Chapter V

Pocahontas, whose frantic questions had to be hushed with the lie that Smith was no more, now shunned the colony, and her pent-up adoration became a resentment against his people. It was as if he had been adopted into her tribe as well as her heart. A red woman, when she has given her heart, does not take it back. Her moods were more dark than bright, although with the braves and girls her own age she smiled and danced once in a while, like sunlight that would out in darkest woods at noon. A lovely maiden cannot remain woebegone too long, and Powhatan's people, especially those eager for his favor, did their merriest to scatter her dark moods.

She was visiting in the house of Chief Japazaws when he made a deal with the English of which she was not aware. Captain Argall, whose ship was anchored nearby, had dangled a copper kettle so temptingly in front of Japazaws and his greedy squaw that they could not wait until it spewed steam on their hearth. Captain Argall wanted Pocahontas as a hostage to exchange for English prisoners whom Powhatan had detained too long. That would be easy, agreed Japazaws, for she used to like the English and was grieving even now for their John Smith. After some pouting, she would be happy as a lark sailing down the river with the English in their great canoe.

"I have never been on a ship in my life," the artful squaw begged her spouse. "Captain said he would show it to me."

"Go where you like," shrugged Japazaws.

"Why don't you?" added Pocahontas indifferently.

"Not by myself--the only woman! Besides, I do not know those palefaces. You used to know them right well, Pocahontas. Come along."

Pocahontas complied, but she appeared listless as she went over the ship while the squaw squealed with delight at everything she saw. At dinner Pocahontas did not notice that drunken Japazaws pressed gleefully on Argall's toes. "She's as good as yours."

Afterwards she was looking over the guns in the gun-room, and thinking how Powhatan would have coveted them, when she was told that the chief and his squaw had skipped off of the ship, guiltily swinging their kettle between them.

When she found herself a prisoner, she pulled such a long face, that the English gentlemen felt quite contrite, and every man of them henceforth did his best to cheer her, especially John Rolfe.

John Rolfe was not beholden to the Company for bringing him here, and he carried his own weight in all general endeavors, as well as in his personal projects. He was a far cry from the pampered aristocrats whose idling and futile digging for fool gold had annoyed Captain John Smith. He hailed from the sturdy British farming class, which could come through a Bermuda ship-wreck or a Jamestown disaster in that time, as well as they could a Dunkirk or a "blitz" in the twentieth century. Having arrived with Gates in a prudently salvaged ship, he left with Gates when the Jamestown outpost seemed untenable. He also returned with Gates at Delaware's reinforcement. He, for one, determined to make a go of it, although after his wife's death he was the loneliest of all the bachelor colonists. He sublimated his grief in hard work, and soon in a shrewd project which was to be of value to the colony as well as to his personal fortunes.

He knew instinctively the wisdom of the dying farmer who told his sons that they could dig for their heritage and treasure in the lands on which they lived. If others had heeded such a fable, they would have warmed on the trail of wealth for the colony. In Rolfe's case this was not merely profitable production of the land, but of the specific and prime crop for Virginia--tobacco. He put his finger on the business pulse of the new world. Here was the pot of gold at the foot of Columbus's rainbow; here was the gold for which the laziest colonists had wasted time prospecting elsewhere. For most of the next two centuries tobacco would be virtually coin of the realm. With it a man would pay the preacher, buy a wife, set her up in fine style, and then be taxed according to the degree of that style, paying in tobacco.

Rolfe was the first tobacconist. In 1610 an excellent plant was imported from Trinidad. Later, another from Venezuela was transported here, and cross-breeding was tried. He had seeds from Bermuda, and he was willing to learn from Indians about what they knew of the soil, and its cultivation. Like a good cook he savored his own product. He sensed that the Indians had none of the earnest industry of his own thrifty family who made the most of every tended acre in England, for they craved only so-so tobacco for their own pipes. This "apooke" was harsh, and English smokers preferred the West Indies product. He was going to improve it until England clamored for its import. Tobacco was a better crop than corn, a more valuable export than mica, lumber, iron, pitch, tar, walnut or cedar. It was more profitable than the mulberry trees which were supposed to produce silk. Rats ate the silk worms, and neither foreign teachers nor statutes could make the silk business succeed. The Glass House never satisfied investors. Yes, tobacco was the thing, and he was keenly on its scent. Within two years he and his neighbors were sending their product to England.

Meanwhile he "looked around," and was one of those Johns who could speak for himself. He could not do without a woman, any more than John Smith could have done with one. When he saw the slim and pensive prisoner, Pocahontas, he was susceptible at first glance, although he admitted that there were plenty of Christians more pleasing to the eye, and he tried to convince himself that he was more concerned for her soul than for her heart. Like an eighteen-year-old schoolgirl she was learning the language and the catechism from the Reverend Alexander Whitaker, and as a devout layman Rolfe was happy to enlighten her.

Three months after she had been taken as a hostage Powhatan did return the seven Englishmen and three muskets and he promised five hundred bushels of corn. The English did not want to give Pocahontas up until they got more arms from Powhatan, and Rolfe and Whitaker did not want to surrender her until they were sure of her becoming the first convert on this side of the world.

Rolfe craved her in marriage with an intensity that troubled his mind no less than his heart, and his conscience was more sorely beset than either, for no one else had risked marriage with the alien race, so why should he of all people, the most religious and ambitious man in the lot? His course seemed brave to him--"to sweep and make clean the path wherein I walk, from all suspicions and doubts." He wrote to Governor Dale about the "grounds and principal agitations which thus should provoke me to be in love."

He still had no compunctions about being impure. "Nor am I in so desperate an estate that I regard not what becometh of me, nor am I out of hope one day to see my country, not so void of friends, nor mean in birth, but there to obtain a match to my great content." Rolfe believed that he was not "led with unbridled desire of carnal affection; but for the good of this plantation; for the honor of our country; for the glory of God; for my own salvation; and for the converting to the true knowledge of God and Jesus Christ, an unbelieving creature, namely Pocahontas, to whom my heart is and best thoughts are, and have a long time been so entangled, and inthralled in so intricate a labyrinth, that I was ever awearied to unwind myself thereout."

Rolfe confessed his heart's erring with the local preacher as well as the Governor. Both surprised him by thinking it a good thing. Governor Dale thought it would be a love match between the races.

The preacher said: "Don't worry about being unequally yoken with an unbeliever. That one is easy. Convert the heathan." He thought that it would be a feather in his cap to baptize, and later to marry the girl to Rolfe, and not too flamboyant a feather in Rolfe's to marry her. Powhatan would be immensely pleased, although he would never admit it.

All these doubts that had tormented the distraught John made him more bewilderingly in love with this dusky sweetheart. It was April, and redbud blushed through the forest, promising another spring. What that dogwood drifted tardily along in its trail, pure white, and sure of itself? For most men dogwood is synonymous of spring in Virginia, but to him redbud bloomed first, and the more persuasively of spring. To John Rolfe, this comely maid with gentler manners than habitual in her race, yet with warm bloom belonging to this land and this moment, seemed enchanting.

As for Pocahontas, having grieved for that other John two winters, how could she think of another? She had been immature then and destiny had moved him beyond her reach, indeed if he had ever been within it. This man, too, had known grief. The English, unlike Indian men, desired and valued but one woman. There was an empty place in his life now that she would fill, for she too was lonely.

Sir Thomas Dale had sailed up the York River with Captain Argall, hoping to retrieve arms from Powhatan, but without success. John Rolfe was now sent to deal with Powhatan but he got no closer to him than his brother, Opechancanough.

While they were arguing with the Indians, John Rolfe's friend, Ralph Hamor, handed Rolfe's long letter to Dale explaining his confusing love for the Indian princess. Meanwhile Pocahontas went ashore and told a few choice Indians of her new romance. She said that if her father had loved her, he would value her more than old swords and axes. Therefore she would live instead with the English, who loved her. If there had been a flag for bold romance it should have whipped in the breeze along the James River, together with the red cross of St. George at the masthead. Now the fanfaron was of trumpets, drums, guns, and clapping hands, but soon wedding-bells would call the tune.

Pocahontas considered herself a grown woman now, and free to go her own way. This marriage would be an omen of peace, a union of peoples as well as persons. She anticipated it happily, knowing that it would be an exciting affair for her own people, and a nostalgic one for the colonists, who had seen but little romance here. She was baptized and given the Christian name of "Rebecca" the week before the nuptials.

It was as she surmised. Powhatan was gratified and he could scarcely keep from showing it, but he did not deign to come to Jamestown for such a foreign ceremony. If he had not gone to get himself crowned, why should he go to see his daughter married? Nevertheless, he sent his brother Apachisco to represent him, for Opechancanough would not flatter the English by attending, eager as he was to see the goings-on. Powhatan also sent two of his sons and some other young people to participate, and these added a colorful note to the scene.

The wedding itself was the most paintable scene yet staged in the wilderness, and an idealistic picture of it has hung in American homes ever since. In the wooden church stood guests of international prestige. The picture shows Don Diego de Molina, a Spanish grandee and Argall's French prisoners. Governor Dale, ranking highest, wore full regalia: doublet, ballooning breeches, and stockings with ribbon at the knee. The strange and haunting romance of the scene lingers with those not there, for Pocahontas herself was the most romantic figure in American history. Her sleek black hair dropped upon an Indian mantle which was embroidered in the native fashion, but the dress was of demure white muslin. Her tawny skin had a ruddy glow, and her eyes, as they met Rolfe's showed shining trust, for they intended to live together "civilly and lovingly."

The couple went to live at Varina which was named for the strain of tobacco which Rolfe raised there. He was the sort of bridegroom, who soon forgot the honeymoon, and measured his love in support and proud surroundings.

Governor Dale, impressed with their success, sent an emissary to Powhatan. His house was surrounded by two hundred bowmen, but he offered a friendly pipe of peace, and asked why the messenger did not wear the pearl chain, due to be worn by any messenger between the two leaders. "How is my brother?" he asked. "How do my daughter and her husband live, love and like?"

"Your brother is well, and your daughter is so contented that she would not live again with you." Answering why he had come, the messenger said: "Sir Thomas Dale hath sent you two pieces of copper, five strings of blue and white beads, five wooden combs, two fish-hooks, a pair of knives, and when you will send for it, he will give you a grindstone."

Glad to live on their own ample acres provided by Powhatan, but left to themselves, the couple were happy and prosperous. Pocahontas swam, fished, hunted, and roamed her woods. Housekeeping was easier for her than for other squaws, for she had not only a solicitous and helpful husband, but English household goods. Their son Thomas was born in 1615, and he too thrived here.

After a while she became piqued with her preoccupied spouse, who kept planting, and improving tobacco crops, having advanced beyond the rugged Indian agriculture which she had taught him. Indians planted merely enough for their own pipes, and those of a circle of friends, while John Rolfe wanted a bigger and better crop each year. The seedlings were transplanted, thinned and cured as Pocahontas had taught but with added pains that made the product sweet rather than bitter. Soon hogsheads of tobacco were being rolled off his wharf for shipment to England, which rewarded him for his thrifty work. When he got coin of the realm in exchange, he intended to heap it in her aproned lap, but the ex-Princess was tired of aprons, and craved something else besides coin out of England.

If tobacco of the Rolfe plantation rolled the seas, why not its charming young mistress, who was eager to see the land of John Smith? As she hoped, Sir Thomas Dale invited the Rolfes to come along on his trip, thinking they would make a fine advertisement for the London Company. Just in case they looked too fine, he also took along a savage troop.

Powhatan was more dubious about this than he had been about the marriage, wanting to keep his bold daughter where he could keep an eye on her. But finally he consented, provided that she have several of her own along, and her sister, her brother-in-law Tacomoco, and Uttamatomakkin. Powhatan told this man to make notches on sticks for every white he saw over there. He was not too hospitable a host over on this side, and he would like to get an idea of how many guests were to be expected in his western world, just in case there was a wholesale exodus from England.