men speak of Captain Smith in the Colony?"
asked Lady De La Ware. "My brother who is still at Jamestown wrote me
that one of the colonists regretting the great Captain's departure said
of him:
"What shall I say of him but thus we lost him, that in all his
proceedings made justice his first guide, and experience his second,
ever hating baseness, sloth, pride, and indignity more than any dangers;
that never allowed more for himself than his soldiers with him; that
upon no danger would send them where he would not lead them himself;
that would never see us want what he either had or could get us; that
would rather want than borrow, or starve than not pay; that loved
action more than words, and hated falsehood and covetousness more than
death; whose adventures were our lives, and whose loss our death.'"
"Tell me of thy long voyage," then questioned her majesty; and seating
herself, made room for Pocahontas beside her, while Lady De La Ware
moved off to talk with one of the ladies. "I do not see how men, and
more especially women, dare trust themselves for so long on the sea.
When I had been married by proxy to my lord, the King, I tried to go by
ship from Denmark to Scotland, but the tempests were so fierce that we
had to put in to Norway, scarce saving our lives; and thither came my
gracious lord, against the prayers of his councillors who tried to
dissuade him from venturing his precious safety in winter storms. Oh! I
have no love of the sea."
"I did not fear it," said Pocahontas, "but I thought it would never end.
Had I been alone, though, without my husband and my child"--then, not
knowing that court etiquette did not sanction the changing the subject
of conversation by any one but the sovereign, she asked: "And how many
children hast thou?"
Queen Anne was pleased with her naturalness and told her of her son and
daughter and of the wonderful Prince Henry whom she had lost.
While they sat talking about their children as quietly as two plain
housewives, there was a commotion at the end of the hall. The pages
seemed very excited and uncertain what they ought to do. However, they
could not have prevented if they would, and into the hall, clad in his
long mantle, moccasins and with his headdress of feathers, strode
Uttamatomakkin. Pocahontas, looking up, saw that he was examining
eagerly all the furnishings of the hall and then his gaze was bent upon
the Queen.
"Is yon the squaw of the great white werowance?" he asked, "and is this
their ceremonial lodge? I have already beheld the King and he is a weak
little creature whom any child at Werowocomoco could knock down."
"Who is he, and what doth he say?" asked the Queen, who was delighted at
his strange appearance.
"It is one of my people, Madame, and he wishes to know if thou art
indeed the Queen that he may tell of thee when he returneth to
Wingandacoa." She did not think it wise to repeat the rest of his
remarks.
The Queen, whose curiosity was great in regard to this strange race from
overseas of whom she had heard so many tales, beckoned to Uttamatomakkin
to come closer. The Indian walked stolidly to the dais where she stood.
"What is this mantle made of?" asked the sovereign, taking up an end of
the painted and embroidered deerskin robe and rubbing it critically
between her fingers.
Uttamatomakkin, thinking this was the English form of salutation and not
intending to be outdone in politeness, caught hold of Queen Anne's
velvet skirt, and to the accompaniment of little shrieks of dismay from
the ladies-in-waiting, fingered it in the same manner.
"That must thou not do," remonstrated Pocahontas, trying not to laugh;
but Uttamatomakkin grunted:
"Why should I not do what a squaw doth?"
The Queen recovered her equanimity and in sign of her good will
unfastened a golden brooch and pinned it on the Indian's broad shoulder.
Then the chief broke off from his girdle a string of wampum, and before
any one realized what he intended doing, he had fastened it to a pearl
pin on the Queen's bodice.
"I see I cannot get the better of him. Lady Rebecca," laughed her
Majesty; "but ask him what he doth with yon long stick."
The pages, whose interest in this savage overcame for the moment their
habit of etiquette, had approached little by little towards the end of
the hall where he stood. They watched eagerly and with a certain dread
of the unknown while he took from his pouch a white stick and his knife
from his girdle. The stick, they saw, was covered with tiny nicks; and
the Indian, looking from one person to another, made many more marks on
the wand.
"What is it thou dost, Uttamatomakkin?" asked Pocahontas.
"The werowance, thy father, told me to mark and let him know when I
return how many white folk there were in this land. I made a cut for
each one I counted at first, but my stick is all but covered now and the
Powhatan will not know how the palefaces swarm here like bees in a
hollow tree."
Pocahontas repeated to the Queen what he had said, and her Majesty was
greatly amused.
"But thou dost not plan to return to Virginia for a long; time yet?" she
asked.
"Much I like thy land, and its pleasant folk," answered Pocahontas as
she rose to go. "But the time draweth near for us to set sail westward
again. Farewell."
Then, accompanied by Lady De La Ware and Uttamatomakkin, she left the
audience chamber.
"The Lady Rebecca," said the Queen to her ladies when the curtains had
fallen behind Pocahontas, "is one of the gentlest ladies England hath
ever welcomed."
[Illustration: Decorative]
End of Project Gutenberg's The Princess Pocahontas, by Virginia Watson