Chaucer.
Here, closing my eyes on the sloops, lighters, and schooners lying at no great distance, and barring my ears against the cries of busy carmen and wharfingers, and the clanging of steam-engines, I calmly set about surveying in my mind's eye the group which ready imagination conjured up in colours, if not as true, at least as glowing, as the by-gone reality.
About rose the forest-crowned slopes,—for this is a region of hill and dell,—with small green belts of meadow drawn between: along the river glided, with an arrow-like track, the light canoes, when, as they touch this sylvan harbour, the until now well-suppressed joy of victory bursts out in exulting shouts and yells wildly terrific;—the solitude is awakened, the slumbering villages are roused, and the well-known cry of Indian triumph comes back from every teeming hill; whilst the roused deer springs trembling, from his covert, and the fierce panther crouching seeks his gloomiest lair.
The adventurous captain, to whom peril was as a household word, and fear a term unknown, is now unbound, and led on shore, walking with a free step among his captors and with a cheek unblanched, casting proud scornful looks upon forms and faces which might have scared the devil; for the roused Indian—cowed as is his present nature by a hard-bought conviction of his inferiority—is yet a fearful object to behold when decked in paint and plume and all his horribly fantastic war array.
The next scene presented the assembled council and the prolonged debate; the warriors' detail of their long secret marches, continued hunger, and anxious ambush, until the moment arrived of the Pale-face's security, and the Indian war-whoop, surprise, and triumph. The continued massacre is next detailed; ending with the settlement being left a reeking charnel-house, and its best champion led captive to crown the triumph with his death, the last and proudest sacrifice to Indian vengeance.
The last change was to the ready stake, near which stood the unshaken captive and the eager warriors, encircled by an admiring crowd—and woman, too, was there, lovely woman! whose angel heart no custom, however barbarous and time-honoured, can wholly harden against that tender sympathy which forms at once her highest pleasure and her most dangerous snare.
Amongst the eager crowd stood one admiring, and pitying whilst admiring, till nature, stronger than the ties of country and of custom, spurning their control, armed with irresistible persuasion the Indian maiden's tongue, and touched a new chord in the stern breast of her sire and king; at once giving to the hopeless captive life and freedom, and winning for the name of Pocahontas the immortality of a nation's gratitude: and never, surely, did nature show more beautiful than when it thus rose superior to the force of habit long confirmed; nor ever did mercy achieve a prouder triumph than when, animating woman's voice, it reprieved from the fire of the Indian warrior a captive so feared and so honoured.
I had, in this place, the pleasure of passing an evening with a descendant of this princess, rendered more famous by her compassionate nature than though her father had worn the diadem of the Cæsars. This is the third female I have encountered in society claiming the like honourable descent; they have each been distinguishable both in physiognomy and manner; right gentle ladies all, as ever sprung from royal lineage, savage or civilized: one of them, lately married to a northern gentleman, possesses in a remarkable degree the traits of Indian blood and beauty, with much simplicity and grace of manner, and a freshness and warmth of feeling as delightful as it is natural and original.