POCAHONTAS VISITS JAMESTOWN
"We have brought the white werowance safely back to his tribe again," said Copotone, one of the guides, as they approached the causeway leading to Jamestown Island.
"Of a surety," remarked Smith, "since thus it was that Powhatan commanded."
It was his policy—a policy which did credit to the head of one who, in spite of his knowledge of the world, was still so young—never to show any suspicion of Indian good-faith.
"Now that we have led thee thither," continued Copotone, who on his side had no intention of betraying any secrets of the past night, "wilt thou not fulfil thy promise and give to us the guns and grindstone?"
"Ye shall take to your master whatever ye can carry," answered Smith, whose heart was beating fast at the sight of the huts and fort before him, the outlines of which grew more distinct each moment with the brightening day. He had answered the hail of the sentry who, when he had convinced himself that his ears and eyes did not betray him, ran out and clasped the hands of one he had never thought to behold alive again.
"Captain!" he exclaimed, "but it is indeed a happy day that bringeth thee back to us, not but that some of them yonder," and he pointed significantly towards the government house, "will think otherwise."
The Indians in the meantime were looking about them with eager curiosity as they strode through the palisades into the fort. It was but a poor affair, judged by European military standards, and absolutely worthless if it should have to withstand a siege by artillery. But to the savages it was an imposing fortress, the very laws of its construction unknown to them, even the mortar between the logs, a substance of which they had no comprehension. Over the bastion as they emerged on the other side they beheld the English flag floating. This they took to be some kind of an Okee, in which opinion Smith's action confirmed them, for taking off his hat, he waved it in delight towards the symbol of all that was now doubly dear to him.
But it was the guns which claimed the chief attention of the savage visitors. There were four of them, all pointing towards the forest, iron culverins with the Tudor Rose and E.R. (Elizabeth Regina) moulded above their breeches.
"Are these the fire-tubes of which we have heard?" asked Copotone eagerly, longing to feel them, but not daring for fear of unknown magic.
"Aye," answered Smith, "art thou strong enough to carry one to Werowocomoco?"
The Indians looked them over appraisingly, wondering if they could drag them through the forest.
"Set the match to this one, Dickon," commanded Smith with a grim smile. "It behooves us to frighten well this escort of mine, or they would be trying to carry off one of my iron pets here to a strange kennel."
Dickon took up a tinder-box that lay on the bench beside him, and in a moment under the fixed gaze of his audience struck a light and applied it to the flax at the breech. There was a flash, then a loud report, and the Indians, as if actually hit, fell to the ground, where they stayed until they gradually convinced themselves that they were unhurt.
"If ye had been in front instead of behind ye had been killed," Smith said solemnly, desiring to impress them with the terrors of the white man's magic.
The Indians got to their feet and, though they said nothing, and did not attempt to run, John Smith knew that they were more terrified than they had ever been in their lives.
"Come," he said, leading the way from the fort to the town. "Since ye find our guns too heavy and too noisy I will seek more suitable presents for Powhatan and for you."
The colonists, roused by the cannon shot, had run out from their doors to see what had happened. They could scarcely believe their eyes, and it was not until Smith called to them by name and questioned them in regard to the happenings at Jamestown since his departure, that they were convinced he was himself. All were thin and gaunt, and they peered hungrily at the baskets of food the Indians bore. Most of them greeted Smith with genuine pleasure; others there were who frowned at the sight of him, who barely nodded a welcome, who answered him surlily and who got together in twos and threes to talk quickly as he passed on.
Smith led the way to the storehouse and bidding the Indians wait outside, he went within and persuaded the man in charge to permit him to take a number of articles. When he came out his arms were full of colored cloths and beads, steel knives and trinkets of many sorts. The Indians gave him their baskets to empty and he filled them with the presents, going back for iron pots and kettles of glistening brass. These he bade them carry to Powhatan. To each of his guides he gave something for himself. Then speaking slowly, he said to Copotone:
"Kehaten Pokahontas patiaquagh niugh tanks manotyens neer mowmowchick rawrenock andowgh (bid Pocahontas bring hither two little baskets and I will give her white beads to make her a necklace)."
He would gladly have sent a message of thanks for her care of him that night, but he thought it best not to do so, since she might not wish it known that she had followed him.
"Pray her to come and see us soon," he added as he bade farewell to his guides whose eagerness to show their treasures at home was even greater than their curiosity to see further marvels.
After he had seen them safely outside of the palisades, Smith stopped to enquire by name for such men as had not come out to greet him.
"Oh! Ralph, he's dead and buried," they answered; and of another: "Christopher? He wore away from very weakness. And Robin went a sen'night ago with a quartain fever. This is no land for white men."
"But thou lookest hale and hearty. Captain," remarked one of the gentlemen, leaning against his door for support. "I'll wager the death thou didst face was not by starvation."
Then Smith learned in full the pitiful story of what the colony had suffered during his absence: lack of food and illness had carried off nearly half the colonists, and those that remained were weak and discouraged. Death had taken both of his enemies and of his friends, but some who had been opposed to him formerly had been brought to see during his absence how with his departure the life and courage of Jamestown had died down. Men there are—and most of them—who must ever be led by some one, and in Smith these adventurers had come to see a real leader of men.
While Smith stood questioning and heartening the downhearted, President Wingfield came out of his house on his way to the Government House. Smith doffed his hat and made a brave bow to honour, if not the man, at least the office he represented.
"So thou art returned. Captain Smith," said the President, coldly. "Methinks thou hast not fared so ill, better belike than most of us. Hast thou brought the provisions thou didst promise? We have been awaiting them somewhat anxiously. But first tell me where thou hast left Robinson and Emery, for the lives of our comrades, however humble, are of more value to us than even the sorely needed victuals."
Now Smith was aware that President Wingfield knew, as every other man in the colony knew, that Robinson and Emery were dead; the others had already discussed their fate with him. Therefore he realized that the President had some policy in putting such a question to him thus in public.
"Thou must have heard, sir, that they are dead," he replied. "Poor lads! Disobedience was the end of them. Had they but followed my commands they had returned alive to Jamestown many days ago; but they must needs land on the shore, instead of keeping in the stream as I bade them, and they were slain by the savages after I was captured."
"That is easily answered, Captain Smith," Wingfield solemnly remarked, and turning his head over his shoulder to speak as he walked off, he added: "The Council will require their lives at thy hands this day. See that thou art present in the Government House this afternoon at three by the clock to answer their questions."
"So that is what their next step is," Smith remarked to his friend Guy, a youth of much promise, as they walked off together. "They will accuse me of murder and try to hang me or to send me back to England in chains. But I have not been saved from death by a young princess to come to any such end, friend."
And as they walked to his house he told the story of his captivity and made plans for getting the better of those who sought to injure him.
The councillors, on their side, were not unanimous as to the course to adopt. Some were for putting him in safe-keeping—they did not mention the word imprisonment—until a ship should arrive and return with him to England. Others, who perhaps felt a doubt of their own ability to manage the settlement, were willing to acknowledge that they had misjudged him and suggested that at least he had better be given a chance to help them; and other timorous members, having witnessed the warmth of the greeting accorded him, advised that it would be wiser not to rush into any course of action which would displease the majority of the colonists. Thus it came to pass that Smith found the three o'clock meeting like a tiger that has had its claws drawn.
In the days that followed his spirit of encouragement, the willingness with which he put his shoulder to the wheel everywhere that aid was needed, his boldness in defying those leagued against him, completely changed the aspect of Jamestown. The gentlemen who had refused to wield axe or spade or bricklayer's trowel because of their gentility were shamed by his example.
"When Adam delved and Eve span
Who was then the gentleman?"
he demanded and swung the axe with lusty strokes against some hoary walnut tree.
But though he enjoyed the triumph over his enemies and the knowledge that his return, the provisions he had brought and the inspiration of his courage and activity were of great benefit to his fellows, nevertheless at times he experienced a feeling of loneliness. He thought of Pocahontas and wondered whether she would not come to Jamestown.
It was on a wintry day that Pocahontas made her first visit to the colony. Though they might lack most of the necessities of life, there was no scarcity of fuel. A huge bonfire was blazing at an open space where two streets were destined to meet in the future. Over some embers pulled away from the centre of the flame a pitch-kettle was heating and its owners, while waiting for its contents to melt, were warming a small piece of dried sturgeon. Around the bonfire sat John Smith and several gentlemen. He was pointing out to them on a rough chart the direction in which he thought the town should spread out when a new influx of colonists would need shelter. There were carpenters working on a house a few feet away, but their hammer blows did not ring out lustily as they should do when men are building with hope a new habitation; there was but little strength left in their arms.
When Smith looked up from his chart to indicate where a certain line should run, he saw standing before him the young Indian who had brought him Pocahontas's greeting after the night journey through the forest and who, he now realized, was the same fierce youth who had attempted his life at Werowocomoeo.
Claw-of-the-Eagle spoke:
"Werowance of the white men, Princess Pocahontas sends me to inform thee that she hath come to visit thee. E'en now she and her maidens await thee at the fort."
"She is most welcome," cried Smith, springing up. Then he called out in English: "Come, friends, and help me receive the daughter of Powhatan, who did save me at the risk of her own life. Give her a hearty English welcome."
The colonists needed no urging. They were eager to see what an Indian princess looked like. But Smith outran them all and at the sight of the bright girlish face he stretched out his hands towards her as he would have done to an English maiden he knew well.
"Ah! little friend," he said coaxingly, "thou wilt not be angry with me longer. How much dost thou desire to make me owe thee, Pocahontas, my life, my freedom, my return home and now this pleasure?"
Pocahontas only smiled. Smith then turned, waving his hand to the men who had followed him.
"These, my comrades, would thank thee too could they but speak thy tongue."
The hats of cavaliers and the caps of the workmen were all doffed, and Pocahontas acknowledged their courtesy with great dignity.
"Let us show our guests our town," suggested Smith, "even though it lack as yet palaces and bazaars filled with gorgeous raiment. I will lead the princess; do ye care for her maidens and the young brave." As they walked along the path from the fort to Jamestown's one street he asked: "Tell me, my little jailor, how came The Powhatan to set me free? I have wondered every day since, and I cannot understand. Thou didst prevail with him, was it not so?"
"Aye," answered the girl. "First was I angry with thee, then my heart, though I did not wish to hearken to it, made me pity thee away from thy people, even as I pitied the wildcat I loosed from his trap. My father would not list to me at first, but I plead and reasoned with him, telling him that thy friendship for us would be even as a high tide that covereth sharp rocks over which we could ride safely."
"But what meant the songs and dances in the hut in the woods, Matoaka?"
"That was the ceremony of adoption. Thou art now the son of Powhatan and my brother. Thou wert taken into our tribe, and those were the ancient rites of our people."
"And the journey through the woods, didst thou fear for my safety then that thou didst follow all the way?"
But Pocahontas did not answer. She would not tell him that she had still doubted her father, and that she was not sure what instructions he had given the men ordered to guide the paleface.
"Thou art like the Sun God," said Smith with genuine feeling, "powerful to save and to bless, little sister—since I have been made thy brother. And as man may not repay the Sun God for all his blessings, no more may I repay thee for all thou hast done for me."
Pocahontas was on the point of replying when she suddenly burst out laughing at a sight before her. Two men who were rolling a barrel of flour from the storehouse to their own home let it slip from their weakened fingers. It rolled against one of the carpenters who was standing with his back to it, and hitting against his shins, sent him sprawling. It was undoubtedly a funny sight and she was not the only one to be amused. But the man did not rise.
"Why doth he not get up?" asked Pocahontas. "He cannot be badly hurt by such a light blow from that queer-shaped thing."
"I fear me he is too weakened by lack of food," answered Smith, gravely.
"Hath he naught to eat?" asked the girl in wide-eyed wonder. Then as if a strange thought had just come to her: "Is there not food for all? Must thou, too, my Brother, stint thyself?"
"In truth, little Sister, our rations are but short ones and if the ship cometh not soon from England with supplies, I fear me they must be shorter still."
"No!" she cried emphatically, shaking her head till her long braids swung to and fro, "ye shall not starve while there is plenty at Werowocomoco. This very night will I myself send provisions to thee. It hurts me here," and she laid her hand on her heart, "to think that thou shouldst suffer."
Just then President Wingfield and several officers of the Council, having heard the news of Pocahontas's visit, came toward them. They realized that the presence among them of this child, the best-loved daughter of the powerful Indian chieftain, was an important event. They did not quite know what to expect. Vague ideas of some Eastern queenly beauty, such as the Queen of Sheba or Semiramis, had led them to look for a certain royal magnificence of bearing and of garments, and they were taken aback to behold this slim young creature whose clothing in the eyes of some of them was inadequate. Nevertheless, they soon discovered that though she wore no royal purple nor jewels she bore herself with a dignity that was both maidenly and regal. They had hurriedly put on their own best collars and ruffs and to the eyes of the unsophisticated Indian girl they made a brave, though strange, appearance. She listened to their words of welcome and answered them through Smith's interpretation. But all the while she was taking in every detail of their costumes.
"We must give her presents," suggested one of the councillors as if discovering an idea that had come to no one else, and he sent a servant to fetch some of the trinkets which they had brought for the purpose of bartering with the savages.
Pocahontas forgot her dignity at the sight of them and clapped her hands in delight as Smith threw over her head a long chain of white and blue beads. Her pleasure was even greater when he held up a little mirror and she saw her face for the first time reflected in anything but a forest pool.
"Is that too for me?" she asked eagerly and clasped it to her breast when it was put into her hand, and then she peered into it from one side and the other, unwearied in making acquaintance with her own features.
The other maidens and Claw-of-the-Eagle were given presents also, but less showy ones. Smith went into his own little house and after hunting through his sea-chest, brought out a silver bracelet which he slipped on Pocahontas's arm, saying:
"This is to remind Matoaka always that she is my sister and that I am her brother."
It seemed to Pocahontas that she was incapable of receiving any further new impressions. It was as if her mind were a vessel filled to the brim with water that could not take another drop. Like a squirrel given more nuts than it can eat at once, who rushes to hide them away, her instinct made her long to take her treasures off where she could look at them alone.
"I go back to my father's lodge," she said and did not speak again till they reached the fort. Then when Smith had seen the little party beyond the palisades, she called back to him:
"Brother, I shall not forget. This night I will send thee food. I am well pleased with thy strange town and I will come again."
