Chapter 2

To the wigwam by the brooklet came the Princess Oft at evening; told to Winganameo softly How the English called her "Guardian Angel," loved her, Gave her presents, daily asked her to their homes. Winganameo nodded sagely as she listened, But she spoke a word of warning to the Princess: "Let not Pale Face bring unto you sorrow, Matoax; As a mother I have watched you coming, going, Princess born, 'tis many a warrior would wed you, Better could you find a male among your own; For the Pale Face is not of us, is a stranger; Though he love you, he will leave you for his people, And his home beyond the sea. I have seen it, Often have I seen it, watched him sail away Nevermore returning. Heed my words, O, Daughter!"

Pocahontas listened, but her lips replied not, All her heart was mirrored in her dreaming eyes, As she sat with folded hands beneath the shadow Of mimosa branches with their pink-hued blossoms Making fairy canopy above her head.

While they sat together in the twilight hour Came to them a messenger direct from Jamestown, Indian hunter, many a mile he'd walked to tell To his people that the Wizard brave lay wounded Unto death within his cabin, nursed by soldiers Who would take him soon across the sea to England.

Pocahontas heard the tidings, listening quiet, But with bated breath--spoke to Winganameo, Saying, "We must go, mayhap the Captain needs us." And the old squaw whispered back to her in following, "Unto Jamestown we will go together, Daughter." So they journeyed onward through the field and forest, While the silver moonbeams fitful shadows made On their pathway, till they reached the settlers' country, Saw the palisades and houses of the English. "Father," cried the Princess, kneeling by the bedside Of the sometime President, who suffering lay-- "Art thou wounded sore, and is it true they say That to England thou must go, or life's in danger? Winganameo comes to nurse thee at my bidding, She the old squaw of my people hath much knowledge, Many wounded, sick to death has helped to cure-- Must thou go across the distant waters, Father?"

Scarcely had the wounded Captain strength to answer, But he feebly placed his hand upon her head, "Child, 'tis true indeed, that I am past your aid, And must seek for London surgery, since the wound From explosion of the powder festers sore; Hence I leave our well-loved colony for England-- If I live I'll come again unto Virginia. Pocahontas! first as little maid I saw thee, Into noble womanhood I've watched thee growing, Few and fleeting are the years we've known each other, Thou hast ever been the White Man's loyal friend. Keep the trust I give thee with my parting blessing. Still defend these homes, make peace among thy people, God reward thee, Princess, in the days to come."

Fainter grew his breath from pain, the watching soldiers Motioned her away, she turned from them in silence, Followed by the old squaw, glided from the cabin. Tears came not that day, despair was in her heart, Dark the future to the lonely Indian maid.

VII.

POCAHONTAS AND JOHN ROLFE.

Swiftly passed two years; the colony was saved From dire ruin by Lord Delaware's arrival With supplies and words of cheer, with thankful prayers Unto heaven for rescue from the "Starving Time." But the Indians had resentful grown meanwhile, Pocahontas long had vanished from their ken, Said the settlers questioned of the Princess' fate.

Once again the colonists took courage, throve 'Neath the strong rule of "High Marshall" Thomas Dale. Argall bold began to open trade once more With the tribes; the Potomekes he cruised among, Learned from them that Pocahontas was their guest, Bribed a squaw to bring her to the waiting ship, Carried her away to Jamestown as a hostage-- Not unwilling hostage to the English race, Which she loved, though weaned from her childhood's ardor.

Day by day she came and went among the settlers With a noiseless step, with gentle courtesy That soon won for her the friendship of her captors. Children loved her, played with her among the flowers Growing wild in woodland and in meadows; And she wove them flower baskets of the rushes By the shallow pools within the wide brown marshes. Oftener she sat beside the open doorway With her beadwork, and her skilful fingers plying Deftly back and forth upon the wooden frame, Fashioned wondrous patterns of the brightest colors For the moccasins and dresses of the women.

It was thus that Rolfe, the English planter saw her, And the picture of the maiden at her beadwork Haunted long his memory as he sat alone In the home bereft of woman's love and care. Long he mused and sadly on his mournful fortunes Since the fateful shipwreck on Bermuda's shore That had left him lonely, left a gloomy shadow On his New World home. Then he broke the silence: "Others who have loved and lost to grief consent not. Rouse them from their sorrow unto nobler purpose. Well I know that melancholy claims the captive, Marks the trembling hostage for its own-- Alas! Often have I seen her steal away at twilight To the cabin rude where once he lived, her hero, Where of yore his voice had welcomed her in greeting; Or again, when none is by to watch her mourning For the old days when she roamed a princess free, I myself have overheard her quiet weeping. She is lonely, needs a strong arm to protect her-- Dare I then, a Saxon, wed an Indian maiden? Lo! I see the future brightening, love and peace In these walls abiding; and for aye united Conquering and conquered races of our land. Yes, in years to come Virginia shall bless me, Children proud their lineage trace to Pocahontas Princess royal of the native Powhatans. Wake, John Rolfe, from idle dreaming! Simple wooing Better suits the brave man's case than castle-building. Friends will mock, no doubt, the sober planter's fancy, And the maid herself refuse to hear my pleading; Yet I dare to risk the White Man's scorning even, In such cause--with me decision's half the battle."

Pocahontas at the doorway saw him coming, Saw his shadow fall upon the broidered beading, And her nimble lingers paused, she upward glanced, Radiant smile came swiftly as she met his gaze, For he oft had spoke her kindly since her advent As a maid forlorn to dwell at once-loved Jamestown. Rolfe sat down beside her, questioning Pocahontas Of her kindred, of the tribes that lived about them, Of her playmates in the pretty upland village, Of the warriors who had fought (and died in fighting) For the Red Man's country, for the Powhatans. Of the old squaw, Winganameo, who had taught her, Of the young bucks who had danced around the campfires.

Thus at length spoke Rolfe in softened tones and serious: "Pocahontas, I am lonely. Many times Moons have waxed and waned since first I landed homeless On this shore; still my fireside is lacking Woman's presence. And my heart was desolate Till your face I saw beside this cottage door, And your voice did stir the depths of my affections. Simple is my wooing, but my love sincere-- Pocahontas, hear me! you are lonely, too."

Surged the rich red over dusky cheek and brow, Then as sudden vanished as she answered softly, "Thou an Englishman, to wed an Indian maiden? Ah, Mr. Rolfe, once did I know not difference 'Twist the Red Man's squaw, the White Man's honored wife, Indian princess was one truly, not a plaything Whom the world might scorn at will-- But now! I have learned my lesson all too well, I fear. Yes, I'm lonely here; and yet among my kindred I am lonelier still, for I have learned to love Ways of Pale Face--one did teach me that in childhood. Oft, methinks, there's no one careth for me now; But forgive me if I do thee wrong, kind friend, Thou hast ever patient been, the while my heart was sore."

"Listen, Pocahontas," once again he pleaded, "Dry those tears, forget past ills, think of the years, Happy years before us; and the home we'll make In these wilds, where Indian and English both Shall a welcome find with Lord and Lady Rolfe."

Pocahontas listened, gave a shy consent, Yielding heart and hand into his life-long keeping; Henceforth was John Rolfe to be her true protector, With his people she would cast her lot for aye. Fitting preparation for an English home, Bible truths they taught her--which she knew in part-- In the little church, at the baptismal font She was named "Rebekah"--Parson Whitaker, "Apostle of Virginia," was the English priest.

Dawned the day that saw the union of the races-- English and the Indian--on Virginia's soil. In the Jamestown Church the rites were solemnized, Compact sealed that helped to make our history. Fragrant blooms gave the native jessamine For the bridal altar; while with brilliant sprays Coral honeysuckle wreathed the Princess' brow, Matching necklace, gift of Smith, sole ornament Save betrothal ring upon the shapely hand. Assembled in the church a goodly company, Englishmen in force, with them the Powhatans, Witnessing the marriage of their Princess. Thus alliance was renewed and peace proclaimed.

VIII.

LONDON TOWN.

Other two years passed; upon the ship that sailed Unto England's shore with Thomas Dale, there went Mr. Rolfe and wife, "Lady Rebekah" famed. London well received them, feted oft the Princess, By the Lady Delaware at Court presented Where her sweet simplicity, her winning grace Won for season brief the flattery of all. In the social world, her name "La Belle Sauvage!" Artists sought her beauty to immortalize. With a noble mien she moved among the throng, Yet with melancholy touched the Indian face, Eyes observant, oft with wistful sadness filled.

Smith heard of her fame and yet delayed his visit Starting forth at length upon his errand, mused: "Dare I see her once again, as Lady Rolfe, Whom I knew as maiden-of-the-wilderness? Shall I find her changed by fashion's tyranny? Princess fancy free, so bright, go gay, so loyal-- Thus I knew her first; but later bowed with grief O'er my wounds, my misery, the parting sad. Ah, Tragabigzanda![FN#9] then, my early love, Time can ne'er efface thy memory from, my heart! Even thou hast had one rival in this maiden-- List! she comes--I must recall me to my senses."

[FN#9] Tragabigzanda, the lady with whom Smith fell in love during his captivity in Turkey in early life.

Rustle of her silken train he heard. She came With a stately step to greet her visitor. Once she saw his face, a startled cry she gave, "They did tell me that you long were dead, 'my Father'!" "Lady Rebekah," murmured Smith, in bending low Ringed hand to kiss with grateful gallantry, "Nigh unto death was I; but God has spared my life For mysterious purpose. Think not I'd forgot thee, Long my silence, yet my thoughts still backward turned To the distant colony, to Pocahontas! And thou, Princess? I have heard of Rolfe's good fortune, And am come to wish you both long happiness."

"Call me child again," she cried, "as in the days Of that past when thou wast still my 'Father,' friend! Here is not my home, I stifle 'mid the crowd; For I love not flattery nor palace halls; But green woodlands, air, and space--not gloomy walls."

"For thy forest home thou pinest, 'Child,'" he said, "Soon thy husband will remove thee hence, I trow, Goodly Englishman is Rolfe, and worthy thee."

Smiling through her tears, she proudly answered to him: "More than worthy is my husband, and he bears In Virginia's colony a noble part."

Came a messenger unto the Lady Rolfe, Summoning the Princess to the Royal Court. Hearing which, Smith said: "With your permission, Lady, I will be your escort to King James's Palace, Since it long has been my wish and my intention To resign the student's life, give up seclusion, Once again become a sailor on the seas, Distant lands explore, new maps and history make Whereon future worlds may build. This my hope, This the one ambition that fires the wanderer's brain."

"Come," said Lady Rolfe, with gentle dignity, "We will go together to the Royal Palace, Take our rightful place among the brilliant throng, With the rest do grateful homage to our King."

Gay the scene, the waiting courtiers stood aside While they made their way--the Captain and the Princess-- To the throne, bowed low before the monarch proud, Who gave royal welcome, saying unto Smith, "How, my Captain bold! Too long your needed presence We have missed from London town and from our Palace. Royal mandate we've prepared to call you hence For some ventures new--secure at once the ship For its cruise, new wealth to seek for 'Merrie England.'"

Unto Lady Rolfe, the King in flattering tones: "Then, our Princess, England's glory wilt proclaim, Through Virginia's wide domain our influence spread. Royal favor them hast won, our blessing take, Thou and Rolfe, who comes e'en now to claim his bride. Loyal subjects live ye both in Jamestown far, Peace be to thy race, in thee our ally made."

Quoth in gracious tones Her Majesty Queen Anne:-- "Welcome, Child, Thou 'Guardian Angel' of the English, Saviour of our Captain and our colony." Pocahontas fain would kneel with humble grace-- "Rise, I salute thee, Princess," said the Queen, and smiling, Stooped to kiss on either cheek the Indian maid. Others sought the throne, she stepped aside with Rolfe, Following them came Captain Smith to bid adieu. "Weighty matters call me hence," he said in parting, "But we'll meet again upon Virginia's shore. Fare-thee-well, Lady Rebekah; and thou, Rolfe, Long live both and peace be to thy distant home."

Thus they parted, each upon a separate pathway, Whose life's orbit once had touched, whose hearts were knitted By the common bond of dauntless love and courage; But the patriot and the poet sing their story, And their names are linked for aye in history.

Nevermore she saw again her native land, Nevermore the forest pathways felt her footstep, Nor the brooklet nor the wigwam heard her singing. Nevermore she sat beneath the pink mimosa Listening to the words of old squaw, Winganameo, Nevermore within her English home at Jamestown Was the gentle Princess Pocahontas seen.

Far from kindred was her grave[FN#10] beside the seashore, Where the waves for her a tender requiem sang. On Virginian soil her people mourned her death, Lamentations long and loud the Indians made. But the English settlers spoke her name in whispers; For at eventide they seemed to see her often As a radiant vision, white-winged, hovering near.

[FN#10] Pocahontas was buried at Gravesend, Eng., 1617.