A grave was dug under an old and gnarled tree bearing the word “Croatoan” carved upon its trunk, and Virginia Dare’s body rested beside the bones of her mother Eleanor.
All the tenderness of Powhatan’s nature had been lavished upon the unresponsive Water Lily, so the little daughter she had left him became dearer to him than all of his children.
“Call her Pocahontas,” he said. “She shall be as a bright stream between two hills. Nations yet unborn and strangers to our tribe shall hail her as ‘The Blessed Pocahontas.’”
CHAPTER I
As night descends on the tragedy of Roanoke the sun is rising on the land of England.
The victory over the Spanish Armada has given the English a sense of security which they have never felt before. They have become a composite nation, not only able to defend their country in time of invasion, but able to seek out Philip in his Spanish home, plunder his towns and ships, and also carry on the subjugation of Ireland which Henry II. had begun.
The golden flower of literature has burst into full bloom. Grammar schools for the education of the masses are rising all over the land. Universities are diligently studying the classics of Italy and Greece. Education is no more confined to the nobility, and the genius of the “poor scholar” is giving England her greatest son, Shakespeare. His wonderful mind is raising to the height of splendor the English drama begun by Sackville and Marlowe. Bacon is proclaiming the Philosophy of Science and Gilbert is investigating the mysteries of electricity.
Action, action is the watchword of the nation.
Elizabeth’s wars abroad have depleted her exchequer. She must now economize and wait for a more auspicious moment for planting a new colony in her dominion of Virginia. But the Angel of Death waits at the threshold, to carry her where she is to give an account of the deeds done in the body. Elizabeth—Essex—Mary, Queen of Scots—what did they have to say to each other when they met in the dim world of spirits? Ambition, power, and the worshiping love of her people could not fill the hungry heart of Elizabeth, embittered by the perfidy of Leicester. Lonely she lived; lonely she died.