Ten American Girls From History Part 2

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 a.s.sociation 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 friends.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p lay at anchor near sh.o.r.e, an Indian came aboard with the news that the Emperor's dearest daughter, Pocahontas, was staying among the Potomacks visiting a chief named j.a.pazaws. 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 j.a.pazaws, 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, j.a.pazaws told her in the presence of Pocahontas that the white Captain had invited her to visit his s.h.i.+p. She retorted that she would like to accept, but would not go unless Pocahontas would go too. j.a.pazaws 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 a.s.sented, 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 j.a.pazaws 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p 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 pa.s.sionate question:

"What wrong have I done that I should be so treated--I who have been always the loyal friend of the English?"

So n.o.ble 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 a.s.sured 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 pa.s.sed 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. Antic.i.p.ating 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 skirmis.h.i.+ng until two brothers of Pocahontas heard of her arrival.

Hurrying to the river bank, they quelled the turmoil and hastily paddled out to the s.h.i.+p, 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 seash.o.r.e--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 s.h.i.+p 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 ident.i.ty in that of the colonists:--

"On a balmy April day, with suns.h.i.+ne streaming through the open windows of the Jamestown chapel, the rude place of wors.h.i.+p 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 pa.s.sed 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 fas.h.i.+on, 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, pa.s.sed 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 sh.o.r.es 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 s.h.i.+p 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 pa.s.sage 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 m.u.f.fled in a great cloak stole through the darkness and knelt beside the new-made grave with bowed head and clasped hands.