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The Princess Pocahontas
THE PRINCESS POCAHONTAS
BY
VIRGINIA WATSON
Author of "WITH CORTES THE CONQUEROR"
WITH DRAWINGS AND DECORATIONS BY GEORGE WHARTON EDWARDS
THE HAMPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY NEW YORK
[Illustration: Decorative]
INTRODUCTION
To most of us who have read of the early history of Virginia only in
our school histories, Pocahontas is merely a figure in one dramatic
scene--her rescue of John Smith. We see her in one mental picture
only, kneeling beside the prostrate Englishman, her uplifted hands
warding off the descending tomahawk.
By chance I began to read more about the settlement of the English at
Jamestown and Pocahontas' connection with it, and the more I read the
more interesting and real she grew to me. The old chronicles gave me
the facts, and guided by these, my imagination began to follow the
Indian maiden as she went about the forests or through the villages of
the Powhatans.
We are growing up in this new country of ours. And just as when
children get older they begin to feel curious about the childhood of
their own parents, so we have gained a new curiosity about the early
history of our country. The earlier histories and stories dealing with
the Indians and the wars between them and the colonists made the red
man a devil incarnate, with no redeeming virtue but that of courage.
Now, however, there is a new spirit of understanding. We are finding
out how often it was the Indian who was wronged and the white man who
wronged him. Many records there are of treaties faithfully kept by the
Indians and faithlessly broken by the colonists. Virginia was the
first permanent English settlement on this continent, and if not the
_most_ important, at least equally as important to our future
development as that of New England. From how small a seed, sown on
that island of Jamestown in 1607, has sprung the mighty State, that
herself has scattered seeds of other states and famous men and women
to multiply and enrich America. And amid what dangers did this seed
take root! But for one girl's aid--as far as man may judge--it would
have been uprooted and destroyed.
In truth, when I look over the whole world history, I can find no
other child of thirteen, boy or girl, who wielded such a far-reaching
influence over the future of a nation. But for the protection and aid
which Pocahontas coaxed from Powhatan for her English friends at
Jamestown, the Colony would have perished from starvation or by the
arrows of the hostile Indians. And the importance of this Colony to
the future United States was so great that we owe to Pocahontas
somewhat the same gratitude, though in a lesser degree, that France
owes to her Joan of Arc.
Pocahontas's greatest service to the colonists lay not in the saving
of Captain Smith's life, but in her continued succour to the starving
settlement. Indeed, there are historians who have claimed that the
story of her rescue of Smith is an invention without foundation. But
in opposition to this view let me quote from "The American Nation: A
History." Lyon Gardiner Tyler, author of the volume "England in
America" says:
"The credibility of this story has been attacked.... Smith was often
inaccurate and prejudiced in his statements, but that is far from
saying that he deliberately mistook plain objects of sense or
concocted a story having no foundation."
and from "The New International Encyclopaedia":
"Until Charles Deane attacked it (the story of Pocahontas's rescue of
Smith) in 1859, it was seldom questioned, but, owing largely to his
criticisms, it soon became generally discredited. In recent years,
however, there has been a tendency to retain it."
It is in Smith's own writings, "General Historie of Virginia" and "A
True Relation," that we find the best and fullest accounts of these
first days at Jamestown. He tells us not only what happened, but how
the new country looked; what kinds of game abounded; how the Indians
lived, and what his impressions of their customs were. Smith was
ignorant of certain facts about the Indians with which we are now
familiar. The curious ceremony which took place in the hut in the
forest, just before Powhatan freed Smith and allowed him to return to
Jamestown, was one he could not comprehend. Modern historians believe
that it was probably the ceremony of adoption by which Smith was made
one of the tribe.
In many places in this story I have not only followed closely Smith's
own narrative of what occurred, but have made use of the very words in
which he recorded the conversations. For instance the incident related
on page 101 was set down by Smith himself; on pages 144, 154, 262 the
words are those of Smith as given in his history; on pages 173, 195,
260, 300 the words of Powhatan or Pocahontas as Smith relates them.
There may be readers of this story who will want to know what became
of Pocahontas. She fell ill of a fever just as she was about to sail
home for Virginia and died in Gravesend, where she was buried. Her son
Thomas Rolfe was educated in England and went to Virginia when he was
grown. His daughter Jane married John Bolling, and among their
descendants have been many famous men and women, including Edith
Bolling (Mrs. Galt) who married President Woodrow Wilson.
[Illustration: Decorative]
CONTENTS
I THE RETURN Of THE WARRIORS
II POCAHONTAS AND THE MEDICINE MAN
III MIDNIGHT IN THE FOREST
IV RUNNING THE GAUNTLET
V THE GREAT BIRDS
VI JOHN SMITH'S TEMPTATION
VII A FIGHT IN THE SWAMP
VIII POCAHONTAS DEFIES POWHATAN
IX SMITH'S GAOLER
X THE LODGE IN THE WOOD
XI POCAHONTAS VISITS JAMESTOWN
XII POWHATAN'S AMBASSADOR
XIII POWHATAN'S CORONATION
XIV A DANGEROUS SUPPER
XV A FAREWELL
XVI CAPTAIN ARGALL TAKES A PRISONER
XVII POCAHONTAS LOSES A FRIEND
XVIII A BAPTISM IN JAMESTOWN
XIX JOHN ROLFE
XX THE WEDDING
XXI ON THE TRAIL OF A THIEF
XXII POCAHONTAS IN ENGLAND
ILLUSTRATIONS
The white figure moved rapidly
"We choose to-day," he cried
"Let us be friends and allies, oh Powhatan"
"I will lead the princess"
Virginia in 1606--from Captain John Smith's Map
"Nay, nay," cried Pocahontas, "thou must not go"
"Do not shoot, Mark!"
[Illustration: Decorative]
THE PRINCESS POCAHONTAS
CHAPTER I
THE RETURN OF THE WARRIORS
Through the white forest came Opechanchanough and his braves, treading
as silently as the flakes that fell about them. From their girdles
hung fresh scalp locks which their silent Monachan owners did not
miss.
But Opechanchanough, on his way to Werowocomoco to tell The Powhatan
of the victory he had won over his enemies, did not feel quite sure
that he had slain all the war party against which he and his Pamunkey
braves had gone forth. The unexpected snow, coming late in the winter,
had been blown into their eyes by the wind so that they could not tell
whether some of the Monachans had not succeeded in escaping their
vengeance. Perhaps, even yet, so near to the wigwams of his brother's
town, the enemy might have laid an ambush. Therefore, it behooved them
to be on their guard, to look behind each tree for crouching figures
and to harken with all their ears that not even a famished squirrel
might crack a nut unless they could point out the bough on which it
perched.
Opechanchanough led the long thin line that threaded its way through
the broad cutting between huge oaks, still bronze with last year's
leaves. He held his head high and to himself he framed the words of
the song of triumph he meant to sing to The Powhatan, as the chief of
the Powhatans was called. Then, suddenly before his face shot an
arrow.
At a shout from their leader, the long line swung itself to the right,
and fifty arrows flew to the northward, the direction from which
danger might be expected. Still there was silence, no outcry from an
ambushed enemy, no sign of other human creatures.
Opechanchanough consulted with his braves whence had the arrow come;
and even while they talked, another arrow from the right whizzed
before his face.
"A bad archer," he grunted, "who cannot hit me with two shots." Then
pointing to a huge oak that forked half way up, he commanded:
"Bring him to me."
Two braves rushed forward to the tree, on which all eyes were now
fixed. It was difficult to distinguish anything through the falling
snow and the mass of its flakes that had gathered in the crotch. All
was white there, yet there was something white which moved, and the
two braves on reaching the tree trunk yelled in delight and disdain.
The white figure moved rapidly now. Swinging itself out on a branch
and catching hold of a higher one, it seemed determined to retreat
from its pursuers to the very summit of the tree. But the braves did
not waste time in climbing after it; they leapt up in the air like
panthers, caught the branch and swung it vigorously back and forth so
that the creature's feet slipped from under it and it fell into their
outstretched arms.
Not waiting even to investigate the white bundle of fur, the warriors,
surrounded by their curious fellows, bore it to Opechanchanough, and
laid it on the ground before him. He knelt and lifted up the cap of
rabbit skin with flapping ears that hid the face, then cried out in
angry astonishment:
"Pocahontas! What meaneth this trick?"
And the white fur bundle, rising to her feet, laughed and laughed till
the oldest and staidest warrior could not help smiling. But
Opechanchanough did not smile; he was too angry. His dignity suffered
at thus being made the sport of a child. He shook his niece, saying:
"What meaneth this, I ask? What meaneth this?"
Pocahontas then ceased laughing and answered:
"I wanted to see for myself how brave thou wert. Uncle, and to know
just how great warriors such as ye are act when an enemy is upon them.
I am not so bad an archer, Uncle; I would not shoot thee, so I aimed
beyond thee. But it was such fun to sit up there in the tree and watch
all of you halt so suddenly."
Her explanation set most of the party laughing again.
"In truth, is she well named," they cried--"Pocahontas, Little
Wanton."
"I have yet another name," she said to an old brave who stood nearest
her. "Knowest thou it not?--Matoaka, Little Snow Feather. Always when
the moons of popanow (winter) bring us snow it calls me out to play.
'Come, Snow Feather,' it cries, 'come out and run with me and toss me
up into the air.'"
Her uncle had now recovered his calm and was about to start forward
again. Turning to the two who had captured Pocahontas, he commanded:
"Since we have taken a prisoner we will bear her to Powhatan for
judgment and safekeeping. Had we shot back into the tree she might
have been killed. See that she doth not escape you."
Then he stalked ahead through the forest, paying no further attention
to Pocahontas.
The young braves looked sheepishly at each other and at their captive,
not at all relishing their duty. Opechanchanough was not to be
disobeyed, yet it was no easy thing to hold a young maid against her
will, and no force or even show of force might be used against a
daughter of the mighty werowance (chieftain).
Seeing their uncertainty, Pocahontas started to run to the left and
they to pursue her. They came up with her before she had gone as far
as three bows' lengths and led her back gently to their place in the
line. Then she walked sedately along as if unconscious of their
presence, until they were off their guard, believing she had resigned
herself to the situation, when she sprang off to the right and was
again captured and led back. She knew that they dared not bind her,
and she took advantage of this to lead them in truth a dance, first to
one side and then to the other. Behind them their comrades jeered and
laughed each time the maiden ran away.
The regular order of the warpath was now no longer preserved. They had
advanced to a point where there was no longer any possibility of
danger from hostile attack. Werowocomoco lay now but a short distance
away; already the smoke from its lodges could be seen across the
cleared fields that surrounded the village of Powhatan. The older
warriors were walking in groups, talking over their deeds of valor
performed that day, and praising those of several of the young braves
who had fought for the first time. Pocahontas and her captors had now
fallen further behind.
Though well satisfied with the results of her enterprise and
amusement, Pocahontas had no mind to be brought into her home as a
captive, even though it be half in jest. Her father might not consider
it so amusing and, moreover, she did not like to be outwitted. She was
so busy thinking that she forgot to continue her game and walked
quietly ahead, keeping up with the longer strides of the warriors by
occasional little runs forward. The braves, their own heads full of
their first campaign, kept fingering lovingly the scalps at their
girdles, and paid little attention to her.
She stooped as if to fasten her moccasin, then, as their impetus
carried them a few feet ahead of her before they stopped for her to
come up, she darted like a flash to the left and had slid down into a
little hollow before they thought of starting after her.
It was now almost dark and her white fur was indistinguishable against
the snow below. Before they had reached the bottom, Pocahontas, who
knew every inch of the ground that was less familiar to men from her
uncle's village, had slipped back into the forest which skirted the
fields the pursuers were now speeding across, and was lost at once in
the darkness.
Opechanchanough knew nothing of this escape. He meant to explain to
his royal brother how much mischief a child might do who was not kept
at home performing squaw duties in her wigwam. And Powhatan's favorite
daughter or not, Pocahontas should be kept waiting outside her
father's lodge until he had related his important business and had
recounted all the glorious deeds done by his Pamunkeys.
Now they had come to Werowocomoco itself, and the noise of their
shoutings and of their war drums brought the inhabitants running out
of their wigwams. As the Pamunkeys were an allied tribe, their cause
against a common enemy was the same, yet the rejoicings at the victory
against the Monachans was somewhat less than it would have been had
the conquerors been Powhatans themselves. However, Opechanchanough and
his braves could not complain of their reception, and runners sped
ahead to advise Powhatan of their coming, while all the population of
their village crowded about them, the men questioning, the boys
fingering the scalps and each boasting how many he would have at his
girdle when he was grown.
The great Werowance was not in his ceremonial lodge but in the one in
which he ordinarily slept and ate when at Werowocomoco.
Opechanchanough paused at the opening of the lodge and ordered:
"When I call out then bring ye in Pocahontas, and we shall see what
Powhatan thinks of a squaw child that shoots at warriors."
The lodge was almost dark when he entered it. Before the fire in the
centre he could see his brother Powhatan seated, and on each side of
him one of his wives. Then he made out the features of his nephew
Nautauquas and Pocahontas' younger sister, Cleopatra (for so it was
the English later understood the girl's strange Indian name). They had
evidently just been eating supper and the dogs behind them were
gnawing the wild turkey bones that had been thrown to them. At
Powhatan's feet crouched a child in a dark robe, with face in the
shadow.
Powhatan greeted his brother gravely and bade him be seated. The lodge
soon filled with braves packed closely together, and about the opening
crowded all who could, and these repeated to the men and squaws left
outside the words that were spoken within.
Proudly Opechanchanough began to tell how he had tracked the Monachans
to a hill above the river, and how he and his war party had fallen
upon them, driving them down the steep banks, slaying and scalping,
even swimming into the icy water to seize those who sought to escape.
And The Powhatan nodded in approval, uttering now and again a word of
praise. When Opechanchanough had finished his recital the shaman, or
medicine-man, rose and sang a song of praise about the brave
Pamunkeys, brothers of the Powhatans.
Then, one after another, Opechanchanough's braves told of their
personal exploits.
"I," sang one, "I, the Forest Wolf, have devoured mine enemy. Many
suns shall set red between the forest trees, but none so red as the
blood that flowed when my sharp knife severed his scalp lock."
And as each recited his deeds his words were received with clappings
of hands and grunts of approval.
Powhatan gave orders to open the guest lodge and to prepare a feast
for the victors. Then Opechanchanough rose again to speak. After he
had finished another song of triumph, he turned to Powhatan and asked:
"Brother, how long hath it been that thy warriors keep within their
lodges, leaving to young squaws the duty of sentinels who cannot
distinguish friends from foes?"
Powhatan gazed at the speaker in astonishment.
"What dost thou mean by such strange words?" asked the chief.
"As we returned through the forest," explained Opechanchanough,
"before we reached the boundary of thy fields, while we still believed
that a part of the Monachans might lie in ambush for us there, an
arrow, shot from the westward, flew before my face. Then came a second
arrow out of the branches of an oak tree. We took the bowman prisoner,
and what thinkest thou we found?--a squaw child!"
"A squaw child!" repeated Powhatan in astonishment. "Was it one of
this village?"
"Even so. Brother. I have her captive outside that thou mayst
pronounce judgment upon one who endangers thus the life of thy brother
and who forgetteth she is not a boy. Bring in the prisoner," he
commanded.
But no one came forward. The young braves to whom Pocahontas had been
entrusted kept wisely on the outskirts of the crowd.
Then the little sombre figure at Powhatan's feet rose and stood with
the firelight shining on her face and dark hair and asked in a gentle
voice:
"Didst thou want me, mine uncle?"
"Pocahontas," exclaimed Opechanchanough, "how camest thou here ahead
of us, and in that dark robe?"
"Pocahontas can run even better than she can shoot. Uncle, and the
changing of a robe is the matter but of a moment."
"What meaneth this, Matoaka?" asked Powhatan, making use of her
special intimate name, which signified Little Snow Feather. He spoke
in a low tone, but one so stern that Cleopatra shivered and rejoiced
that she was not the culprit.
"It was but a joke, my father," answered Pocahontas. "I meant no
harm." She hung her head and waited until he should speak again.
"I will have no such jokes in my land," he said angrily, "remember
that."
With a gesture of his hand and a whispered word of command he sent the
Pamunkey braves to the guest lodge. Opechanchanough, still angry at
the ridicule that a child had brought upon him, lingered to ask;
"Wilt thou not punish her?"
"Surely I will," Powhatan answered. "Go ye all to the guest lodge and
I will follow. Away, Nautauquas, and carry my pipe thither."
They were now alone in the lodge, the great chief over thirty tribes
and his daughter, who still stood with downcast head. The Powhatan
gazed at her curiously. She waited for him to speak, then as he kept
silent, she turned and looked straight into his face and asked:
"Father, dost thou know how hard it is to be a girl? Nautauquas, my
brother, is a swift runner, yet I am fleeter than he. I can shoot as
straight as he, though not so far. I can go without food and drink as
long as he. I can dance without fatigue when he is panting. Yet
Nautauquas is to be a great brave and I--thou bidst remember to be a
squaw. Is it not hard, my father? Why then didst thou give me strong
arms and legs and a spirit that will not be still? Do not blame me.
Father, because I must laugh and run and play."
As she spoke she slipped to her knees and embraced his feet and when
she had ceased speaking, she smiled up fearless into his face.
Powhatan tried not to be moved by the child's pleading. Yet he was a
chief who always harkened to the excuses made by offenders brought
before him and judged them justly, if sometimes harshly. This child of
his was as dear to him as a running stream to summer heat. If at times
its spray dashed too high, could he be angry?
And Pocahontas, seeing that his anger had gone from him, stood up and
laid her head against his arm. She did not have to be told that the
mighty Powhatan loved no wife nor child of his as he loved her. Then
his hand stroked her soft hair and cheek, and she knew that she was
forgiven.
"Thine uncle is very angry," he said.
"If thou couldst but have seen him. Father, when the arrow whizzed,"
and she laughed gaily in memory of the picture.
"I have promised to punish thee."
"Yea, as thou wilt." But she did not speak as if afraid.
"Hear what I charge thee," he said in mock solemnity. "Thou shalt
embroider for me with thine own hands--thou that carest not for
squaw's needles--a robe of raccoon skin in quills and bits of precious
shells."
Pocahontas laughed.
"That is no punishment. 'Tis a strange thing, but when I do things I
like not for those I love, why, then I pleasure in doing them. I will
fashion for thee such a robe as thou hast never seen. Oh! I know how
beautiful it will be. I will make new patterns such as no squaw hath
ever dreamed of before. But thou wilt never be really angry with me.
Father, wilt thou?" she questioned pleadingly. "And if I should at any
time do what displeaseth thee, and thou wearest this robe I make thee,
then let it be a token between us and when I touch it thou wilt
forgive me and grant what I ask of thee?"
And Powhatan promised and smiled on her before he set forth for the
guest lodge.
[Illustration: Decorative]