/ 'i^ -^^ 
 
 0^ .^^»^'^ •^^ov*^ 
 
 ^ ^. o 
 
 
 
 .•^"^\ 
 
 
 
 
 .HO<v 
 
 jP^^ 
 
 C" / 
 
 
 
 
 
 '^0^ 
 
 ^^'- %.A^ /^i&\ %„.<^* .'»A". \y •'^^- ^- 
 
 v<^^ 
 
 
 
 
 ** .-^ 
 
 
 Pv!> 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^A*- ^^ ..'^ ♦*. 
 
 
 - -^^ 
 

 
 
 
 
THE VIRGINIA NONPAREIL 
 
 By GEORGE 
 F. VIETT 
 
 SOUVENIR 
 
 JAMESTOWN 
 
 TER-GENTENNIAL 
 
 1^ 
 
 THE C. W. REX CO. Inc., PUBLISHERS 
 
3^ 2I 
 
Used by courteous permission of Messrs. George Barric & Sons, of Philadelphia, Pa. 
 
POCAHONTAS, 
 
 The Virginia Nonpareil. 
 
 A DRAMA OF THE x-^th CENTURY. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE FREDERIC VIETT. 
 
 -'•^^^M'a^Tf^if '^^f%l\vrr^\ h-^ I " ^^ ^'-^^-^ 
 
 Published by 
 THE C. W. REX CO., Incorporated. 
 

 UBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 APK 22 1907 
 
 _ tepyrlffM Entry 
 CLASS G. xxcNe. 
 C9PY B. 
 
 CorvuiGHT IC 
 
 GEORGE FREDERIC VIETT. 
 
 WHITTBT & SHEPPERSONj PRINTERS^ RICHMOND, VA. 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 To THE Following Gentlemen 
 
 Under Whose Auspices This Work was Published 
 
 And Given to the American Stage: 
 
 Mr. O. J. CATHCART. 
 Mr. T. C. MULLER, 
 Mr. T. B. GORDON, 
 Mr. C.W. rex, 
 Mr. O. T. granger. 
 
In the preparation of this work, the author gratefully acknowl- 
 edges indebtedness to the following authorities : 
 
 Captain John Smith^ A True Relation of Virginia. 
 
 E. Hamor^'s a True Discourse of the Present Estate of Vir- 
 ginia, 1614. 
 
 George Percy^ A Discourse of the Plantation of the Southern 
 Colony of Virginia. 
 
 Lucy Akin^ Memoirs of the Court of King James the First. 
 
 Charles Kingsley, Westward Ho! 
 
 William Shakespeare^ Dramatic Works. 
 
 ScHOOLCRAFT^s American Indians. 
 
 John Esten Cooke's "History of Virginia." 
 
 W. GiLLMORE SiMMS^ "Life of Captain John Smith." 
 
VIRGINIA from 1606-1621. 
 
 A BRIEF HISTORICAL SKETCH COVER- 
 ING THE PERIOD OF THIS PLAY. 
 
 By GEORGE F. VIETT. 
 
 The several attempts to effect an English settlement upon the 
 continent of America, prior to 1607, met with failure and disaster. 
 
 In 1584, Sir Walter Raleigh coasted the Carolinas and took 
 formal possession of the country, naming it "Virginia," in honor of 
 Elizabeth, England's glorious maiden Queen. This venture was 
 simply one of exploration. A year later, Raleigh promoted a 
 colony of one hundred and eight, which, under Sir Ralph Lane, 
 made settlement on the island of Roanoke. This colony was 
 abandoned in the following year, the majority of its members re- 
 turning to England. Fifty of the party, left in charge of the 
 settlement, were utterly annihilated by the savages. This event, 
 together with the reports spread broadcast in England by the 
 returned adventurers, were not calculated to encourage further 
 attempts at colonization. Among the archives of the British Gov- 
 ernment is a letter from one of these Roanoke colonists to a friend 
 at home, which sets forth, in substance, among other things, this 
 discouraging piece of information : 
 
 "This frightful wilderness must surely be the death of all of us, for 
 never could a Christian hope to live in such a land of abominations. The 
 greatest summer heat at home is but the mildness of spring to what we 
 suffer here. We are, for the most time, stricken with vicious fevers, and 
 rest at night is impossible, owing to the swarms of winged and stinging 
 insects, that suck one's blood. Besides these plagues, legions of painted 
 heathens perform their devilish dances round about, and threaten us with 
 their weapons." 
 
 It is scarcely to be wondered, that people living under such 
 circumstances should wish to return to their homes. Yet Raleigh 
 was not discouraged; a new colony was planted upon the ruins of 
 
8 Pocahontas, 
 
 the old, and, with the hope of making it permanent, women were 
 included among the number sent over. These newer arrivals con- 
 stituted what is known as "the lost colony of ISTorth Carolina," the 
 second which perished, and the pathetic story of which is em- 
 phasized by the presence of women, and the birth of Virginia Dare, 
 the first white child born in America. 
 
 It is not difficult to understand, in the face of such disasters, 
 why Virginia was, for a subsequent period of twenty years, let 
 severely alone. It required the passing of one generation to efface 
 the cruel memory and soften the colonization prospect to another, 
 and so, not until the year 1606 was Virginia once more brought 
 before the English people as a field of settlement and enterprise. 
 In this year a mercantile company was formed in London, having 
 for its purpose the exploitation of the English dominion of Vir- 
 ginia. A charter was granted by King James the First, and letters 
 patent, bearing the date April 10th, 1606, were granted to Sir 
 Thomas Gates, Sir George Somers, Eickard Hackluyt, and their 
 associates, but the real spirits behind the enterprise were Captain 
 John Smith and Bartholomew Gosnold, who, by their representa- 
 tions and activity, induced these gentlemen of means to embark 
 in the project. Gosnold was a sea captain, who had previously 
 visited the shores of America. John Smith was one of those bold 
 and remarkable characters whom Providence so wonderfully fits 
 to the age and the work. 
 
 In the writer's opinion, this splendid man has not had full 
 justice done him. Ear lesser lights have served to gild the pages of 
 history, and smaller men have reaped greater praise from an un- 
 thinking posterity. The permanency of a colony, the result of 
 which is the English-speaking America of to-day, was due to the 
 undaunted courage and wide wisdom of this single man. Had it 
 met the fate of its predecessors, if massacre or abandonment had 
 been its portion, it is entirely possible, with all chances in favor 
 of the possibility, that tliis North American continent would, at 
 the present day, be a conglomeration of petty Spanish-speaking 
 principalities and despotic republics, like those which now exist 
 to the south of us. 
 
 In spite of the shattering blow which Spain received in the 
 destruction of her "invincible armada," she was, nevertheless, at 
 
The Virginia ^'om'akeil. 9 
 
 this time, a feared and formidable maritime enemy of England, 
 and more especially npon that portion of the ocean known as "the 
 Spanish main/' which inelnded the seas surrounding these very 
 colonies. Accounts of the Indians revealed the fact that the 
 Spaniards had entered the waters of the Chesapeake more than 
 once before the Jamestown settlement. Their colonies in Florida 
 were firmly set, and the spirit of encroachment northward was 
 already a matter of discussion at the English court. The failure 
 of the Jamestown colony would undoubtedly have operated to 
 deter for an indefinite interval any further attempts on the part of 
 England, and it is not at all improbable that, during this interval 
 of English desuetude, the Spaniards would have settled Virginia 
 and reared success upon our parents' failures, in which event, any 
 attempt to displace them, would have been a far more desperate 
 undertaking than the work of first settlement difficult as it was. 
 In this regard, the figure of John Smith, already splendid as it is, 
 looms still larger upon the stage of history. His efforts, and 
 largely his alone, secured the establishment of the Jamestown 
 colony. He saved it from the Indians, he saved it from the miser- 
 able weakness and treachery of its members, and not unlikely, he 
 saved it from the Spaniards. To him alone was due the establish- 
 ment of the English dominion, resulting in the English-speaking 
 United States of to-day, of which, if George Washington was the 
 father, John Smith was undoubtedly the grandfather ! 
 
 The little band that sailed from Blackwall, near London, on 
 the 19th of December, 160G, was of a mixed character, lacking 
 unity of purpose and cbntaining within itself the qualities of envy, 
 greed and prejudice. Over one-half the number consisted of 
 "gentlemen," persons, who by reason of birth or social connections, 
 fancied themselves superior to the other portion, of which John 
 Smith was the representative, and who could brook no dictation 
 from those whom they considered beneath them. They seemed to 
 possess no higher ideal than the lust of sudden wealth, and to this 
 end sought to control the expedition to their own purposes. These 
 "gentlemen" constituted the drones of the colony, of whom Smith 
 so bitterly complained and whom he fought so relentlessly. The 
 ships had scarcely left the waters of the English channel, before 
 dissension began to manifest itself, and shortly afterwards John 
 
10 Pocahontas, 
 
 Smith was placed in irons and kept imprisoned during the entire 
 period of the passage across. The intention was to have sent him 
 back to England with the return of tlie sliips, on the charge of 
 treason, but Smith, insisting on his rights under the colony's com- 
 mission, demanded a trial in Virginia, was acquitted, and his chief 
 antagonist, Wingfield, was compelled to pay a considerable sum of 
 money, wdiich Smith generously donated to the needs of his com- 
 rades. This constituted the first trial by jury in America. 
 
 At the end of April, 1607, the ships, "God Speed," '^Discovery" 
 and "Susan Constant," appeared at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay. 
 To the land on the north and south of this entrance they gave 
 respectively, the names Cape Charles and Cape Henry, in honor of 
 the two sons of King James. A landing was made at Cape Henry, 
 memorial of which is now to be found in a bronze tablet upon the 
 walls of an obsolete light-house, setting forth that : 
 
 NEAR THIS SPOT 
 LANDED APRIL 26, 1607, 
 Captain Gabriel Archer, Christopher New- 
 port, Hex. George S. Percy, Barthol- 
 omew Gosnold, Edward Maria 
 Wingfield, 
 
 WITH twenty-five OTHERS, 
 
 WHO, 
 
 CALLING THE PLACE 
 
 CAPE HENRY, 
 
 PLANTED A CROSS 
 
 April 29, 1G07. 
 "DEI GRATIA VIRGINIA CONDITA." 
 
 Here the adventurers first met the Indians, and this meeting 
 was a hostile one, several of the party being wounded by arrows. 
 After about two weeks' exploration of the shores of Chesapeake 
 Bay, and Avhat is now Hampton Roads, the ships sailed up the 
 Powhatan river, christening it the James, and selected as tlieir 
 
The Virginia N"onpareil. 11 
 
 future home an island, which they called Jamestown, in honor of 
 the King. This Jamestown landing was made on May 13, 1607. 
 
 The intention had really been to found this colony on the 
 former site of Eoanoke, but a violent storm drove the ships north- 
 ward to the mouth of Chesapeake Bay, the inviting aspect of whose 
 shores prompted them to remain and settle. To eyes long sad- 
 dened at sight of the sea, these shores must have presented an 
 alluring prospect, so here the pilgrims rested, here they suffered, 
 and here they remained. 
 
 "They sat them down upon the yellow sand, 
 Between the sun and moon, upon the shore; 
 
 And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, 
 Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore 
 
 Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar. 
 Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. 
 
 Then some one said: 'We will return no more;' 
 And all at once they sang: 'Our island home 
 Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.'" 
 
 The routine of life commenced immediately, and the colonists 
 began to prepare the habitations of their future home. The 
 document for the government of the colony and the names of the 
 council had been prepared and selected by King James and sent 
 across in a sealed package, with instructions not to open until a 
 site for settlement had been selected. These sealed orders were 
 now opened, and revealed the names of Bartholomew Gosnold, John 
 Smith, Edward Maria Wingfield, Christopher Newport, John 
 Eadcliffe, John Martin and George Kendall for councilors. With 
 the exceptions of Smith and Gosnold, these men were incompetent, 
 and, neither by nature or purpose, were they adapted to the guid- 
 ance of so perilous an undertaking. Gosnold, Smith's best friend 
 among the adventurers, died in the summer of 1607, leaving him 
 to contend, single-handed, with incompetency and misrule. Wing- 
 field had been made President, and his authority and influence 
 was constantly directed against Smith. Well it was for both Smith 
 and the colony that the malcontents were not able to control affairs 
 as they desired. Smith had his friends among the more level- 
 headed of the members, and these stood by him. In Smith alone 
 they recognized the ability and energy to maintain and preserve 
 the settlement, from both the Indian peril and the threats of 
 
12 Pocahontas, 
 
 famine. He was the leading spirit of the enterprise, practically 
 its founder, and certainly its preserver. He had all the enthusiasm 
 of genius, and a heart single to the permanent settlement of a 
 new world. During his two years and a half sojourn in Virginia, 
 his existence was a constant struggle with traitors within, savage 
 enemies without, famine and pestilence, and the greed of the Lon- 
 don promoters, whose evident motive was to extract wealth from 
 the colony upon as small an outlay as possible. Dissension and 
 jealousy fronted Smith at every turn. So great was the animosity 
 against him, that certain members among the malcontents actually 
 intrigued with their savage enemies to murder him. It was 
 altogether a pathetically weak household, divided against itself, 
 and the miracle of its survival is revealed in the dauntless spirit 
 of Captain John Smith, a spirit, which, on this soil, survived to 
 snatch the prestige of the world and write its name in blazing 
 letters upon the golden scroll of fame ! 
 
 The first Indian attack upon the colony took place shortly 
 after its settlement, and its lack of success was very probably due 
 to a timely warning from the friendly maiden, Pocahontas, or 
 Matoaka, the beautiful daughter of Powhatan. There is scarcely 
 a more remarkable or beautiful character in history. Her individ- 
 uality is unique, and stands without a comparison. Her character 
 was essentially pure and elevated, and of distinguished delicacy 
 and gentleness. With perceptions and feelings entirely apart from 
 those of her race, she almost seems to have been sent of heaven to 
 further the mysterious plans of Providence. Smith recognized in 
 this Indian girl a wondrous personalit}^ before whom he stood in 
 awe, reverence, and admiration. The pages of his history are 
 filled with her praise, as well they might be. She was about the 
 age of thirteen at the time of the Jamestown settlement, a mere 
 child, it is true, but one whose emotions and actions prompt us to 
 believe that in mind and body she was developed beyond her j^ears. 
 Girls develop early in this land of the South, and savage people 
 the world over mature earlier than those of civilization. A reading 
 between the lines of this seventeenth century drama, leads us to 
 infer that she was already moved by the promptings of love, and 
 that the object of her regard was none other than Smith himself. 
 On his side, we have no evidence that his feelings towards this 
 
The A'irginia Nonpareil. 13 
 
 Indian maiden were other tlian those of a father to a child. ''His 
 deare and blessed Pocahontas/' was to him the object of kindly 
 admiration and heart-felt gratitude only. He was too burdened 
 with cares and work to find time for the gentle sentiments of love, 
 and so, if Pocahontas loved him, she loved in silence and with none 
 to share her secret. Although conjectural the supposition has much to 
 support it, and if true, the story of this Indian maiden becomes 
 invested with an intenser interest, for in addition to the revealed 
 romance of her life we have the pathetic picture of a maid that 
 loved a man, and of a man who loved the maiden not, or if he did, 
 knew not that she loved him. Years afterwards, as the wife of John 
 Rolfe, when she met Smith in England, she gave expression to lan- 
 guage supporting this view, and from which we may, with certainty, 
 conclude that she had been assured of her old friend's death before 
 giving her consent to marrying John Rolfe. All accounts agree 
 in depicting her as of great beauty and refinement of nature, and 
 tenderness of heart. She was one of those rare jewels of humanity 
 that differ in quality from hundreds of generations of her race. 
 Her real name was Matoaka, and the substitution of Pocahontas 
 was due to a superstition prevailing among the Indians that a 
 knowledge of their true names placed them under the evil spell of 
 strangers. Her father. Powhatan, was a savage of very exceptional 
 ability and rare foresight. He fronted the invaders of his domain 
 with a diplomacy and resoluteness which found defeat alone but 
 "n the sagacity and intrepidity of Captain Smith. Whenever the 
 colonists acted against the Indians without the guidance of Smith, 
 they invariably met disaster. Powhatan was quick to recognize his 
 one formidable rival, and repeatedly sought to snare him. That he 
 permitted his escape upon the great occasion when he held his life 
 in his hand, must be accounted for upon higher grounds than those 
 of mere chance. Smith met cunning with cunning, force with 
 force, and checkmated the wily old king to the end of the chapter. 
 Powhatan knew that, with the death of Smith, the English colony 
 was doomed. His one desire was to capture this white chief and put 
 him to death, and when this capture was later accomplished, and the 
 head of his prime enemy was awaiting his signal for the killing 
 blow, we must account for the result on the assumption alone that 
 the hand of Divinity is sometimes directly stretched forth and mani 
 
14 Pocahontas^ 
 
 fested upon those trembling occasions;, when its high purpose hangs 
 in the balance. 
 
 Powhatan was king of thirty tribes, numbering a population 
 of eight thousand, and covering eight thousand square miles of 
 territory. These tribes were named after the sections they occu- 
 pied, but all were included under the general name of Powhatans. 
 In type and character, these Virginia Indians differed but 
 little from the various tribes that then occupied, and now live in, 
 other sections of the continent. They were blood-thirsty and cruel, 
 but not without some excellent virtues, among which were patriot- 
 ism and bravery. They loved their freedom, and, preferring death 
 to the least link of bondage, they scorned the slave and the slave- 
 maker alike, to which spirit is largely due their expulsion from the 
 land of their forefathers. With their primitive idea, that every 
 man had his share in the world, they justly regarded a civilization 
 of wage-workers and hirelings as one of thinly disguised serfdom, 
 and they scorned it with all the intensity of their liberty-loving 
 natures. 
 
 The Virginian Indians differed somewhat in their superstitions 
 from those of other sections of America, in that they worshipped 
 the god of evil, or "Okee," the "One Alone, called Kiwassa." 
 Qui'Oughuosickee, the beneficent god, they paid scant attention to, 
 on the peculiar assumption that, being good, he would do them no 
 harm, but that "Okee," of cruel and vindictive proclivities, needed 
 to be treated with every consideration, and propitiated upon all 
 occasions. In this, we have a glimpse of the people with whom 
 our little band of Englishmen played the game whose stakes were 
 life and death, and half a world to the survivors. These were the 
 people of whom alone it can be said that they "never bent the 
 knee," and that they "fought to the last ditch." These are the 
 people that, after over two and a half centuries of warfare with 
 the whites, were still able to smash Custer and his command, and 
 gain a victory in defence of their land, which we have meanly 
 perverted into a "massacre," and refer to in our histories in lines 
 of reprobation. 
 
 Despite internal wrangling and Indian attacks, the second 
 month after the landing found the colonists in a seemingly pros- 
 perous condition. The supplies brought over from England had 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 15 
 
 not yet been exhausted, and the balmy spring weather but added 
 to the tonic effects of their late voyage over the ocean. Log cabins 
 were constructed, and the Indians, after several repulses and with 
 the dread of the white man's tire irons, sued for peace. The 
 "gentlemen" lived their lives of idleness, and parties, under Smith, 
 explored the woods and waters about. On one of these expeditions, 
 Smith explored the entire shore expanse of Chesapeake Bay, and 
 many of its important tributaries, making a landing on both the 
 future sites of Washington and Baltimore. With the advent of 
 the summer season, known as "the terrible summer of 1607," the 
 first great cloud of calamity swept down upon the band of adven- 
 turers. By September, fever and famine had swept off fifty men, 
 including Bartholomew Gosnold, Smith's best friend; and at one 
 time during this period, only ten men were able to be up and doing. 
 During this time of dire distress, the selfish Kendall and others 
 made an attempt to seize the one vessel, which Newport had left 
 as the last resort of the colonists, with the intention of deserting 
 the others and making off to England. Through the usual vigilance 
 and action of Smith, this dastardly attempt failed, the leaders 
 were tried, and Kendall executed. It w^as a time which tried the 
 stoutest hearts, but the advent of winter, though one of much 
 severity and suffering, destroj^ed the fever, and the colony rose as 
 from the very brink of the grave. 
 
 Among the erratic commands of the royal James, was one 
 which imposed upon the colonists the discovery of the '"South Sea," 
 a fond delusion of the times, which supposed that, within a hun- 
 dred or so miles from the Atlantic seaboard, was to be found the 
 great waters of another ocean. To the discovery of this visionary 
 sea. Smith, with a small party of men, set out on December 10th, 
 1607, in the very bitterest sort of weather. As an example of the 
 courage of this man, and the spirit of the times, this incident fur- 
 nishes ample food for reflection. In the dead of winter, through 
 the mazes of an almost impenetrable forest, tenanted by legions of 
 hostile savages, a party of only four men unhesitatingly invaded 
 the grim solitudes of an unknown world for the sole purpose of 
 discovery. We, of softer times, can but hold our breaths in shud- 
 dering wonder, nor are we surprised at the result of this expedition. 
 Upon making a landing upon what is now the site of the city of 
 
16 Pocahontas, 
 
 Eichmond, Smith and party were beset by several hundred Indians, 
 under the Chief Opechancanough ; all of his companions were 
 killed, and himself narrowly escaped execution on the spot. The 
 Indian chief had about decided to dispatch his captive, but Smith's 
 ready wit was his salvation for the time being. Having a pocket 
 compass in his possession, he took it out, and not improbably 
 played upon the superstitious fears of the threatening savages. 
 The Indians were deeply impressed at the refusal of the needle 
 to point other than in one direction, and still more amazed that 
 it would not permit itself to be touched, on account of the glass 
 which covered it, a substance of which they knew nothing. It was 
 decided that so great a token entitled its possessor to higher honors 
 of sacrifice than mere death out of hand, and so, with much cere- 
 mony and great rejoicing, our hero was conveyed to the seat of 
 Powhatan, at Werowocomoco, for trial and execution. 
 
 The council before which Smith appeared, is described by him- 
 self as one of impressive, barbaric splendor. Powhatan, the king, 
 sat enthroned, surrounded by his sullen braves and grotesque medi- 
 cine men, and the rude picturesqueness of the scene was em- 
 phasized by the presence of the maiden, Pocahontas, and other 
 Indian women. After much deliberation and argument, in which 
 the prisoner was, no doubt, afforded opportunity for a defense, the 
 great chiefs of the council decided that he should be executed then 
 and there. With savage ceremonial, the sacrificial altar was made 
 ready. Smith was bound, his head laid on the stone, and with an 
 inward prayer he looked, as he thought, his last upon the world 
 with all its strange vicissitudes. Mercy, there was none ; mercy, he 
 did not expect; and he gave himself to death 'nitli all the sterling 
 courage of the sterling race to which he belonged. The ponderous 
 bludgeon of the savage is already raised to dash out the brains of 
 this first Virginian hero, when, lo! a piercing shriek startles the 
 already tense assemblage ! a lithe figure bounds forward, and a 
 pitying angel, sent of heaven, looks out upon a circle of hell, and 
 moves its denizens to mercy ! 
 
 Matoaka ! beautiful child of the forest ! amazing maiden of 
 mercy ! the world's bright scroll of star-eyed heroines is not com- 
 plete without thy beauteous name ! 
 
 Early in 1608, there was great rejoicing at Jamestown over the 
 
KING JAMES I, 1607. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. XH 
 
 return of Captain Newport and two ships from England, bringing 
 new recruits and provisions. Among the passengers were two 
 women, Mistress Forrest and Anue Burras, her companion. They 
 were the first English women that came to America, and we may 
 well imagine that their presence was a burst of sunshine to the 
 care-worn, home-sick adventurers. 
 
 Anne Burras shortly after became the wife of John Laydon, 
 one of the original crew. This marriage was celebrated in due 
 form, with much rejoicing, and constituted the first marriage on 
 the soil of A'^irginia. The custom has been a popular one ever 
 since, and in some poetical age of the future, there will be a monu- 
 ment erected to this charming couple. 
 
 Among the new commissions given to Newport by King James 
 was one which Smith viewed with unconcealed disdain. Orders 
 were issued by his majesty for the formal crowning of Powhatan 
 as a prince, after the European fashion, and the insignia of this 
 office, in the shape of a scarlet robe and crown, were brought over 
 in the ships. Newport, who was a pompous individual, impressed 
 with the power and dignity of kings, sent a message to Powhatan, 
 setting forth the facts, and commanding his presence at Jamestown 
 for the coronation. To his indignation, the independent old savage 
 sent back word that he was a king already, and that, while he would 
 like to receive the presents that accompanied the crown, he would 
 not go to Jamestown to get them, but that Newport must come to 
 him at Werowocomoco. There was no alternative. The royal 
 orders were positive, and Powhatan must be crowned, and on this 
 fantastic mission, Newport, with twenty others, set out on a hun- 
 dred-mile tramp to the court of Powhatan. Arriving upon the 
 scene, and completing the ceremony, the English were subjected by 
 this Indian chief to a bit of sarcasm, a very masterpiece in its way, 
 and one that would have done credit to a Talleyrand. Dramatically 
 refusing to receive the crown kneeling, Newport, much against his 
 inclination, was compelled to stand on tiptoe and place it on the 
 head of the haughty Indian. After receiving his presents, Powhatan 
 took off his old moccasins and robe and requested that they be 
 sent to King James with his compliments. Those who run, may 
 read the ringing moral that this incident portrays. 
 
 The incidents of the following year are not sufficiently eventful 
 
18 Pocahontas^ 
 
 to come within the compass of a brief sketch. This period was but 
 a repetition of that which preceded it. Plots and counter-plot& 
 within, Indian attacks and repulses, peace and war, and war and 
 peace again, exploration of the coast and interior, and foraging 
 for food, fill this space, and bring us to the month of May, in the 
 year 1610. 
 
 In the previous September, Captain Smith returned to England., 
 and, in spite of the fact that he left the colony in a flourishing 
 condition, and containing upwards of five hundred persons, in- 
 cluding some women, it required but a few months for dissension, 
 misrule and idleness to wreck the good work. Quick to note the- 
 absence of the master spirit, the Indians commenced a vigorous and 
 relentless warfare against the whites. Disaster followed confusion, 
 and in this short interval, upwards of four hundred people perished 
 from famine, and fever, and the Indian hatchet. An English fleet, 
 which had been sent out to Jamestown under command of Admiral 
 Somers and Sir Thomas Gates, had been wrecked upon the Ber- 
 muda Islands. This expedition had been given up for lost by both 
 the London company and the Jamestown Pilgrims. After re- 
 maining some months upon these solitary isles, the castaways re- 
 paired their ship and resumed their interrupted voyage to James- 
 town, arriving at the moment of that colony's aciite distress. As 
 John Esten Cooke so beautifully puts it : "The shipwrecked looked 
 upon the shipwrecked,"' and instead of finding a place of rest and 
 comfort, found a desolation, hard-pressed by calamity. Somers 
 and Gates were prevailed upon to embark for England and take 
 the miserable remnant of the colony with them, and the abandon- 
 ment of Jamestown was agreed upon. On the 7th of June the 
 signal to embark was given. So great was the feeling against their 
 late place of suffering, that the home-bound exiles were about to- 
 set it on fire, Avhen Sir Thomas Gates sent a party of men ashore 
 to prevent the wanton destruction. It proved a providential act. 
 The very next morning, as the ships wore about to begin their long 
 voyage, they were met by an incoming fleet under Lord Delaware, 
 with a year's provisions, and many new colonists. Tiie two fleets 
 returned to Jamestown; all hands disembarked; and, under the 
 now and excellent regime of Delaware, the colony was re-estab- 
 lished and firmly set. Delaware, too, is entitled to an honored 
 place in the history of this nation. 
 
The Virginia Xoxpaueil. 19 
 
 We must now slight the interval between this period and the 
 year 1616, when Pocahontas, who had previously been married to 
 John Eolfe, was taken to England with a party of Indians l)y Sir 
 Thomas Dale. There she met Captain Smith, whom she thought 
 dead, and an affecting scene followed. King James received them 
 at court, and this mingling of the children of the wilderness, in 
 their barbaric simplicity, with the splendors of seventeenth century 
 civilization, makes an unique resting spot for the eye that loves the 
 cjuaint and picturesque, or that searches for a masterpiece from 
 among the faded pictures of the past. John Smith, now an Ad- 
 miral, had jweviously sent a letter to Queen Anne, setting forth, 
 in glowing terms, the character of Pocahontas. From the lines 
 of this most interesting epistle, written ten years after his experi- 
 ences at Jamestown. Ave quote these: 
 
 "During the time of two or three yeares, sire (Pocahontas), next under 
 God, was still the instrument to preserve this eolonie from death, famine 
 and utter confusion; which, if in those times had once become dissolved, 
 Virginia might have lain as it was at our first arrival, to this day." 
 
 That this letter had its effect, was evidenced by the report that 
 Pocahontas was "graciously used" by the King and Queen. After 
 the court reception, the Bishop of London gave an entertainment 
 in honor of the visitors, Avhich Purchas, the historian, described as 
 full of splendor. 
 
 Pocahontas died at Gravesend, in March. 1617, when on the 
 point of sailing for her native land, for which, no doubt, her simple 
 heart had often yearned. The untimely end of this exquisite flower 
 upon a foreign shore puts a })athetic period to a life as romantic 
 and beautiful as tbe pages of liistory reveal. To those Virginians 
 of tlio future, fancy-eyed and starrA'-souled, who shall look back 
 upon the kinder memories of the past, this one shall not lack their 
 sympathy and song. 
 
 On July 30th. 1619. the first legislative body that ever sat in 
 America, assembled at .Jamestown, and two years later, this as- 
 sembly promulgated the first declaration of American independence 
 in a certain document of "Ordinance and Constitution,'' in the 
 following striking language : 
 
 '"No orders of court afterwards shall bind the said colony, unless they 
 bo ratified in like manner in the General Assemblies." 
 
20 Pocahontas, 
 
 From this it is quite evident that the spirit of '76 was already 
 born on the soil of Virginia. 
 
 Those who witnessed the landing of twent}' negroes in this year, 
 little dreamed what dark and monstrous birth was there spawned. 
 The incident is tersely told in the writings of John Eolfe : 
 
 "To begin with this year, 1619,. about the last of August, came in a 
 Dutch man-of-war, that sold us twenty negars." 
 
 These were the first negro slaves introduced upon the North 
 American Continent, and thus it was that in its infancy, this land of 
 America became a meeting-place of the races — for some the better, 
 and for some th'e worse. The remarkable fecundity of the negro race 
 in this country, comprising at the present period over ten millions 
 of people, is a matter which no real statesman can view with tran 
 quillity. A nation within a nation, the spectacle offers no parallel 
 in all history. The best records show that at no period did the 
 aboriginal population of America equal one-fifth the numbers of 
 the negro race to-day. In the setting of field and forest through- 
 out, a vast extent of territory, the figure of the black man has en- 
 tirely supplanted the red. As the representative of a primitive 
 rac6, the North American Indian is facing extinction, and the 
 time is not far distant when the last remnant of this brave and 
 singularly interesting people will have passed away. 
 
 Eed as is the record of the red man, great as has been his cruelty 
 upon occasion, when, in the course of human events the balance is 
 struck by the great Accountant, the American Indian will be 
 found more sinned against than sinning. 
 
 The red children of Virginia have faded away. They "did 
 give the English a little land," and from that little land came forth 
 a swarm of black and white, that drove them from their hunting- 
 grounds, over the hills, and over the hills again. And there was 
 no place of sanctuary, for w^herever they halted, the cunning, well- 
 armed stranger came, and there they left more of their dead and 
 the dead of the enemy — and again to the mountains ! But the 
 rising tide was ever rising, and it washed them away, and so it was, 
 and so it ever will be with those who. in dumb freedom stand "to 
 stem the march of the majestic world." 
 
 Powhatan and Pocahontas ! and all the great red host that 
 looked on them, have passed. Like beacon lights far set down 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 21 
 
 time's relentless tide, they sign'al back to us the pathos, and the 
 power, and the pride that was their portion, and of which the first 
 alone remains. 
 
 But, now to happier memories. In the year 1631, under the 
 felicitous inspiration of Sir Edwin Sandys, then at the head of the 
 London company, ninety young women were sent out as wives for 
 the colonists, young persons — we are assured — of unquestionable 
 good character, the majority youthful and beautiful, and in all 
 the bloom of rosy English health. With broad statesmanship, the 
 genial Sir Sandys recognized that to establish the colony upon a 
 firm basis, it was necessary to anchor its members to the soil, and 
 that no method was surer of accomplishing this purpose than that 
 of giving the settler a wife and. ultimately a family to cheer him. 
 It was a most admirable idea, and succeeded famously. Women, 
 up to this time, had formed but a small proportion of the popula- 
 tion, and many a lass-lorn lad looked forward with fond anticipa- 
 tion to the arrival of this precious cargo. The expenditure of the 
 company in this venture was considerable, and to repay this, it 
 was arranged that the colonists who selected wives, or were selected 
 by the maids, were each to turn over to the company, one hundred 
 and eighty pounds of tobacco, in value about eighty dollars. On 
 the arrival of the ship with its feminine freight, all the settlers 
 flocked to Jamestown to meet them, and a more curious and happy 
 spectacle was perhaps never presented than the landing of these 
 English girls upon the shores of the James river. There was no 
 compulsion on either side, and both parties made their selection 
 according to the dictation of their hearts. The plan was so 
 splendidly successful that another ship-load of girls soon followed, 
 and were received with equal fondness, and disposed of in the 
 manner of their predecessors. This was indeed the time when 
 Cupid crossed the ocean wide, with business on his hands I 
 
 Such, in brief, are the events upon which are based the three 
 hours' traffic of our stage, and which the Jamestown Exposition, 
 at Norfolk, Va., in 1907, is intended to commemorate. They con- 
 tain every element to stir the deeper emotions of the soul, and 
 their period of action stands vividly out upon the page of history 
 as one of the great productive epochs of humanity. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONAE 
 
 COLONISTS. 
 
 Captain John Smith. 
 
 Honorable George Percy. 
 
 John Rolfe. 
 
 Captain Christopher Newport. 
 
 Bartholomew Gosnolu. 
 
 John Radcliffe. 
 
 George Kendall. 
 
 Edward Maria Wingfield. 
 
 John Laydon. 
 
 Rev. Master Hunt. 
 
 Anne Burras. 
 
 Terence O'Trigger, Irish soldier. 
 
 Angus McLoyne^ Scotch soldier. 
 
 DOBBY FuLLFAT, London soldier. 
 
 Men-at-Arms. 
 
 Sailors. 
 
 Adventurers. 
 
 Wives, Sweethearts and Children. 
 
 LONDONERS. 
 
 Master William Shakespeare. 
 
 King James the First. 
 
 Queen Anne. 
 
 Duke of Buckingham, Prime Minister. 
 
 Bishop of London. 
 
 Court Jester. 
 
 Sib Thomas Dale. 
 
 Courtiers. 
 
 Ladies of the Court. 
 
 Pages, Tipstaves, and Ushers. 
 
 Captain of the Guard and Soldiers. 
 
 Landlord of "Mermaid Inn."" 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 INDIANS. 
 Powhatan, Jxiny of Thirty Tribes. 
 Pocahontas or Matoaka, his daughter. 
 Opechancanough, Chief of the Pamuunkees. 
 Washawunda, Chief Medicine Man. 
 Kunderwarka, «. chief in love icith Pocahontas. 
 Chiscomauna, a brave. 
 Paspehegh, a bra re. 
 Women and Warriors. 
 
SCENE PLOT. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 ^cene \st. — London. Mermaid Inn, night of December IS. 1606. 
 Farewell assemblage of adventurers. 
 Introduction of Shakespeare. 
 
 ■Scene 2nd. — A country view near Blackwall. 
 
 Love scene between John Laydon and Anne Burras. 
 
 ■Scene 3rcl. — The docks at Blackwall ; departure of colonists. 
 
 ACT II. Year 1607. 
 
 *Scene \st. — Forest near Jamestown; twilight, with moon. 
 Council of Indians under Opechancanough. 
 Pocahontas attends council. 
 
 Scene 2nd. — Jamestown. Warning of Pocahontas. 
 
 Trial of Captain Smith and acquittal. 
 
 Attack of Indians and their repulse. 
 
 The plotters at work, and Kendall's treachery. 
 ■Scene 3rd. — Departure of Newport on return to England. 
 
 Captain Smith leaves on expedition. 
 
 Second warning of Pocahontas. 
 
 Plotters seize pinnace. 
 
 Smith's sudden return, after escape from ambush. 
 
 Defeat, capture, and trial of plotters. 
 
 Condemnation and execution of Kendall. 
 
 ACT III. Year, 1608. 
 
 JScene \st. — Some months later. Forest. Smith's expedition in search of 
 the "South Sea."' 
 Attack by Indians, and capture of Smith. 
 
 Scene 2nd. — Court of Powhatan. Trial of Smith. 
 
 Smith's condemnation and attempted execution. 
 The saving of Captain Smith by Pocahontas, 
 
24 Pocahontas, 
 
 Scene Srd. — Jamestown. Pestilence and famine. 
 Indian brings message from Smith. 
 Arrival of Newport with ships. \ 
 
 Scene Ath. — Forest near Jamestown. 
 
 Kunderwarka makes love to Pocahontas. 
 
 Attempted assassination of Pocahontas by rejected lover. 
 
 Her rescue by Rolfe and Laydon. 
 
 Double love scene. 
 
 Scene 5th. — Jamestown ; before a rude church. 
 Marriage of Laydon and Anne Burras. 
 Departure of party for crowning of Powhatan. 
 
 Scene 6th. — Court of Powhatan. 
 
 Crowning of Powhatan as "King Powhatan 1st." 
 
 ACT IV. Eight years later, 161(5. 
 
 Scene 1st. — London, Court of King James. 
 Presentation of Pocahontas and others. 
 
 Scene 2nd. — Grand fantastic ball at Bishop's mansion. 
 
 EPILOGUE; Five years later, 1621. 
 
 Grand Spectacular Musical Ballet. 
 
 Scene 1st. — Jamestown; nearby woods; moonlight; dialogue. 
 
 Scene 2nd. — Public square at Jamestown. 
 
 Arrival of maids; selection of wives; dances. 
 Allegorical figures. Curtain. Finis. 
 
Synopsis Drama of Pocahontas. 
 
 The action of "Pocahontas," an English-American drama of the Seven- 
 teenth Century, embraces the scenes and incidents of Virginia history, from 
 the departure of the colonists from England, in 1606, to the arrival of the 
 English maids at Jamestown., in 1621. 
 
 The entire first act is set in England. The curtain rises upon a farewell 
 assemblage of the adventurers at the "Mermaid Inn," in London, on the 
 night of December 18th, 1606, in which the dialogue develops the spirit 
 and sentiments, characteristics and plots of the members, and in the 
 quarrel scene between Radcliffe and Smith reveals the quality and temper 
 of the hero. 
 
 The play is historically correct in every essential detail. The intro- 
 duction of Shakespeare as an actor in the first scene is, of course, a piece 
 of dramatic license, but one for which may be advanced the double claim 
 of probability and consistency backed by authentic historical suggestion. 
 This suggestion is taken from John Esten Cooke's History of Virginia', in 
 which, on page 14, he tells of the "Mermaid Inn" and the characters 
 who frequented it; of the popularity of Shakespeare in London at this 
 very moment, atid of Ms probable acquaintance with John Smith, con- 
 tinuing in these words: 
 
 "This personal acquaintance of the soldier and the writer is merely 
 conjectural, but it is interesting to fancy them together at the "Mermaid," 
 talking, perhaps, of the Virginia enterprise, etc." 
 
 It is an interesting passage, and tenders a hint well worth accepting, 
 and, indeed, a moment's reflection will reveal the startling fact that no 
 other historical drama could so consistently include as an acting character 
 the majestic figure of William Shakespeare. Upon this hint we have 
 hung our cloak of fancy, and upon invitation, the great dramatist attends 
 the farewell gathering, and delivers an address suitable to the occasion. 
 
 Scene 2nd., discloses a leave-taking love passage between John Laydon 
 and Anne Burras, who later are reunited at Jamestown, and celebrate the 
 first American marriage. 
 
 Scene 3rd., finds the adventurers on the docks at Blackwall, taking 
 final leave of their wives and friends. 
 
 Act 2nd., Scene 1st., opens upon a purely American picture, making a 
 
2G Pocahontas, 
 
 striking contrast with the setting of act lirst. The scenery represents 
 the virgin American forest, in which Chief Opechancanough, of the Pa- 
 maunkee tribe of Indians^ is holding a council, deliberative of the landing 
 of the English at Jamestown, some miles away. Pocahontas or Matoaka, 
 the daughter of King Powhatan, comes in during the session of this 
 council. After nuicli discussion, the Indians resolve on the destruction 
 of tlie colony, and Opechancanough calls for a volunteer to go as spj' to 
 the English camp. None respond to this appeal, the Indians being in 
 mortal fear of tlie "tire-irons." Pocahontas volunteers to undertake this 
 mission, and the council ends with a war dance. 
 
 ticene '2nd., presents Jamestown a week or so after the landing. The 
 colonists have settled down to the work of making themselves comfortable. 
 Pocahontas appears, presumably upon the mission assigned her, but in 
 realit}^ she gives the colonists warning of the intended attack of Opechan- 
 canough. Pocahontas had previously met some of the colonists in the 
 woods near Jamestown, by whom she liad been most kindly treated, John 
 Kolfe having presented her Avith a string of beads. While Pocahontas is 
 present, Captain Smith is brought in to stand trial, upon the charge of 
 treason, for which he had been confined during the passage across. He 
 hears the warning of the Indian girl, and urges the postponement of the 
 trial in order that the colonists may prepare to meet the attack. This 
 is refused by Wingfield, the president, who holds the warning lightly and 
 treats Pocahontas with some rudeness. 
 
 The trial of Smith proceeds with much bitterness, and as tlie verdict 
 of acquittal is rendered, tho assemblage is startled by the war whoops of 
 the savages. Smith jumps to the front, and, under his leadersliip, the 
 Indians are routed. This is followed by dialogue between the plotters, 
 who have been greatly discomfited by the double triumph of their 
 formidable opponent. Raddiflfe, the arch conspirator, adroitly formulates 
 a plan, which, by way of suggestion, he imposes upon Kendall, and which 
 the latter proceeds to put into execution. Kendall, with gold in his eye, 
 has had some traffic with the Indian Kunderwarka, who, that very night, 
 is to bring him some supposed gold nuggets in exchange for a sword, 
 which he greatly covets, but the giving of which to a savage constitutes a 
 grave offense against the colony. Kendall is prompted by RadcliflFe to 
 post Kunderwarka on an intended foraging trip of Smith on the morrow, 
 that he may, with his tribe, meet the party in ambush and destroy them. 
 This meeting between Kunderwarka and Kendall takes place; the sword 
 is given by the latter, and the plot set in motion. 
 
 Captain Newport had brought three ships to Jamestown; on his return 
 to England, he left the smallest one, the pinnace, for the use of the 
 colonists in the event of their being hard pressed by the Indians. The 
 possession of this one ship meant their salvation in case of disaster 
 ashore. Radcliffe, Kendall, and Wingfield, with some others, proposed to 
 seize this vessel during tlie confusion following- tlie announcement of the 
 
The Virginia ISTonpareil. 27 
 
 attack upon Smith and his companions. Pocahontas, learning of the in- 
 tended attack, conies again to warn Smith, but is distressed to find him 
 already gone. She tells her story, and then rushes off with the intention 
 of trying to overtake the party before they reach the point of danger, 
 which is close to Jamestown. The attack takes place, and a guard, pre- 
 A'iously posted by the plotters, rushes back to camp with the intelligence, 
 and throws the colony into great confusion. During this confusion, the 
 pinnace is seized by the plotters, just as Smith, unhurt, returns upon the 
 scene. He takes in the situation at a glance, and by turning the cannon 
 upon the pinnace and threatening to blow it out of the water, compels 
 the mutineers to surrender. The trial of the plotters takes place, and 
 Kendall is condemned to death. 
 
 Act Srd., Scene \st., opens some montlis later, with the capture of 
 Smith by Indians, under Opechancanough, and portrays the Captain s 
 ready wit in warding off immediate death, which resulted in his being led 
 a prisoner before the court of King Powhatan. 
 
 Scene 2nd., shows the court of Powhatan in all its barbaric splendor : 
 the trial and condemnation of Smith, the attempted execution, and his 
 saving by Pocahontas. 
 
 Scene 3rd., represents Jamestown in the famine period. The colonists, 
 on the verge of despair, are made doubly desolate in the belief that Smith 
 has met his death. In the midst of the most intense gloom, a messenger 
 arrives from the camp of Powhatan, bearing a letter from Smith himself, 
 in which he relates his salvation and his promised release on the payment 
 of certain tools and weapons. The Indian receives the articles of ransom, 
 and Smith, who had been held in the nearby woods, is brought in. Amid 
 the general rejoicing at his appearance, the cheerful intelligence is received 
 tliat Newport comes up the river on his return trip from England. 
 
 Scene itJi., sliows Pocahontas and her Indian lover, Kunderwarka, in 
 the forest. Kunderwarka makes love advances, which Pocahontas rejects, and 
 in desperation, he binds her to a tree, for the purpose of shooting an 
 arrow through her heart. She is rescued by Rolfe and Laydon, the latter 
 appearing with his lover, Anne Burras, who has recently come with New- 
 port to Jamestown to meet him. The scene ends with a double love 
 dialogue between the two pair of lovers. 
 
 Scene otii. — Eude cluirch at Jamestown; marriage of Anne Burras to 
 John Laydon. 
 
 Scene Gth. — The court of Powhatan, and his crowning as King Pow- 
 hatan 1st., by authority of King .James. 
 
 Act 4th., 1616, eight years later. 
 
 Scene 1st. — Introduction of Pocahontas and Indians at the court of 
 James 1st. 
 
28 
 
 Pocahontas^ 
 
 Sce7ie 2nd. — Grand fantastic masque ball at the mansion of the Bishop- 
 of London. 
 
 Epilogue. — 1621, five years later. 
 
 Scene 1st. — Forest near Jamestown, under moonlight. Dialogue, un- 
 folding the situation. 
 
 Scene 2nd. — Public square at Jamestown. Grand spectacular ballet, in 
 which is shown the arrival of maids from England; their reception; the 
 selection of wives; English and Indian dances. 
 
 Entrance of allegorical figures of Columbia and Britannia, Uncle Sam 
 and John Bull, soldier and sailor with flags. 
 
 Grand Tableau. Curtain. Finis. 
 
POCAHONTAS, 
 The Virginia Nonpareil. 
 
 A Drama of the Seventeenth Century. 
 
 ACT I. 
 ■8cene. The Mermaid Inn, London. 
 Time. Xight of December ISth, 160(3. 
 
 Incident. Farewell ass.emblage of adventurers on the eve of departure 
 for Virginia. 
 
 Group and Aspect. Company consists of gentlemen, cavaliers, adven- 
 turers, men-at-arms, sailors. 
 
 Landlord and waitresses in attendance. 
 
 Some of the company are seated at small tables, tallying and playing 
 games of chance; others walking about in friendly discussion. 
 
 Captain John Smith and the Honorable George Percy are seated at 
 table in forefront of stage. 
 
 Song and Chorus, Men-at-Arms. 
 
 Old London town, we'll put hull down 
 
 Before another night, ! 
 With a hill of snow at either bow, 
 
 And a breeze that's good and right, 0! 
 
 We'll raise old England's banner high. 
 And make it good and fast, 0! 
 
 And in the hour when danger's nigh, 
 Well nail it to the mast, 0! 
 
30 Pocahontas, 
 
 Chorus — 
 
 Then Imnali for the sliips. 
 And hurrah for the men_. 
 
 And luirrah for the hind of our birth ! 
 And hurrah for the lasses. 
 No nation surpasses, 
 
 The fairest and rarest of earth! 
 
 Vir-gin-i-a, by good Queen Bess 
 Was given to our care, ! 
 
 And under James^ with God to bless 
 We'll make a landing there. 0! 
 
 And if the Spaniards bar our way, 
 W'itli brazen, haughty zeal, O! 
 
 We'll launch upon their bigot brows 
 Our honest English steel, 0! 
 
 CJionis- 
 
 Then, luirrah for tlie King, 
 And luiriali for the Queen, 
 
 And hurrah for the gem of the ocean; 
 And hurra ii for the land, 
 And the heroes that stand 
 
 To tender their lives in devotion! 
 
 Let Dons or Dutcli dispute our jialli 
 
 Across the ocean wide, O ! 
 They'll learn the might of Englisli wrath: 
 
 And wish they hadn't tried, O! 
 
 Old Xeptune is an Englishman. 
 
 And born otf Dover Beach, sir! 
 His trident's always in the van 
 
 And ever in our reach, sir! 
 
 Cltonis.- 
 
 Pcrcij. Hast heard. Sir Smith, who take.s command o' tlie ships? 
 
 SmitJi. Ave, the Honourables hatli vested tliat office in yonder 
 Newport [incUning head fownrds Ncivporf] , which doiil)tless means 
 anthority in Virginia, and, "twixt thou and T. friend Percy. I like 
 it not. 
 
 Percy. Ah, more's the pity ! T know him well ! A fellow of 
 strange conceit and loving small authority. A type of man, per- 
 haps fitted to command in small affairs, but scarcely one on whom 
 should rest the burden of so perilous a venture. 
 
The Virginia Nonpaukil. 31 
 
 •Smith. Well said. Percy; the voice, indeed, of mine own con- 
 science. Let's pray the gentleman lead ns not a merry dance to 
 hell ! I have known softer ventures lost by stronger men. 
 
 Percy. Yet, sir, there are bold and able sonls among us to 
 stand between sick failure and its victims, an^ thou, friend Smith, 
 art equal to a host ! I wisli the articles had read, "Captain Smith, 
 o' th' fleet." 
 
 Smith. You do me gracious honor, sir, and yet your words seem 
 pregnant with prophecy. For days the shadow of events has been 
 upon me, and in my musings I have already borne the burden that 
 tlic future liolds. But, faith ! we are not sooth-sayers ! and we'll 
 do our duty as becomes our Ijreed, let come what may come. 'Tis 
 a goodly company present. 
 
 Percy. Better, metliinks, 'twould ])c l)y lack of some line dandies. 
 Mark you the pair of players at yonder table; their names Ead- 
 cliffe and Wingfield; such tender hands and lackadaisical airs seem 
 better suited to the scented halls of languid ladies. That fellow 
 Radcliffe hath an insolent and knavish look, and on his reputation, 
 I warrant you, he stirs up strife ere many weeks. Yet, on the 
 whole, thiS' merry company merits Fortune's smile, and they'll 
 earn it; think you not so? 
 
 Smith. Tliat they l)e Englishmen, friend Percy, is suflficient 
 answer to thy question, for never yet hath an English band proved 
 wholly false and cowardly. None such hath ever lacked the stufl' 
 to stiffen battle lines or toe the hazard of adventure. Bo sure our 
 coming enterprise will be thus fortified. I would not miss for 
 worlds the great renown I feel will be our portion. 
 
 Percy. By th' Lord, Harry, 'tis an alluring jivospect for sturdy 
 arms and steadfast hearts. The enterprise is hard, the natives un- 
 friendly, and cruel, too: but danger is the salt that strong men love, 
 and 'tis rich with chance of honorable advancement. The path is 
 paved with gold, and the breezes blow across the fields of fame. 
 
 Smith. Master Radcliffe seems to eye us most intently, and 
 with no kindly glance. He looks, in truth, like one who dare to 
 raise the devil, but dare not fight him. In his cups I'd take him 
 for a quarrelsome fellow : metliinks he comes this way. I care not 
 for converse with him. 
 
32 Pocahontas, 
 
 Radcliffe. Approaches, flushed ivith liquor, and with sarcastic 
 and patronizing manner and loud voice addresses Smith.] Ah, 
 gentlemen, I give you greeting! The fame of chevalier Smith, 
 soldier of fortune, traveller in many lands, bane of the heathen, and 
 terror of Turks, hath reached mine ears, and I fain would speak 
 with so mighty a man. Proud, Sir Smith, to know that you s 
 with us. [Bowing low.] 
 
 Smith. I thank you, sir, that you are jjleased to flatter me : ^t 
 be assured I hold men's censure as lightly as I do their pr?' 
 The company of brave and honest men delights me; I hop ^ 
 others sail with ns to-morrow. 
 
 Radclijfe. [Insultingly.] By my soul! but 'tis well spoken. 
 
 Thou art a moralist, the pink of perfection, a man of the world 
 
 unworldly; quality! quality! spoken like a Duke! [Turning to 
 
 crowd.] What ho! my hearties! A leader! a leader! methinks 
 
 that Newport should give way to Smith ! Be ye all brave and 
 
 honest men? for, mark 3^ou well, Sir Smith would have none other 
 
 in the ships! I nominate him Admiral o' th' fleet and <leneral o' 
 
 th' forces for our coming enterprise ! 
 
 . . ^^' -,. 
 
 [Kendall attempts to stop him from talking, and to 1 fid lam 
 
 aside. Badcliffe shalrs him off and continues to addres' Smith.] 
 
 Radcliffe. By th' Great Jamos ! Sir Smith, where d' you get 
 your wisdom? 
 
 Smith. [Ster7ily.] By going about in the Avorld, and moving to 
 and fro in it ! 
 
 Kendall. [To Radcliffe in luhisper.] Forbear. I pray you; the 
 man's a sleeping lion; rouse him not; besides, he hath many friends 
 present. 
 
 Radcliffe. [Ignoring Kendall] By heavens! Sir Chevalier, 
 thou hast a keen tongue; dost thy weapon bear it company in 
 kind? 
 
 Smith. [Instantly rising and upsetting table.] If nought will 
 suit thee but to try its edge, thou may'st be satisfied — yet would I 
 use it in a better cause. [To those about.] Bear witness that this 
 quarrel was not of my seeking. 
 
 Radcliffe. [To croivd.] Bear witness also that this man's in- 
 
JAMESTOWN FLEET LEAVING BLAOKWALL, ENGLAND. 
 
The Virginia IS'onpakeil. 33 
 
 science to one above his class merits chastisement. I am of noble 
 strain, and stand not back for vulgar reputation. [To Smith.] 
 Speak truly, sir, and say thou likest me not? 
 
 Smith. To speak thee truly, my friend, thou dost not bear in 
 thy countenance a letter of recommendation. Will that suit thee? 
 RadcUffe. Thou upstart bastard ! thou liest ! 
 
 [They rush at each other with drawn swords. Badcliffe is beaten 
 back by the vigorous onslaught of Smith. Chairs and tables are 
 overturned, and just as Smith has him at his mercy they are sepa- 
 rated and held. Smith mahing poiverful efforts to get at his I-'te an- 
 tagonist. RadcUffe rather willingly permits himself to be led 
 away, and leaves the stage.] 
 
 Newport. Gentlemen, this unseemly wrangle doth much injury 
 to our reputation, and spoils the kindly purpose o' th' night. I 
 command you by the authority I possess to keep the peace. Come, 
 come ! there'll be fighting enough in good season, I'll warrant you, 
 and blood enough to float the "Constant." [To Smith.] Come, 
 cool thy passion and harbour up thy courage for better purposes ! 
 
 Smith. My courage, sir, can serve no better purpose than mine 
 honor. May this right arm be withered, and women mark me for 
 a coward, when I accept from any man an insult and resent it not ! 
 But 'tis done with, and your peace and pleasure by me shall not be 
 further marred to-night. 
 
 Gosnold. Well said ! like a true Englishman ! [Approaching 
 Smith.] Smith, my hand on it ! I relish much the companionship 
 of such as you upon this coming trip of ours. What ho ! landlord ! 
 another round, and full at my expense ! [Barmaids fill glasses, 
 Gosnold raises his glass aloft.] What ho! my hearties! Wlio 
 drinks with me to Chevalier John Smith and the happy ending o' 
 our pilgrimage? [With the exception of Wing field, Kendall and a 
 few others company drinks the toast.] 
 
 Smith. I thank you, worthy friends, and bid you fair. You do 
 me too much honor. Let us hold praise alone for fruits of worthy 
 action. I've rattled down a thousand miles of hell in my short 
 time, and, by the smile of God, I warrant you to step the measure 
 o' th' coming dance. Comrades o' mine, we play for mighty stakes. 
 
34 Pocahontas, 
 
 but in the game must reckon savage hate and all the ills that front 
 the path of venture. Let there be peace among ourselves. I can 
 but promise ye that if I fall 'twill be with all my wounds in front ! 
 [Enthusiastic cheers from assemblage.'] 
 
 Fullfat, a soldier. Very pretty an' h'all that; but, marry I 
 dote not h'overmuch on starting out to land somewhere, h'any- 
 where, nobody knows where. I dreamed last night o' th' cannibal 
 h'islands, think you we chance them? 
 
 McLoyne, a soldier. An" that we do ! Hoot, mon ! we may all 
 come to the pot 3'et. I had a brother ance who went out to civilize 
 the heathen ; he always said he had a tender feeling for them. His 
 name was Clarence. The cannibals had a kindly feeling for him, 
 took to him on sight, and he never came back any more. 
 
 O'Trigger, Irish soldier. By th' holy smoke ! th' joke was on yer 
 brother! ba ! ha! Took him in, did they? Took in the sthranger 
 from a sthrange land what had a tinder feeling f er thim, did they ? 
 And his name was Loyne — tinder-loin, as it were ! They oughter 
 had old porter-house along. [Pointing to Fullfat.] Be hivens, 
 they'd a stocked the island with baf e f er a saeson — so they would ! 
 But it's all in a day's wur'rk, as the hunter said whin the lion ate 
 him. I would gladly dhrink to yer brother's good circula'ation, me 
 fri'nd, if ye have th' price. I move that neighbor Wilson yonder, 
 with th' fresh fish voice, eddify th' company with ther grand old 
 hymn — "King o' th' Cannibal Islands." [Laughter.] 
 
 [Gosnold and Eolfe join Smith and Percy at their talle.] 
 
 Gosnold. A right merry lot ! the very sort to keep the melan- 
 choly doldrums moving. 
 
 Percy. And the Irishman is not the least among them. A 
 merry-an-drew, indeed. If his valour be as sharp as his wit, he'll 
 be no laggard when occasion calls. 
 
 Rolfe. I pin my faith to the man who can laugh, or sing, or 
 dance. Your sombre fools that scowl and meditate, or those of 
 manner haughty who deem a laugh beneath their dignity, are not 
 to my liking. Marry, the world's a joke, and why not laugh at it ? 
 say I. 
 
 Percy. I am 0' your way of thinking. Where happiness is land- 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 35 
 
 lord there would I be a tenant. The present crowd's in th' main a 
 rough and ready lot, and there be those among them who would 
 sail in a sieve with the devil for skipper. 
 
 Gosnold. Yet 'tis a serious business we embark upon to-morrow, 
 and colonizing new worlds can scarce be reckoned among the humor- 
 ous things o' life. The end no man can see, and at best we can but 
 pray we earn success. 
 
 Smith. At least we'll strive to merit it. 
 
 Oosnold. Of that I have no doubt. But let us not too lightly 
 hold our coming trial. 'Twill need the best our fortitude can show, 
 I'll warrant you. I've set my eyes upon those vast and solitary 
 shores, and the noble Ealeigh — that lofty eagle pining in the Tower 
 cage — hath told me further of these regions whither we are bound. 
 Great soul ! my heart bled at the sight of him pining for the air of 
 liberty ! 
 
 Smith. How gained you entrance to the Tower? I thought 
 'twas difficult unless one had some influence near the Lords. 
 
 Gosnold. 1 have done some service to the country in my time, 
 and my request to visit Ealeigh was allowed. 'Twas but ten days 
 ago I saw him there and spent all of an hour in his illustrious com- 
 pany. Marry, when the nation needs its boldest men it is a foul 
 trick to keep so great an one from fields of enterprise. I urged 
 him to petition the King to let him join us. 
 
 Percy. [Eagerly.] Wliat said he to that? 
 
 Gosnold. An eager light came in his splendid eyes. He rose 
 and paced the floor with quick expectant motion. He seemed to 
 breathe again the generous air of ocean's expanse. The light of 
 freedom for an instant transformed his countenance. The massive 
 walls and cruel bars had for an instant faded, and once again the 
 spirit of daring was in its native element; but not for long. Sud- 
 denly he stood, and fixed on me a look I never shall forget, and 
 with gesture of despair resumed his seat. I again urged the peti- 
 tion, and he promised to consider it. 
 
 Smith. My life regret will be I never met this man. By Saint 
 Paul ! were there yet time I would strive to do so. 'Tis, as you say, 
 a shame upon the land to keep him caged. He would make the 
 
36 Pocahontas, 
 
 stoutest piece of timber our ships could carry. How passes he the 
 weary hours in that most dismal place? 
 
 Gosnold. In writing. He showed me manuscript in piles upon 
 the history of the world. 'Twas wonderful ! His discourse is 
 worthy of a king's audience. His interest in literature hath merci- 
 fully soothed the bitterness of imprisonment. By the way! he 
 talks with wonderful enthusiasm of this man Shakespeare, now in 
 London, whom he accounts the marvel of the earth. He seemed 
 surprised I had not seen his plays. 
 
 Percy. Truly, Gosnold, thou hast missed it. Sir Walter voices 
 my very opinion. A wonderful man — this Shakespeare, of incom- 
 parable excellence, a very monarch of the world of letters, a man 
 of nature's best moulding, and, if I be judge, a splendid star to be 
 the light of all the future. 'Tis an honor to live and breathe th? 
 same air with such a man. My proudest boast will be that I have 
 grasped the hand of this same William Shakespeare. 
 
 Smith. Thou knowest him then? 
 
 Percy. Aye, that I do; and thou may'st have the same high 
 privilege. 'Twas but two nights ago, after attending one of his 
 plays, that I sought introduction to him. I told him of this Vir- 
 ginia enterprise, and that I was one o' th' company; also that we 
 held a farewell gathering here to-night. He expressed desire to 
 see and know the men of such a mission, wliereupon I invited him 
 hither. 
 
 Gosnold . [Eagerly.] What said he to that? 
 
 Percy. That he would give himself the pleasure if nothing pre- 
 vented of visiting the Mermaid to-night at the hour of nine. 
 
 Smith. Marry, but this is most fortunate ! Why mentioned you 
 not this sooner? [Loohing at clock.] The time draws on apace. 
 'Twere well, perhaps, to prepare the crowd for so distinguished a 
 visitor. I'll hail them. [Rising and knocking his glass upon the 
 table for attention.] What, ho! Give heed a moment, men! 
 [Company becomes silent and attends to Smith.] Men, know any 
 of you of one William Shakespeare? 
 
 Voices. Aye, that we do. ' 
 
 Fullfat. A play-writer who they say hath set London by the 
 h' ears. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 37 
 
 O'Trigger. Holy smoke ! I kin hindorse the gintleman. Hav'nt 
 I attinded at Blackfriar's whin he raised me in me seat with hin- 
 thusiasm. There's the wit and illoqiience nv a rigiment in that 
 man, an' if he wasn't born in Ireland, it's not his fault, but it's 
 his native country jist the same! [Laughter.'] 
 
 Smith. Give ear, men, to what I say. This Shakespeare is a 
 great man, accounted by those who know one of the greatest 
 Englishmen of all time, a man who doth his country honor, and 
 one who hath, indeed, "the god's own grace of utterance." He hath 
 promised to cheer this gathering with his presence to-night, and it 
 is meet that we should give one so illustrious a greeting worthy of 
 himself and of our own intelligence. 
 
 Smith. [Pointing to docTc.] He comes at nine if he comes at 
 all, and the moment draws apace. See that you conduct yourselves 
 in goodly manner. 
 
 Percy. In truth, he hath not disappointed us, for here he comes ! 
 [Rises and walks to wing to meet Shahespeare.] 
 
 [Enter Shahespeare upon the arm of Percy. Entire assemblage 
 rises upon their entrance.] 
 
 Percy. [Introducing Shahespeare.] Captain, gentlemen, and 
 men of the Virginia colony ! it is my proud privilege to present 
 to you Master William Shakespeare, a man of whom you all have 
 heard, and who hath honored us with his presence to give some 
 words of greeting and farewell to our high emprise. 
 
 Newport. In the name of the company. Sir Shakespeare, I give 
 you greeting, and bid you welcome to our scant festivities, indeed 
 unworthy of so great a guest. [Enthusiastic cheers from assem- 
 blage.] 
 
 Shahespeare. [Boiuing.] Your kindly temper and fair words of 
 welcome, friends, do me much honor. The heart, triumphant alche- 
 mist, turns bawbles into gold, and so your greeting, coming from 
 the heart, falls on mine own with golden accents. But, more anon, 
 when I have caught the spirit of your enterprise from these fair 
 gentlemen. 
 
 [Shahespeare seats himself at table with Percy and Smith. 
 Newport approaches and mahes one of the company. Leading 
 members come forivard to shahe hands luith Shahespeare and re- 
 
38 Pocahontas, 
 
 tire. Drink is served to men-at-arms and sailors, who engage in a 
 song (same as at commencement.) Landlord ivaits in person at 
 Shakespeare's table, whose occupants engage in animated and af- 
 fable conversation unheard by audience.'] 
 
 Smith. [Rising and rapping for order.] Landlord, fill the 
 glasses round, an' with your best, for that to follow will be worthy 
 o' it, I'll warrant ! 
 
 \Glasses are filled. Smith extends his for toast.] 
 
 Smith. Men o' th' fleet, and gentlemen o' th' company ! I pro- 
 pose we drink deep and hearty to Virginia-Britannia and the suc- 
 cess of our enterprise ! 
 
 [Puts the toast to Shakespeare, who acknoivledges it with a bow 
 and advances to front of stage slowly and in deep thought.] 
 
 *Shakespeare. [Meditative. To soft music Intermezzo Cav. 
 (RWiY of coNGPtoSIs^icancr. ] 
 
 wo Copies Received I 
 
 The times, methinks, are full of high emprise, 
 The very air breathes wonders, and the light 
 Of starry days to come 
 Sheds lustre on our own. 
 
 APR 22 1907 
 
 |«B^)Bht Entry 
 ASS O- XXCm No, 
 
 f5;x2V i 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 E'en now, and here — within these paltry walls 
 A blaze is lit whose warmth 
 To endless multitudes will be a comfort 
 Through all the ages. 
 
 To unknown lands and stranger company 
 Ere long these merry faces shall be turned: 
 What pilgrim parting from this blessed England 
 Would not a longing tarriance make 
 
 * Shakespeare's Address in the Drama of Pocahontas, by George Frederic 
 Viett. Copyright 1906. 
 
 The application on file with the Librarian of Congress, on which copy- 
 right was granted this address reads: : 
 
 "Copyright protection of this address is designed to secure to the 
 author exclusive right for the production of the impersonation of William 
 Shakespeare, English dramatist, as a stage character in any play or drama 
 relating to the setllement of Virginia, in the year 1607." 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 39 
 
 And nurse the pleasant hours — as you do now? 
 
 What heart first fashioned on our English soil 
 
 Could pluck itself away without a pang 
 
 Or farewell salutation? [Cries of Aye! Aye!] 
 
 Reflective. 
 
 Upon those ancient tombs, where Pharaohs lie, 
 The silent centuries are heaped, and 5'et 
 The Golden Age is in the future's womb. 
 Wliat signs hath destiny disclosed 
 But ratified the prophet's utterance? 
 And this the token that the spirit sees 
 By shadowy fingers traced upon these very walls 
 Around your forms : mark well the prophecy ! 
 
 Proplietic. 
 
 The misty curtain rolls aside; I see 
 
 Succession on succession rise 
 
 In towering magnificence. 
 
 Crowned with a covenant of peace, and hope. 
 
 And larger liberty ! 
 
 And o'er it all 
 
 A light to human eyes insufferable. 
 
 Descriptive prefigure. 
 
 " God's ways are on the sea, his wonders in the deep !" 
 Now on the bosom of the waters stand revealed 
 Three frail and tiny barques. 
 The elements are kind and over seas serene 
 A precious freight is wafted. 
 Anon, a dark conspiracy of sea and sky 
 Doth threaten vengeance on devoted heads; 
 The howl of hungry depths, the tempest's wrath. 
 Boused by the trident that dread Neptune shakes, 
 Make mighty chorus ! 
 
 Yet of stern stuff these voyagers are made ; 
 The hands that hold the helms shake not; 
 The prows are pointed West, and on their destined course 
 
40 Pocahontas, 
 
 Witli grips of steel the ships are held. 
 
 The spirit of the deep hath met its master ! 
 
 The form that stands with steady breath 
 
 Is of a Saxon mould — Lord of the Sea is he! 
 
 The tattered rag that braves aloft 
 
 Is Britain's banner. The mariners, who toil beneath. 
 
 Are of the tribe whence Vikings came. 
 
 They know no haven but one hallowed spot, 
 
 One point of pilgrimage — and it lies oxward ! 
 
 [Bravos and great a^jjiJausc] 
 
 Apostrophic. 
 
 Virginia ! starry one of steUai' l)irth ! 
 Wliat tidings dost thou waft to waiting ears ? 
 What mighty things are held within thy womb ? 
 Fair child of Albion, unveil thy mystery ! 
 
 Prophetic. 
 
 ISToAv glowing Fancy waves her magic wand, 
 
 And at her beck' a wondrous pageant moves 
 
 Across the sunny screen of life ! 
 
 A gen'rous mother sits on Freedom's throne, 
 
 And from her loins go forth a splendid brood 
 
 Of many nations. And glorious figures move, 
 
 And one bears on his brow 
 
 A light that sliall not fade, 
 
 For Liberty stands at his side 
 
 And holds him best beloved of all her stately host ! 
 
 Though rash my fancy, yet will Fate countersign it. 
 
 From out the stress and turmoil of the centuries 
 
 A happy lage appears. An age whereof. 
 
 Through all the perilous years, 
 
 A tearful world had dreamed. 
 
 Not since Edenic gates were shut 
 
 Upon his ancient parent's back 
 
 Hath been such blessed restfulness to son of man. 
 
 ISTow, fetterless, the panting slave 
 
: The Virginia Noxpareil. 41 
 
 Doth draw his first sweet breath of liberty, 
 
 And in his place the pond'roiis elements chained 
 
 To mankind's cliariot and his baser service. 
 
 'Not lightly won shall be this happy goal. 
 
 But from the tempest and the pestilence, 
 
 The savage hate of savage men, 
 
 From desolation, and red harvest fields of war. 
 
 Where, in their gory beds, the congregated sleepers lie. 
 
 E'en from the perilous content of peace 
 
 Wliich breedeth serpents. 
 
 Must come the victory ! 
 
 So, ever and anon, the prospect darkens. 
 
 And gloom of terror and eclipse prevails; 
 
 And many races seek this hospitable shore. 
 
 And some ungrateful, some to virtue lost, 
 
 Come but to feed and leave a dirty track 
 
 To mark their passage. 
 
 The monster. Mammon, prates his vicious subtleties 
 
 And spreads a cankerous trail; 
 
 And foes within vexation nurse : 
 
 Yet out of all comes forth 
 
 A nation ! marvel o' the earth ! 
 
 Of Saxon genius and of Saxon speech ! 
 
 [Company rises spontaneously with wild applause. The speaker 
 mahes motion of silence.'] 
 
 Inspiratory exhortation. 
 
 Go forth, then. Men of England, in the world ! 
 
 I fain would stand with you upon that farther shore. 
 
 Bound which the meditative ocean rolls 
 
 Its vast eternal flood. 
 
 It is the promised land ! 
 
 And you the vanguard and the outer fringe 
 
 Of that great Saxon tide whose flood 
 
 Shall fertilize and bless the earth. 
 
 Go consecrate with your good English blood 
 
 The lands where heathen rage, 
 
42 Pocahontas, 
 
 And rear the columns of the living faith 
 
 In chastened temples on long-desecrated ground. 
 
 Dominion of the sea is thine — by valor sealed ; 
 
 Wide fields of fair renown and reputation wait 
 
 The hands of daring men ! 
 
 Fare you, then, forth upon your destined way, 
 
 "Until no wind can sweep the earth 
 
 That bears not echo of our English tongue !" 
 
 [Tremendous applause from company. Demonstration over 
 Shakespeare. Tableau. Drop.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A country road with nearby cottage. Time — The following morn- 
 ing. Enter John Laydon with Anne Burras, the latter sob- 
 bing. Soft music — Mendelssohn s Spring Song. 
 
 Laydon. [Drawing Anne to his bosom and hissing her.] 
 Prithee, peace ! Thou wilt unman me. Would'st thou have me 
 stay at home when brave men are up and doing? 
 
 Anne. 0, my John ! go you not forth upon this rash venture. 
 Think of the perils, the sea, and the ships so small and weak; the 
 untried lands to which they are bound, to which some of our people 
 have already gone to return no more. Oh ! I cannot bear the 
 thought. Your poor mother will not be comforted. E'en the 
 children cry, they know not why. Bide thou with us — go not to- 
 day I pray you. Canst thou not wait until the ships have reached 
 that far-off land and report the venture safe? Thou couldst 
 then go, and I, perhaps, might bear you company. 
 
 Laydon. Why, love of mine ! thou talkest as 'twere my death 
 sure and certain. Surely men have sailed the seas before and 
 met no harm, and set their feet on foreign shores, and thence re- 
 turned to home and loved ones. Besides, consider, the enterprise 
 may profitable prove beyond all expectations; at least, 'tis full of 
 chance for honorable advancement. The King himself, 'tis said, 
 hath expressed admiration and kindly feeling for the men who go 
 under the gallant ISTewport. 
 
The Virginia Konpaeeil. 43 
 
 Anne. Aye, that may all be true, but it gives no comfort to my 
 breaking heart. Marry, if the King likes it so much, why goes he 
 not along? I shall go melancholy-mad without thee, counting the 
 weary days until I know that thou art safe. John, dear John ! bide 
 at home, I beseech thee ! 
 
 Laydon. Why, Anne, did I not know thy brave and noble heart, 
 I would sorely doubt thee. Wouldst thou marry a shirk ? Wouldst 
 have John Laydon prove the single coward o' th' crew? Surely, 
 Anne, thou hast more pluck and spirit than that ! Couldst thou 
 have been with me last night, at the Mermaid, and heard the words 
 of Master Shakespeare, why, Anne, thou wouldst have donned a 
 sword thyself, and begged to Join the company, e'en though I 
 were not there. 
 
 Anne. Well, what is to be must be, I suppose. Thou wilt be 
 true to me, John? 
 
 Laydon. Wliile life shall last, my love ! [Kissing her.] 
 
 Aline. There are no women in this Virginia, as you call it, 
 John? 
 
 Laydon. None like you, dear; only Indian and savage ones. 
 
 Anne. Thou wilt not fall in love with one of these Indian maids, 
 John ? 
 
 Laydon. Not while the memory of you bides in my breast ! 
 [ReproachfiiUy.] How couldst thou say such a thing? 
 
 Anne. Forgive me for it, dear John. But men, you know, 
 when reft of friends and melancholy — lonesome, will do strange 
 things, and I have heard that some of these Indians are comely, 
 and of winning ways, and you will have no one to love [crying] ; 
 and out o' sight is out o' mind, they do say ! 
 
 John. [E^nhracing and hissing her.] If thou wilt be as true 
 to me as I to thee, thou wilt be Anne Laydon yet, my own sweet 
 wife — my word on it. Tell me again, sweet pet, thou lovest and 
 wilt be true to me forever. 
 
 Anne. Aye, that I will, and well I know my lieart is thine, for 
 the merry sunshine will be sad without thee, and there will be no 
 scent in the flowers, and no joy in the song of the birds, and I can 
 but watch and pray until I see you again ; and if you come not back 
 in good time, I shall be minded to take the next ships after thee. 
 
44 Pocahontas, 
 
 Lay don. God grant it come to pass, dear, for any desert were a 
 paradise with thee to bless it. Xow, darling, sing me once more 
 that sweet and pretty little song so ably wrought by thine own 
 skill ; T conld never tire of it. 
 
 Anne. Thou dost flatter me, Master Laydon, bnt I must not re- 
 fuse thee anything now. {Sings.] 
 
 1. When, in thy wanderings 
 
 O'er deep seas afar, 
 Lonely thy heart may be 
 Think, then, of me. 
 
 2. Night on tlie battle-field. 
 
 Bright stars their vigil keep. 
 Think what the day maj- see, 
 Turn, then, to me. 
 
 3. And when the wild winds roar, 
 
 Night on a rock-bound shore, 
 God, thy protector be. 
 Think, then, of me. 
 
 4. When, in sad restrospect. 
 
 Heart-ache and dumb regret. 
 Life not what life might be, 
 Think, then, of me. 
 
 5. Long is the lonely night, 
 
 Sad is the morn so bright, 
 Dim my poor aching sight; 
 Haste, love, to me. 
 
 G. I am thy guiding star. 
 
 Come back from lands afar. 
 Look in thy heart and see 
 Image of me. 
 
 Laydon. Bless yon, darling ! Thy silver voice will chime sweet 
 cadence in my soul forever. But now, dear heart, I must not tarry 
 longer; the few remaining hours are full of preparation, and I 
 have much to do. Thou'lt surely be with the gathering at Black- 
 wall, wilt thou not? 
 
 Anne. Though it kill me, I would not miss that last farewell. 
 I will be there, dear John. {They embrace; John tears himself 
 aivay.] 
 
 Ljoydon. Au revoir, dear heart ! 
 
The Virginia ISTonpareil. 45 
 
 SCEXE III. 
 
 The docks at Blachwall. View of the river Thames ivith roius of 
 ships, barges and boats. Adventurers are assembled with their 
 wives, sweethearts and children, all tallclng earnestly together, 
 and some crying. A friendly dog goes to and fro among the 
 croivd. Enter Radcliffe and Kendall aside in serious conver- 
 sation. 
 
 Kendall. Upon my soul ! but I have had strange misgivings o' 
 this random venture; yet yester'en I visited an astrologer, who 
 urged me much against it. 
 
 Radcliffe. Gro to man ! surely, 'tis only old women pin their 
 faith to signs, dreams and omens. Come, sir, we have better busi- 
 ness on hand ! 
 
 Kendall. Yes, but, all the same, there be malign stars in the 
 heavens, and there be men born under them. I was born without 
 luck, and have lately had most hellish premonitions. 
 
 Radcliffe. Thou talkest like a child. The time admits no weak 
 ■delay. We have good men on our side, and once we gain the upper 
 hand in the colony our fortune is secured. I am slated for a seat 
 in the council; the next step will be the presidency and complete 
 control, and then I'll make some beggars dance, I promise you. 
 
 Kendall. Tliis villain Smith hath given a taste of quality that 
 makes, methinks, to shatter all thy expectations. His very manner 
 breathes authority. 
 
 Radcliffe. Damn those laggard Turks, they did not settle him 
 when in their power ; but leave him to me, curse him ; and if he bo 
 not hanged ere many months, I'll sorely miss my mark. 
 
 Kendall. Thou reckon'st, Radcliffe, with a formidable foe, and in 
 thy compromise with prudence heed well thy steps. I promise you 
 his neck was never made for the hangman's noose, or any man's 
 collar. Why didst thou reveal our game by turning the nasty edge 
 o' thy tongue outward 'thout rhyme or reason? 
 
 Radcliffe. Please you, sir, I was a fool, but no more o' it ! 
 This boisterous cavalier is but human, and there are harder things 
 than flesh and blood, however strong. We'll take the Spaniards 
 for our model and line our purses and have forever done with this 
 
46 Pocahontas^ 
 
 wretched tame drudgery and the bondage of poverty. That 
 is for me the purpose of this trip. Come, summon up thy courage, 
 and leave the rest to luck. We go to opportunity, and 'tis no time 
 to yawn the chance away. [They mingle luith croiud.] 
 
 Same scene. 
 
 First Woman. Oh ! would that I might go abroad with my poor 
 man, e'en though it were to death. Marr}^, I'd be happier than at 
 home without him. 
 
 Second ^Yo172an. Aye, aye, I be o' th' same mind ! Curse these 
 money-mad devils, I say, who take our good men from their 
 homes and children and lie themselves i' their soft beds at home! 
 [Crying.] 
 
 Third Woman. Perhaps 'twill not be so bad as ye think. The 
 worthy Captain Newport hath assured me that all things will go 
 well, and that when he returns we that like may have a chance to 
 join our men in Virginia. The prospect makes me bide in pati- 
 ence, tho' 'tis hard, I'll admit, to see them go. 
 
 O'Trigger. Ladies, it's axing yer parding I am fer th' in- 
 troshun ; but by th' holy smoke ! it's ther main pint ye've forgot- 
 ten, an' I wud like ter mintion ther fact that absince makes th' 
 hear'rt grow fonder, as th' pote will say later on, tho', I must ad- 
 mit, it's har'rd on ther hear'rt during ther hinterval. Shure ! I'm 
 absint from me own woife, an' ther longer I sthay away th' fonder 
 I am uv her absint company. Some day I'll be takin' me woife's 
 husband home to her, I will. Whin ye see yer byes agin a foine lot 
 uv chaps they'll be, so they will, an' there'll be lovin' enough ter 
 last ye a loife time; therefore, ladies, I say don't fret, for ivery- 
 thing '11 come out in the ind ef yer kape straight and tidy ! 
 
 First Woman. [With a sniif.] An' it's proud, indeed, a man 
 may be of a good wife. Says I to John, says I [pointing to John], 
 "Ye'll never know the treasure ye had. lad, until ye be gone among 
 the cannibals an' th' heathen." 
 
 O'Trigger. Eight ye are. Mum ; he niver will know ! I oftin 
 think th' same meself. It's a swate solace to an orphin loike me 
 to have a good woife at home whin I'm away. Oh, it's a good 
 woman I have, indade, an' I kin hear her swate voice ringin' in 
 me ears as she lits th' poker dally gintly round me devoted brow ! 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 47 
 
 "G'wan, Terry," says she, "lave the bosom uv ther woman what 
 loves and despises ye, an' cum back whin ye git reddy, bnt don't 
 hinconvanience yerself." Oh, it's a swate thing is home and con- 
 jubial bliss; an' it's me that looks for-rard with fond ixpictashun 
 to puttin' me legs under me own table agin, an' gittin' the hot tae 
 down me neck, an' ther butter bowl betwixt me optics. Yes, Mum, 
 a good woife's a jule beyant price, an' me own's not fer sale. 
 [They stand aside.] 
 
 [Enter Gosnold and Smith hurriedly.] 
 
 Gosnold. We appear to be the last to arrive, friend Smith. 
 
 Smith. We'll not be last to do our duty, sir, I hope. But 
 peace ! the good Master Hunt doth claim our attention. 
 
 Bev. Mr. Hunt. Friends, come gather about me. [To New- 
 port.] Captain, are our people all assembled? 
 
 Newport. Please you, sir, they be all present. 
 
 Rev. Hunt. Friends and fellow-voyagers : It is meet and proper 
 that we should ask the blessing of Almighty God upon our going 
 forth from this dear land; you will therefore join me in prayer. 
 [Company kneels.] Heavenly Father, be pleased, we beseech thee, 
 to look down upon this little company of pilgrims and to receive 
 them into thy protection. Preserve us, Lord, from the dangers 
 of the sea and the violence of savage enemies. Vouchsafe thy bless- 
 ing upon this venture, that it may redound to thy glory and honor, 
 and to the welfare and peace of all mankind. Grant us, Lord, 
 safe conduct over thy great waters, and, in thy time, Lord, a 
 happy return to home and loved ones. Bless these women and 
 children whom we leave behind, and fill their hearts with fortitude 
 to bear in patience the pangs of separation from those they love. 
 Bless, Lord, the land we leave, that it may ever bear the banner 
 of the true faith. Bless, Lord, the land to which we go, that it 
 may be redeemed from the powers of darkness and made to shine 
 among the nations. Bless, Lord, our sovereign James; and bless, 
 Lord, the leaders of this enterprise and every person that com- 
 poses it, to the end that they be true servants unto thee forever. 
 Amen. [Company responds, Amen, and rises.] 
 
 [Men prepare to take ships. Demonstration among women. 
 John Lay don and Anne Burras in each other's arms, she clinging 
 
48 POCAIIOXTAS, 
 
 passionately to him. Finally men disengage themselves and group 
 on one side of stage, women on the other. Tableau.] 
 
 Smith. Men ! let's have three cheers for merry England and 
 Virginia! [Cheers.] 
 
 [Curtain falls on men leaving the stage with ivomen lueeping and 
 leaving handkerchiefs after theiyi.] 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene First. — Forest near Jamestown; twilight ivith moon. Soft 
 weird music by orchestra. 
 
 Group Aspect. — Council of Indians under Opechancanough. 
 Chief discovered sitting on raised seat made of logs, guard on 
 either side standing. Braves reclining and standing in dif- 
 ferent attitudes about chief in semi-circle. Other Indians 
 straggle in. All fully armed with bows, spears and tomahaivks. 
 Chief rises and attendant approaches ivith rude drum on which 
 Opechancanough gives three sharp taps. Indians immediately 
 draw near ivith peculiar flurry of manner and short cries, seat- 
 ing themselves cross-legged around chief in half-moon form- 
 ation. Sentries patrol about council. 
 
 Opechan. Warriors of tlie Pamaunkees ! Opechancanough speaks 
 to you with heavy heart. You have seen the great white-winged 
 canoes of the Yenghees resting on the waters of our tribes. You 
 have seen the strangers set their tents upon the land of our fathers. 
 You have heard the thunder of the big irons and seen the lightning 
 of their fire-bows ! ^Yha.t have you to say ? 
 
 Wushawunda, a medicine man. For many days the eyes of the 
 Pamaunkees have been vexed and their hearts made hot with hate. 
 A good half moon hath passed, and still the white faces go not 
 away. Okce hath spoken to Wushawunda ! 
 
 Opechan. Let the Medicine of my lodge speak to my people and 
 tell them the will of the mightv Okee. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 49 
 
 [Wushaivunda rises and commences slow weird dance, accom- 
 panied with grotesque gestures and contortions of countenance. 
 Braves give expression to suppressed excitement by sounds and pe- 
 culiar movements of heads. Wushawunda commences his response 
 with droning song.l 
 
 ]Yushawunda. 
 
 Wab isli kiz ze. Na do wai u — auneende aindauyun? 
 "White man, enemy, where do you dwell ? 
 An e moosh ! muk ak ie ! Miskwe ! Ishkodai ! 
 Dog! Toad! Blood! Fire! 
 
 [Indians become more excited. Kunderwarha leaps to feet and 
 commences fierce dance. '\ 
 
 Wushawunda. A great snake hath come to the wigwams of the 
 Powhatans ! The great snake hath a sting of fire ! Okee commands 
 his people to drive the snakes away ! They must drive them into 
 the waters ! The water will put out their stings of fire ! Wusha- 
 wunda, Medicine of the Pamaunkees, hath spoken. 
 
 [Executes wild dance with face turned upwards.^ 
 
 Opechan. The warriors of Powhatan have heard the words of 
 Okee, the great Spirit. The Medicine's words are sweet to the ears 
 of the Pamaunkees. The great Spirit hath given them the land 
 with the waters about for their own. The white dogs must go. 
 Their scalps must deck the girdles of our braves. Their bones 
 must whiten the river side ! The Yenghees dogs must die ! 
 [Indians rise to their feet with shrill cries.] The Pamaunkees are 
 not women ! The Pamaunkees are not children ! The Monicans 
 have felt the weight of their arms ! They are sons of the great 
 Powhatan, who hath many braves. But our foes are cunning as the 
 wolf ! We must give them food and sing them to sleep, for they 
 have the fire of the evil one, and their reach is long ! Opechanca- 
 nough hath spoken. What is the will of his people ? 
 
 [Indians commence war dance in silence, gradually hreahing 
 into war song. One brave leads off, and gradually the whole tribe 
 joins in. Wushawunda moves among them, shahing fetish in their 
 faces.] 
 
50 Pocahontas^ 
 
 Indians. [ If ar dance and song.^ 
 
 Os-haw-a-wan-ung, un-dos-sen-ug, 
 Pe-nas-ew-ng ka baun-Avai-dun-zig ! 
 
 From the South they come, the war-like birds, 
 Hark to their passing screams ! 
 
 To-dot-o-bi pen-a-ise ka dow wi-aw-wi-aim ! 
 I wish to have the body of the fiercest liird, 
 As swift, as cruel, as strong ! 
 
 Ne wa-wa-ai-ben-ay, ne-ow-ai, 
 Ka-ga-it ne min-wain-dum, 
 Ne-bum-ai-kum-ig tshe-bai-bew-ish-e-naun ! 
 
 I cast my body away to the chance of battle. 
 Full happy am I to lie in the field — 
 On the field over the enemy's line ! 
 
 {Bcpetition as often as necessary. The Indian dialect should her 
 rendered folloived hy the translation after each line. Signal to 
 stop given hy drum taps.] 
 
 Opcchan. It is Avell. Thus shalt it be done to our enemies. Let 
 the Pamaunkees be wary. Let them first learn the ways of these 
 Yenghees. Opechancanough seeks a brave to go into the camp of 
 the white men. [Pauses and tools about him. None volunteer.] 
 
 [Enter Pocahontas with several other Indian maidens. Indians 
 give her respectful greeting after their fashion. Chief hechons her 
 to a seat beside him. Pocahontas' real name among her people was 
 Matoaka.] 
 
 Opechancanough gives greeting to the much beloved daughter of 
 Powhatan — the Princess Matoaka. The Pamaunkees welcome Ma- 
 toaka to their councils. AATiat dost the fair Matoaka know of these 
 Yenghees ? 
 
 Pocahontas. ILatoaka has met and spoken with some of them. 
 See, here is what one of them gave to Matoaka. [Shoius necklace 
 of heads about her neck, at which Indians look with much curi- 
 osity.] Matoaka thinks these Yenghees are harmless, and want 
 nothing but a little land. They have sweet tongues and kind 
 looks. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil, 51 
 
 Opeclian. Has Matoaka been into the camp of the Yenghees ? 
 
 PocaJwn. The Yenghees asked Matoaka to come in, but she was 
 afraid of the fire bows and thunder irons, and did not go. 
 
 Opechon. The Pamaunkees must send brave to make friends witb 
 these Yenghees. He must learn all about them, and how best my 
 warriors may strike them with death. Let the brave step forward! 
 who will go into their camp ! [Indians remain silent, looJcing at 
 each other.'] 
 
 K under IV arka, a minor chief. Chief of the Pamaunkees ! when 
 you did ask for men to go into the camp of the Monicans, Kunder- 
 warka went. Wlien Opechancanough called for a brave to battle 
 with their chief, Kunderwarka took the war-path — and see ! here is 
 his scalp ! It was Cohonk time and Kunderwarka swam the river 
 followed by a hundred arrows, but he likes not to set foot among 
 the evil ones who use the lightning and the cloud to kill their ene- 
 mies. Kunderwarka has said it ! {Indians manifest their approval 
 of his sentiments hy grunts.] 
 
 Opechan. Opechancanough is sad that any of his braves are 
 afraid. Opechancanough would not be chief of squaws and pa- 
 pooses. Opechancanough asks again : Which of his warriors will go ? 
 [Still no response.] 
 
 Pocahontas. Let the Pamaunkees hear the daughter of Powha- 
 tan. Matoaka will go alone to the camp of the Yenghees. She is 
 not afraid now, for her heart tells her the strangers will not harm 
 her. She will return and tell Opechancanough what she sees. 
 
 Opechan. Matoaka is as brave as she is beautiful. She is the 
 fawn with the heart of the panther. Matoaka shames the braves of 
 Pamaunkee. Let Matoaka go, and come quick, for the heart of 
 Opechancanough is thirsty for the Yenghees' blood. We will hold 
 council here to-morrow to hear what the daughter of Powhatan will 
 tell us, and the sunset shall be the signal to fall upon the wigwams 
 of the pale-faces ! 
 
 [Indians resume war dance. Pocahontas leaves, followed hy her 
 attendants. Kunderivarha importunes and tries to accompany her; 
 she rejects him with some impatience. Scene shifts upon war 
 dance, or exeunt.] 
 
■52 Pocahontas, 
 
 SCENE TT. 
 
 Jamestoivn about ten days after Inndiiir/ of colonists. Enter Percy 
 and Rolfe, the latter rather dejected. 
 
 Percy. Beseech yon, sir, be merry ! the air breathes on ns here 
 most sweetly. Thy countenance would indicate that thou hast just 
 returned from the funeral of all thy hopes ! 
 
 Rolfe. Bless you, Percy; I seldom sulk at Fortune's unkind 
 freaks, but surely the merry wench hath played us somewhat of a 
 «curvy trick. The aspect o' th' land gives promise for all fair and 
 pleasant things o' life, I grant you, but dissension bids to make of 
 it a most uncommon hell. Jettisoned, in a wanton wilderness we 
 are. Suspicion's on the watch within, and a world of envious 
 savages without. If we fail to get our throats cut for our pains, I 
 am no prophet ! Marry, sir, the prospect's not cheerful ! 
 
 Percy. Thou hast summed the situation in a mouthful. Truly, 
 we peril our lives sorely 'mid this vain contention. Some o' our 
 conceited gentlemen would hang the gallant Smith without a 
 qualm of conscience were they able, even though he be the only man 
 ±0 shoulder their burdens. 
 
 Bolfe. A pox upon the pack of scurvy scamps ! That's the thing 
 that fevers my blood with indignation. Think of taking his liberty 
 upon so puny a charge and keeping him in chains on the way 
 across. What think you of the outcome of the trial to-day ? 
 
 Percy. That he hath already beaten them. His insistence of a 
 trial here in Virginia was a masterful stroke, and stamps the reso- 
 lution and the understanding of the man. His friends will stand 
 firmly to his acquittal, and he hath enough of them, never fear. 
 
 Rolfe. [Talcing out his watch.] My gentlemen are tardy in the 
 business ; was not the council called for the hour of five ? 
 
 Percy. It was, but we must wait their pleasure. [They stand 
 aside, talking together.] 
 
 [Enter O'Trigger, McLoyne, and Fullfat.] 
 
 Fullfat. Zounds ! an' do they take us for 'orses ? Corn, corn, 
 corn ! 'tis all one sees, all one 'ears about, and all one 'as to h'eat ! 
 I'd sell the colony for a square meal. Wow ! I could h'eat a 
 red h'Indian raw ! 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil, 53 
 
 O'Trigger. 'Tis better ter be taken fer an hor'rse than fer an 
 ass, er aven fer a combination of both. Shure, Fatty, ye have con- 
 siderable tonnage an' enough to kape ye going awhoile. What ye 
 mane is that ye lack ballast, an' that corn don't make th' right 
 kind of timber fer yer hold, and that naytur're abhors a vacumen. 
 
 McLoyne. Hoot, mon ! it takes our Highland pasties an' honest 
 Scotch oatmeal to coil a chap's appetite down for him ! 
 
 Fullfat. Or Yorkshire pudden, or Devonshire mutton. H'alas, 
 we have no Yorkshire puddin' in this beastly place, and no bonny 
 lassie to toss them if we 'ad. {8iglis.'\ 
 
 O'Trigger. Niver moind ! lits make the worst of a bad sitchua- 
 shun, as me frind said Avhin he got hung. Ther way ter git phwat 
 ye want is ter want nothin', as me Uncle Tim uster say, Lits ate 
 ther corn and be thankful we don't have ter root fer acrons. So 
 long as yer front flap don't touch yer backbone. Fatty, ye're out uv 
 danger, belave me I 
 
 Fullfat. H'acorns ! why, that's food for 'ogs ! 
 
 O'Trigger. Shure it's food fer swine ! but don't they git fat off 
 it? an' can't mankind devilop hoggish propinsities whin the occa'-> 
 ashun requires. I don't know? Shure, Fatty, ye may smack yer 
 lips atein' acrons yit. If ye say grace before males and assume ther 
 pr'roper mintal attichiide, ye may aven think it's Yorkshire pudden' 
 yer stowin' away. It's ther mintal attichude what makes min 
 happy, it is ! 
 
 McLoyne. Hoot, mon, quat ye daffin ! an' be domned to th' 
 mantal attitude, says mysel'. I min' a clartie savage the ither 
 e'enin' in a mantal attitude. I wot th' beggar leuked at myself 
 wi' maist evil intentions. I cad take an aith he was makin' mo- 
 tions of atin', and it's sairly fasht me iver sin'. It's nae jauk, I 
 can tell ye, and I dinna like it. It set me a' a chittering. Och ! 
 it was an unoo sight, maist eerie. Maist uncanny neebors, these 
 savages. Hame was not like this. I hae had nae peace o' min' 
 sinsyne. Th^ beast glowr'd at me maist amazin' ferocious. I wad 
 nae like to make a wamefu' for a heathen. T hape me mither's 
 bairns were nat all born for cannibal chowdie. We've all got to 
 lay th' head, an' I'll stan' my turn wi' th' rest o' un, but hoot, mon, 
 domn'd if I care to go by th' inside route in sma' fragments widely 
 
54 Pocahontas, 
 
 scattered. When Gabriel blaws 'twould be muckle mess a' tapsal- 
 teerie tae put taegither again ! 
 
 Fullfat. Scotty, when ye 'ave h'another speech like that, please 
 bring an h'interpreter along wi' ye. But I catch the drift, man, 
 of your talk, and I do fancy it would take some time to pick you 
 all out and put you together again; worse nor Humpty Dumpty 
 when he went to smash, I'll be bound ! 
 
 O'Trigger. Well, gintlemin, I move that we raymove th' pros- 
 pect of bein' aten by th' haythins by aten' ther haythins oursilves. 
 'Twixt aten' and bein' aten' it's me fer th' atin'. It's a case of 
 livin' to ate and aten' to live, an' hatin' to be aten by haythen 
 aters with ondelicate appetites. Fatt}^, I seen er red cannibal 
 lookin' at yer only yisterday with ondacint hinthusiasm. Yer want 
 terbewary! [Laugh ; they stand aside.'] 
 
 Bolfe. Marry, the council take their own time in coming to the 
 business. 
 
 Percy. I trust that there is no further villainy afoot. 'Twould 
 be compounding crime to keep this man Smith longer imprisoned, 
 and — hello, look you, Eolf e ! what have we here? [They looh to- 
 wards wing from ivhence Pocahontas approaches.] 
 
 Folfe. 'Tis the woodland nymph I told thee of, the one to whom 
 I gave the beads. By my faith, a very vision of loveliness ! A 
 dusky beauty that would shame some of our titled ones of reputa- 
 tion ! A f orest-f air}^ a very sun-angel, by all that's holy ! 
 
 Percy. A native Cleopatra, indeed ! She would hold converse 
 with us, yet fears to approach. 
 
 [Pocahontas advances a few steps, lools timidly about her, fixes 
 her gaze upon Bolfe and malces to speah, hut halts in attitude of 
 modest trepidation. Rolfe advances towards her with extended 
 hands, inviting her nearer approach.] 
 
 Bolfe. Come forward, maiden, thou knowest me, surely? Fear 
 not ; we are friends ! Thy lovely face would be a passport to any 
 camp. Come hither ; we would harm a winged messenger of 
 Heaven if thou couldst meet hurt here. Come, thou hast nought to 
 fear ! 
 
 [Pocahontas recognizes Bolfe with marked pleasure, and, reas- 
 sured, approaches with modest confidence. She addresses her speech 
 to Bolfe.] 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 55 
 
 Pocahon. Matoa. — [places hand hurriedly before her mouth'], 
 Pocahontas would speak with the great white chief of the Yenghees. 
 Pocahontas comes as friend of the Yenghees; she would save the 
 lives of the Yenghees; she talks not with the double-tongue. See, 
 Pocahontas wears the token of the beautiful stranger. [Indicates 
 chain of heads Rolfe had previously given her.] 
 
 Percy. By Saint Paul — a warning angel ! The lass has matters 
 of moment to impart, I'll warrant. Hail the guard and bid him 
 seek Newport. 
 
 Rolfe. [Hails guard.] What ho there! 
 
 Fullfat. Zounds ! there's a daint}'' enough meal for any 'ungry 
 man ! 
 
 O'Trigger. But if you iver taste o' her, the dogs shall ate me 
 wit! 
 
 Percy [To guard.] Go seek you Captain Newport, and bid 
 him hither without delay. Say an Indian maiden doth bring tidings 
 of importance. Deliver you the message with the compliments o' 
 Sir Percy. 
 
 Guard. [LooJcing and pointing in the other direction.] May it 
 please you, sir. Captain Newport and the gentlemen of the coun- 
 cil, with Captain Smith, are coming now to the trial, which takes 
 place here. 
 
 [Enter Newport and balance of council, composed of Wing field, 
 Gosnold, Radcliffe, Martin, and Kendall, with Smith a prisoner 
 between armed guards. Others come in with them.] 
 
 Percy. [Addressing Newport.] Captain, I was at this moment 
 about to send a guard to bid you hither. This Indian maiden, who 
 looks of royal blood if she be not, hath asked to see "the great 
 white chief," as she expresses it. If I mistake not, she comes to 
 warn us of danger from her people. I take it that while in port 
 you hold authority here. 
 
 Neivport. A most fortunate circumstance, indeed. I'll gladly 
 hear her statement. [Turns to Pocahontas.] 
 
 ^Yingfield. [Sullnly.] A moment, Captain Newport, please 
 you, sir! The commission hath placed authority of the colony in 
 my hands, and as president I demand to conduct what business ap- 
 
56 Pocahontas, 
 
 pertaineth thereto. [Turning to Percy.] I take it not kindW, sir, 
 that you deleo-ate my functions to others, an' that before my very 
 face ! 
 
 Percy. My dear gentleman, I had no intention of slighting your 
 authority, and, if it will facilitate the business, which seems to me 
 of vital import, I humbly crave your pardon. I beg leave to with- 
 draw my remarks from Captain Newport and address them to you. 
 I beg, sir, you question this maiden without delay, 
 
 Wingfield. Bring her hither ! 
 
 [Eolfe approaches Pocahontas and leads her gently before the 
 council. Pocahontas instinctively halts hefore Smith, strokes her 
 head in Indian fashion of greeting and makes to speak to him.] 
 
 Wingfield. [Impatiently.] Here, here, wench ! What hast 
 thou to say to us ? Tell your story to me ! 
 
 Pocahon. Pocahontas would speak with your chief. [Turns 
 and looks at Smith.] Pocahontas sees now your chief is prisoner. 
 Pocahontas will speak with next chief. [Looks around.] 
 
 Wingfield. [With visible exasperation and mortification.] 
 Come, woman ! out with jout story, for we have other business on 
 hand. I am chief here, and I will hear your tale. What dost thou 
 bring? 
 
 Pocahon. The daughter of Powhatan comes with empty hands, 
 but she brings a full heart to the Yenghees. Pocahontas would tell 
 the Yenghees that death hides in the trees around their camp. 
 Pocahontas hath a kind heart for the beautiful brave of the 
 strangers who gave her these. [Exhibiting necklace.] She would 
 tell his people that the great chief Opechancanough, with all his 
 braves, is not far SLwaj, and that he comes at the sunset to kill all 
 the white men. Pocahontas has said it. She must go. [Exit hur- 
 riedly.] 
 
 Percy. By all that's wonderful, she's the daughter of Powha- 
 tan the King ! 
 
 Eolfe. A very Indian princess, and one that graces the title ! 
 
 Smith. Permit me, honourable sirs, though I have no voice in 
 your deliberations, to request that you heed the warning of this 
 child. She is truth itself, or I never judged a human being aright. 
 Though unasked, my advice is to call in the men on the outside. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 57 
 
 double the guards, and prepare to receive an attack. I break a 
 prisoner's decorum on the score of human it5^ 
 
 Wingfield. We will thank you, Sir Smith, to keep your counsel 
 for the asking. We have men enough to take care of these Indians, 
 and have cowed them too thoroughly, methinks, to believe they con- 
 template attacking the fort. I think it but a ruse on the part o' 
 the girl to get more presents. But we'll attend to that matter in 
 time. Let's to the business on hand. 
 
 [Murmurs of dissent are heard, some proceed to expostulate with 
 Wingfield, hut he remains obdurate.] 
 
 Gosnold. Please 3^ou, Mr. President, I second the motion of 
 Sir Smith. I think the situation demands that we follow his coun- 
 sel — and at once. 
 
 Wingfield. I would inform the gentleman that Sir Smith, being 
 a prisoner now on trial, has no voice in the deliberation of this 
 council, and therefore can have no second to a motion which is out 
 of order. 
 
 Gosnold. That being the case, worthy sir, I make the motion of 
 the prisoner on my own account and ask for a second. {Several 
 voices, Aye! second!] 
 
 Wingfield. Gentlemen, I rule you all out of order. We came 
 hither to hold court for the trial of yonder prisoner. That is the 
 business now on hand, and any other is an interruption, which I 
 refuse to countenance. I insist upon routine and the proper order 
 of business. 
 
 Smith. Worthy Mr. President, I think more of the preservation 
 of your lives than I do of my own liberty. Return me to prison, 
 I pray you, and defer this trial until after you have provided against 
 the impending danger. 
 
 Badcliffe. An' please you. Sir President, to what pass have we 
 come when a prisoner on trial for treason appears before the bar, 
 not to plead for mercy, but — by the red beard of Momus — to give 
 advice, if you please ! I move you. Sir President, that we proceed 
 with the trial ! Forsooth ! treason within our camp, methinks, is 
 of greater moment than imagined foes without. 
 
 Kendall. Second the motion of Master Eadcliffe. 
 
58 Pocahontas, 
 
 [Confusion of voices crying, Aye! nay! proceed with trial! 
 Shame! etc. Angry glances are exchanged hetiueen factionists and 
 not a few hands seeh sword hilts. Wingfield calls upon several 
 soldiers to preserve order, and trial proceeeds.] 
 
 Wingfield. Gentlemen, I propose that the prisoner be tried by the 
 seven members of the council, the judge to be selected from among 
 their number. 
 
 Smith. I object! I am a prisoner under the laws of the realm 
 of England, and as an Englishman I demand the full and actual 
 benefit of those laws. I insist upon the legal jury of twelve of my 
 peers, and that the judge be selected by vote from among their 
 number. I call upon my fellow-countrymen to support this fair 
 and just appeal ! 
 
 [Smith extends hands toivards assemblage in dramatic attitude. 
 Tableau. Cries of Right! Fair play! Jury of twelve! Radcliffe, 
 Kendall and few others object, but opposition is too strong, and 
 Wingfield reluctantly consents to Smith's appeal.] 
 
 Wingfield. The appeal of the prisoner is granted. We need 
 six more men to serve. The members of the council will each se- 
 lect one from those here present. 
 
 Smith. I hold to my prerogative to challenge each or every one 
 of the six so selected. 'Tis my right under the law, 
 
 [Wingfield loolcs perplexed, steps aside and holds short converse 
 with Newport and Gosnold; appareritly they disagree ivith his rep- 
 resentations.] 
 
 Wingfield. The balance of jury will be selected by the individual 
 members of council, prisoner to challenge as he sees fit. 
 
 Gosnold. I select George Percy. 
 
 Sin ith. Accepted ! 
 
 Badcliffe. I select Master Gabriel Archer. 
 
 Smith. I object to Master Archer. 
 
 Wingfield. Gabriel Archer stands disqualified on prisoner's ob- 
 jection. 
 
 Newport. I select John Eolfe. 
 Smith. Accepted. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 59 
 
 Badcliffe. I object to Master Eolfe on the score of undue favor 
 for the prisoner. 
 
 Bolfe. By no effort could the worthy gentleman prove his as- 
 sertion. I am free to Judge this case upon its merits and the evi- 
 dence to be here shown. 
 
 Wingfield. Gentlemen, I desire not to be here all night. Please 
 you proceed and select the jury. We have not time for points 
 which admit of no resolving. Master Eolfe stands accepted. 
 
 Kendall. [Looking anxiously for one luliom he tJiinJcs Smith's 
 ■enemy.] I select John Eockwood. 
 
 Smith. John Eockwood is acceptable. 
 
 Martin. I select our worthy chaplain, Master Hunt. 
 
 Smith. Accepted. 
 
 Wingfield. I select Master Laydon. 
 
 Smith. Accepted. 
 
 Radcliffe. I name Master Whiteaker. 
 
 Smith. I reject Master "Whiteaker. 
 
 Badcliffe. [Exhibiting impatience, hut feeling his purpose use- 
 less.'] Then I name Charles Kensit. 
 
 Smith. Accepted. 
 
 Wingfield. Gentlemen of the jury, you will respond to your 
 names. [Calls.] Gosnold, Newport, Eadcliffe. Martin, Kendall. 
 Percy, Eolfe, Eockwood, Hunt, Laydon, Kensit, Wingfield. [They 
 ■each respond "Here."] 
 
 Wingfield. You will proceed, gentlemen, to ballot among your- 
 ■selves for presiding judge. [They ballot with slips of paper in hat 
 with result that Percy is chosen with seven votes.] 
 
 Percy. Gentlemen of the jury, we will proceed to the business 
 ■of this trial. We will take the evidence against the prisoner. Of 
 what does he stand charged before this jury acting under the laws 
 •of his sovereign majesty James ? 
 
 Badcliffe. Of high treason against the crown and against the 
 members of this company. 
 
 Percy. The evidence, if you please, sir. 
 
 Badcliffe. Masters Kendall and Wingfield will bear me witness 
 
60 Pocahontas, 
 
 that ere the ships had been a fortnight out the prisoner did ex- 
 press himself to the effect that King James was a great monarch at 
 home, but that he sorely doubted his power of direction in these 
 parts; and that if the colony was to thrive, it must be by the sole 
 efforts of the individuals composing it. 'Twas a clear threat against 
 the King's authority. 
 
 Kendall. I bear witness to the statement. He likewise said in 
 the presence of myself and others that if certain counsels prevailed 
 the expedition was doomed, and -if he had the management of it 
 he'd clap the chains on some who richly deserved it. 
 
 Archer. I submit as evidence the incident which occurred at the 
 cabin table of the "Discovery" what time Master John Smith re- 
 ferred to certain members of the council and other gentlemen of 
 our honourable company as "a parcel of well-dressed beggars, fit 
 alone to ride good men down and the colony to destruction," which 
 statement, your honor, did precipitate the fight in which the pris- 
 oner was arrested by Captain Newport and held prisoner under the 
 present charge. 
 
 Percy. Is there any other evidence against this man? 
 
 Kendall. I did overhear him conspiring to depose Captain New- 
 port and seize the command. 
 
 Smith. [Sternly.'] With whom, sir? Name the men and let 
 them come forward and support your assertion ! [Kendall appears 
 confused.] 
 
 Percy. I insist, Master Kendall, that you answer the prisoner's 
 question. 
 
 Kendall. An' that I can do, sir, if given time to produce my 
 witnesses. 
 
 Percy. [Sternly.] For what purpose art thou here? Surely, 
 with such damning evidence on thy tongue, thou hast not come 
 unprepared to support it. Thou hast had Avarning o' th' trial. 
 Thy evidence is thrown out, sir ! Marry, methinks thou hast over- 
 reached thyself ! 
 
 Percy. [Tiirning to Smith.] Prisoner at the bar, j^ou have 
 heard the evidence against you in this case; what have you to say in 
 your own behalf? 
 
 Smith. Please, your honor, I admit every statement against me 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 61 
 
 except that of yonder Kendall, which I condemn in his presence 
 and before you all as a wicked and malicious lie ! My past service 
 to my country stands my best defence. There is no more loyal 
 heart to the King and the laws in all England than that of John 
 Smith ! That which I have said has been perverted and miscon- 
 strued. My heart is in this enterprise, and I have no thought be- 
 yond its success, and as a member of your council, under the seal of 
 the company, I most surely have the right to criticize and cry 
 "danger'' when I see the signs. This have I done; no more, no 
 less, and this I shall continue to do if I am liberated. If you 
 would hang me on this charge, please 3^ou, sirs, give me a long drop 
 and no priest ! 
 
 Percy. Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the evidence 
 against the defendant, John Smith, and you have heard his answer 
 to it. Nothing that I could say would further enlighten you. 
 You will tlierefore stand aside, and decide upon a verdict. 
 
 [Jury goes off to one side of stage, discuss a little, then ballot.] 
 
 [0' Trigger and Fullfat to front of stage.] 
 
 O'Trigger. D — m'e ! an' it's not O'Trigger'll stand by and see 
 thim hang that man Smith, not whoile me gun's in me han' an' 
 me sticker at me soide ! By ther saints ! I'd prise th' gates o' hell 
 were he insoide and naded hilp ! 
 
 Fullfat. My sentiments hexactly. O'Trigger, I'm with ye, man ! 
 There'll be a 'ell-tearing time in this camp if they make to 'arm 
 'im. He needs but to say the word and I'm at 'is service. An' there 
 are h'others, never fear ! 
 
 [Jury returns and Percy assumes his post.] 
 
 Percy. Gentlemen of the jury, Avhat is your verdict ? 
 
 Bolfe. Your honor, by a vote of seven to five we find the pris- 
 oner not guilty; and we further find that he hath been much ma- 
 ligned by Masters Wingfield and others, and by the said Master 
 Wingfield wrongfully held prisoner, for which we decide that 
 Master "Wingfield be compelled to pay unto the said John Smith 
 the sum of two hundred pounds as compensation for that which he 
 hath wrongfully been compelled to endure. 
 
 Percy. The guards will release the prisoner. [Advancing to 
 
62 Pocahontas, 
 
 Smith.] Sir Smith, permit me to congratulate you. [Clieers 
 from Smith's friends and visible confusion among plotters.] 
 
 Smith. Gentlemen and comrades, as an honest man I cannot 
 thank you for your services because my honor tells me that I never 
 needed them. For whatever injustice has been done me I have no 
 resentment and bear no malice. I can only hope that this will end 
 the foolish quarreling in which we have so much engaged. The 
 colony needs our whole attention, and we should not waste our 
 strength in — [Great alarm is heard without, cries, "The savages.^ 
 the Indians are on us I" Man rushes in out of breath, others fol- 
 low ; some wounded.] 
 
 Messenger. The men in the fields have been attacked by legions 
 of red devils. Amos Jones was killed, and God knows how man}^ 
 others. See — they are advancing now ! 
 
 {Desultory shooting and war cries of Indians are heard in the 
 near distance.] 
 
 Smith. {Leaping forward.] To arms, men, to arms! man the 
 palisade ! Every man to his post ! Steady there — steady ! Bide 
 your time till the distance is safe, then at them I Percy, see that , 
 the cannon are manned and shotted small ! You about — follow me f 
 
 {Indians are seen pressing bade colonists, driving them to avails 
 of stocTcade. The picture should be realistic, showing fallen Indians 
 and colonists, the rattle of fire-arms, the onslaught of Indians, and 
 several explosions, denoting the firing of cannon, upon which, after 
 an interval, the Indians fall back, followed by colonists, who put 
 them to flight. More wounded men are brought in. Captain 
 Smith and others return from sortie.] 
 
 Percy. {Rushing towards Smith and taking his hand.] Friend 
 Smith, my hand. 'Twas, indeed, gallantly done. The colony owes 
 its preservation to you. Men, I call for three cheers for John 
 Smith, the man o' the hour ! 
 
 {Enthusiastic cheers.] 
 
 Smith. I thank you, friends, but prithee save your thanks for 
 that dear Pocahontas, to whom, more than any other, we owe our 
 lives this blessed day. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 63 
 
 [A voice, "God bless the Indian lass!''] [Stage is gradually 
 darJceJied.] 
 
 Smith. Men, the day hath been as full of moment as an egg of 
 meat. The night is falling fast, and to-morrow may bring yet 
 harder tasks. Seek yon, then, your rest ; but let the guards be 
 doubled, and see to it that none pass in or out without report. 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
 [Enter Badcli-jfe, Wingfield and Kendall.] 
 
 Radcliffe. By all the imps of hell, we are undone ! What think 
 3'ou o' th' situation, Wingfield? 
 
 Wingfield. That^ with legions of red devils on the one hand and 
 this Smith and followers on the other, we have reached the nether 
 regions and found it populous. 
 
 Kendall. Methinks, indeed, we stand betwixt hawk and buzzard, 
 and that we'll get our bones picked clean in good season. I'll never 
 thank you, Eadcliffe, for urging me to this infernal place. If this 
 Smith gets control, by God, he'll make laborers of us; I see no 
 help for it ! 
 
 Badcliffe. Go to — Kendall ! thy wits have gone moon-raking, 
 man ! Come, bring them back to earth. The game's not up yet;, 
 and surely there are trumps in our pack not yet played ! 
 
 Wingfield. For my part, I see no relief but in measures which 
 conscience forbids, or which, at best, in hazarding we chance to 
 jump the life to come. 
 
 Kendall. Wise men do sometimes — when the occasion requires — 
 cut the acquaintance of their conscience; think j^ou not so? 
 
 [The two looh curiously at Kendall.] 
 
 Badcliffe. Come, Kendall, out with it ! If thou seest light on 
 this subject, leave us not in darkness, we pray you. 
 
 Kendall. Let's go over the situation like men of sense. We are 
 too much involved to foul each other, but before I give my plan, 
 .jilease you, we'll swear a solemn oath to repeat nothing of wliat 
 passes between us. 
 
 [They swear by raising hands.] 
 
 Badcliffe. 'Tis well ! We stand together, then ; and if we fall, 
 we fall alone, mark you that. 
 
64 Pocahontas, 
 
 Kendall. Newport leaves to-morrow with the ships; the prepa- 
 rations are complete for his departure, and he goes at sunrise. He 
 takes but two of the vessels and leaves the pinnace. 
 
 RadcUffe. 'Twill be all of eight months before he gets back, and 
 if I see clearly, he'll find this cursed place a bone-yard when he 
 does. At best, if we survive until that time, the interval will be 
 perdition, I'll warrant. This Smith is in the saddle, and he'll ride 
 with a high hand, and a whip in it at that. Curse him, he'd make 
 slaves of us. The villain would have gentlemen doing the offices 
 of pot-boys ! Waiting on the sick, carrying water, chopping trees 
 and bringing wood! God, what have we come to? And the end 
 of it all nothing less than that he'll lead us to be slaughtered by 
 these savages at last ! 
 
 Kendall. To oppose him, then, becomes a case of self-preserva- 
 tion, think you not ? 
 
 RadcUffe. Nothing more or less than his life against ours, it 
 seems to me. Did he not prevent the turning about of the ships at 
 sea in the face of our efforts, even though he was a prisoner ; and is 
 he not determined to keep us here, whether we will or no? Do we 
 not owe our condition to this man's efforts, and if we lose our lives, 
 can we not lay it at his door? Marry, gentlemen, it seems our 
 case — nay, our duty — is clear ! 
 
 Kendall. In his blind rashness he plays with all our lives and 
 compels us to the game. Your point is well taken, Eadcliffe; we 
 have just cause for action, however desperate; think you not so? 
 
 Radcliffe. Indeed, you speak truly. This desperate ruffian must 
 be rendered harmless at any cost. Once we are rid of him we may 
 suit our own pleasure. If we find no gold or jewels in the interior, 
 we can take the ship and away. Damn him ! but for his meddling we 
 might control the colony to our own ends, reaping whatever the 
 venture might yield, or at best, getting safely off with whole 
 hides. 
 
 [Stage darJcens.] 
 
 Kendall. I would not venture through this wilderness of savages 
 for all the gold of Spain. I am for seizing the pinnace and mak- 
 ing the best of our way to England. Believe me, Eadcliffe, there 
 is no booty within a thousand miles of this, and if there was, we'd 
 never live to get it. Let's take the pinnace and off. 
 
LANDING OF FIRST SLAVES, JAMESTOWN, 1619. 
 
The Virginia jSTonpareil. 65 
 
 Wing-field. How thinkest thou to turn this trick beneath the very 
 eyes of Smith and his friends ? 
 
 Kendall. Directly after Newport leaves to-morrow he goes with 
 a dozen men, mostly his friends, on some expedition after corn, that 
 will be our opportunity. 
 
 Wing-field. Aye, but suppose he returns suddenly, as is his wont ? 
 One can never be sure of this flea. 
 
 Radcliffe. Perhaps he may not return ! 
 
 Kendall. Thou hast glad tidings on thy tongue, what's in thy 
 mind? 
 
 Radcliffe. That things might happen over which we'd shed no 
 tears. 
 
 Kendall. Come, Eadcliffe, out with it. Surely nothing needs 
 be hid among us. "We cannot step the dance until we know the 
 music. What's your thought? 
 
 Radcliffe. Well, then, Kendall, it's simply this. You lately told 
 me of your converse with one Kunderwarka, a savage of some im- 
 portance. This Indian, from what yor. tell me, is madly in love 
 with the wench who lately warned us, and his intuition has dis- 
 covered she has Smith in her eye. 
 
 Wingfield. 'Tis Eolfe he means ! 
 
 Kendall. He seemed to think differently, and doubtless has good 
 reason, for when I suggested Eolfe, he shook his he'ad violently and 
 said, "No, no, big chief Smith." My -impression is that the girl 
 really loves Smith and Eolfe really loves her. 
 
 Radcliffe. 'Tis better for our purpose as it is. 
 
 Wingfield. I cannot see what this love affair has to do with the 
 matter in hand. 
 
 Radcliffe. Simply this, that under the impulse of jealousy we 
 may prevail upon this Kunderwarka to trail Smith to his doom. 
 These Indians lack concerted action and need but to be prompted. 
 
 Wingfield. Marry, but this goes sorely against my conscience; 
 is there no other method ? 
 
 Radcliffe. Zounds, man ! turn conscience out to graze and milk 
 the full-tits ! Is it not warfare we have on hand ? and is not all 
 fair in war ? I thought we had agreed on that point. 
 
Q& Pocahontas, 
 
 Kendall. What dost thou propose, Eadcliffe? 
 Radcliffe. Yon meet this Kunderwarka to-night, I believe you 
 said. 
 
 Kendall. Yes, after the camp is quiet. He brings me some yel- 
 low stones for a sword on which his heart seems set, and to-night 
 we make the exchange. If these stones be gold, there will be more 
 to follow, and it's worth the trial. I told him to come alone, but 
 that I would have twenty men with fire-bows witliin distance. 
 
 [Night; stage quite dark.] 
 
 Radcliffe. By the great James ! the very thing ! I see thy plan, 
 Kendall, and if it succeeds we will be rid of most of our opponent* 
 at one stroke. Kendall, thou art a genius; henceforth we follow 
 thee! 
 
 Kendall. Thou jumpest at conclusions, Eadcliffe. I said noth- 
 ing of any plan except to seize the pinnace. 
 
 Eadcliffe. Yes, yes, I know, but we are not babies, and we under- 
 stand each other too well to beat the bush of argument. Come, you 
 will post this Kunderwarka of Smith's trip to-morrow, that he may 
 waylay him with his tribe, making him the mark for all the arrows, 
 whereupon the rest will be easy. He will understand that with 
 Smith out of his way Pocahontas is his. How wilt thou know of 
 this Indian's coming? 
 
 Kendall. When all the camp is still, he is to approach and give 
 signal by owl hoots repeated three times at intervals. I will then 
 go out to him. 
 
 Wing-field. How dost thou expect to pass the guards? 
 
 Kendall. The fellow Tompkins on duty on the south side is 
 with us, and will let me go. 
 
 Eadcliffe. That the Indian will take kindly to your scheme I 
 have no doubt. A better one could not have come from the devil 
 himself! Kendall, we are in your hands; see that you make not 
 a mess of it. Let this savage but understand you thoroughly, and 
 our time has come. Indeed, I never saw a more propitious chance. 
 And now, pray 3'ou, sirs, let's away before suspicion is aroused. 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
 [Night; all still in fort; sentry is seen patrolling in distance; 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 67 
 
 figures of Indians flit across stage and disappear. A sentry chal- 
 lenges, "Who goes there?". No response. Soon the hooting of owl 
 is heard repeated three times at intervals. This is shortly followed 
 hy the figure of an Indian stealthily approaching front of stage. 
 He stops and hoots three times, in answer to which Kendall ap- 
 pears. They stand several minutes in close and earnest conversa- 
 tion, finally parting after apparent understandng.] [Exeunt.] 
 
 [Scene III. Same location; the following morning. Sentries 
 being relieved and camp stirring.] 
 
 [Enter Newport with crew of ships. Colonists assembled to bid 
 him farewell; they crowd around, handing letters for friends at 
 home. Smith, Percy, Gosnold, Rolfe and others stand about and 
 occasionally speak with Newport.] 
 
 Percy. Tbou wilt carry our respects to the company and our 
 fealty to our sovereign James, Captain Newport. 
 
 Newport. Thy pleasant message will be my pleasant duty, Sir 
 Percy. 
 
 Oosnold. Besides the messages with which I lately charged thee, 
 seek thou the opportunity to visit the noble Ealeigh in the Tower, 
 and with my love charge him to petition the King to let him come 
 to Virginia with you. Say his friends on this side are many, and 
 that they'd welcome him above any man in England. 
 
 Newport. This shall be uppermost in my thoughts, Gosnold. 
 But, friends, I must ask your mercy. I've enough commissions 
 from this colony to keep me busy for weeks after reaching England. 
 Spare me some time, I pray you, for the company's affairs. You 
 would have me return in good season, I hope? 
 
 Laydon. Captain, pray you, sir, grant but one more request. 
 
 Newport. Well, my good Laydon, I cannot refuse you a favor at 
 such a time. What is it ? 
 
 Laydon. I have sent a letter to one Anne Burras by the ship; 
 but do you, sir, oblige me by calling upon the lady; she lives not 
 far from Blackwall ; here is the address. Give her the fondest love 
 of John Laydon, and say that he doth look for her here in Virginia 
 when your ships return. 
 
68 Pocahontas, 
 
 Newport. Aye, that I will, lad. I'll bring all the lasses I can. 
 Methinks a cargo of females would get greater welcome here than 
 one of gold. [A rousing cheer and laughter.'] 
 
 [Exeunt Newport and men amid much expressed feeling. Some 
 go to top of fort to see the ships go out, waving handkerchiefs. 
 Enter Smith, Percy and others armed and equipped for a march.] 
 
 Smith. Men, we have good work before us. I know not the at- 
 titude of the tribe we visit, but after our late experience it behooves 
 us to take every precaution for our trip, and to leave the garrison 
 in perfect order. Are you all provisioned and equipped? 
 
 Percy. We are provisioned, sir, for several days, and shotted 
 enough to leaden a thousand savages if the need should rise. 
 
 Smith. [Turning to Gosnold.] 'Tis well. Master Gosnold, I 
 believe, is commissioned to look after the garrison during our ab- 
 sence. 
 
 Gosnold. Aye, sir, you'll find us here on your return, or in the 
 pinnace if it gets too warm. 
 
 Smith. Good ! but never yield the place until the last ditch. 
 See you, Gosnold, that the large pieces be kept shotted, and with a 
 man beside them day and night. Come, men, we'll away ! 
 
 [Exeunt Smith and party. Enter Radcliffe and Kendall.] 
 
 Badcliffe. Good riddance to bad rubbish ! Is everything in 
 readiness? 
 
 Kendall. The ship has been secretly stocked, and the seven fel- 
 lows, who go along, will rise at the signal and secure her. We 
 hope to turn the trick without bloodshed, but are prepared for any 
 emergency. We must be quit of this cursed hell-patch at any cost. 
 
 Badcliffe. Think you, Gosnold, will attempt to stop us? 
 
 Kendall. 'Twill be so sudden he'll scarcely have the chance to 
 move. Besides, the Indian Kunderwarka waits but a scant half 
 mile away to attack Smith and party. Our man, who follows them 
 at a safe distance, will hasten back at the first firing and throw 
 the garrison into confusion with the news that Smith is killed. 
 That will be our signal for action. 
 
 Badcliffe. Admirably planned, Kendall. We may expect, thsn. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil, 69 
 
 any moment to hear the joyful tidings of freedom. As a master 
 of ■unceremonious ceremonies thou hast nought to learn. 
 
 Kendall. A pox o' your compliments! We need all the small 
 interval to tighten our lines. Get you down by the river and se- 
 cure the long boat as for fishing. Once in possession of the pinnace 
 we are safe. Smith himself could dare no more than shake his fist 
 in baffled rage. [Exeunt.] 
 
 [Enter Pocahontas. Guard approaches and salutes her respect- 
 fully, inquiring her business.] 
 
 Pocahontas. [With excitement and agitation of manner.] Poca- 
 hontas must speak at once with the werowance Smith or the one 
 Eolfe. Pocahontas has much to say. 
 
 Guard. Bide you a minute, miss, an' I'll call Sir Eolfe. [Exit.] 
 [Enter Eolfe, exhibiting pleasure at seeing Pocahontas.] 
 
 Rolfe. And what may one do for the lovely Pocahontas ? Name 
 anything you want, sweet maiden, and if 'tis here 'tis yours. We 
 owe our lives to you, and 'tis thus that John Eolfe would testify 
 his feeling. [Falls one one Jcnee before her, tahes her hand and 
 hisses it, loath to let it go.] 
 
 Pocahon. Pocahontas loves much to listen to the words of the 
 beautiful brave with the soft hair [strokes his head], but she must 
 speak with the chief, Smith. Pocahontas has much to tell him. 
 [Rolfe rises.] 
 
 Rolfe. Bless you, my forest-fair}^. Captain Smith left here 
 nearly half an hour ago with a dozen men, to be gone, perhaps, a 
 week. 
 
 Pocahon. [Agitated at neivs.] Oh! Pocahontas is much sorry! 
 [Wringing her hands.] Oh! why did she come so late? Poca- 
 hontas would tell him of danger and would not let him go. Kun- 
 derwarka has sworn to Okee that he will kill the chief Smith. 
 Kunderwarka is on the war-path now, and with his tribe he trails 
 the white men not far from here. Oh ! Pocahontas will try to find 
 the chief Smith. She has the legs of the deer, and may yet find 
 him before it is too late. [Prepares to go.] 
 
 Rolfe. Nay, maiden, go not before thou hast seen Master Gos- 
 nold, who is in charge here. Know you it would hurt me much to 
 
70 Pocahontas, 
 
 receive such a message without sending for him. Besides, Captain 
 Smith is already a good distance off; thou couldst scarcely prevent 
 the meeting, and would run great risk did any of thy people find 
 thee in the task. Bide you here a minute, I pray you ! 
 
 [Exit Bolfe to call Gosnold. Enter Gosnold and Rolfe hur- 
 riedly.] 
 
 Gosnold. The best of love and greeting to you, Pocahontas. 
 Wliat saving message dost thou bring this time ? 
 
 Rolfe. [Excitedly.'] In substance, Gosnold, she brings tidings 
 that Smith and party are to be ambushed scarcely half a mile from 
 here by one Kunderwarka, who has vowed his death. They may 
 even now be in the direst peril. She claims that Kunderwarka has 
 many braves with him. 
 
 Pocahon. Pocahor(tas did not know that the chief Smith 
 would leave so early. Oh ! she is so sorry, so sorry ! Pocahontas 
 thinks the white braves have a traitor in their camp. 
 
 Gosnold. An' you but place your finger on the man, and by St. 
 Paul thou'lt go to England for the King himself to thank ! Come, 
 thou angel of the woods, tell us what thou knowest. 
 
 Pocahon. Kunderwarka loves the daughter of Powhatan, but 
 Pocahontas loves him not. Kunderwarka is jealous of the 
 werowance Smith. Pocahontas saw the war dance of Kunder- 
 warka's braves at the sunrise. She heard the words of the council. 
 Kunderwarka said the stranger Kendall, who met him in the dark- 
 ness at the call of the owl, wanted him to hunt and kill the chief 
 Smith. The stranger told Kunderwarka that if he would kill 
 Smith the white faces would go away and trouble the Indians no 
 more. Kunderwarka has the step of the panther. Oh ! Poca- 
 hontas is so sorry. [Wringing her hands.] She will go and try 
 warn the chief Smith. Maybe is yet time. [Exit, running.] 
 
 Gosnold. By God, Sir Eolfe ! if this be true, there's ripe fruit 
 for the gallows in this colony. Wliat would you advise ? 
 
 Rolfe. I should immediately place Master Kendall under arrest 
 until we hear from Smith. 
 
 Gosnold. Right you are, sir ! Zounds ! but this is infernal ! 
 What Ho — there, guard ! 
 
The Virginia Xokpareil. . 71 
 
 [Confusion is heard without; guard rushes in.] 
 
 Guard. [Sahding hurriedly.] Please you, sir, I fear some mis- 
 chief's afoot. The pinnace has just been boarded by half a dozen 
 of the men with their arms. It looks as if they are about to make 
 off. Master Kendall has just entered a small boat to join them; 
 he seems to wait for others. 
 
 Gosnold. [In great excitement.] A guinea, man, for you, if 
 you stop that fellow Kendall ! 
 
 Eolfe. And I'll make it another, man, if thou or any other doth 
 apprehend him ! Arouse the camp I 
 
 [Guard rushes off. Indian war cries and shots are heard nearhij. 
 Camp is aroused by heating of drums. Armed men rush across 
 stage. Smith and portion of men, panting from exhaustion, enter 
 with KunderwarTva a prisoner. Enter Eolfe from opposite side.] 
 
 Eolfe. Thank God, Smith, thou art safe! Bless me thou hast 
 returned in the nick o' time ! 
 
 Smith. What means this dire confusion ? 
 
 Eolfe. It means, sir, that even at this moment the work of 
 treachery is going on. The fellow Kendall, with some others, have 
 seized the pinnace and are making off. They have just weighed the 
 anchor ! 
 
 Smith. [Bounding forward.] Great heaven, men! an' if they 
 succeed, it means our destruction I Turn the cannon on them ! 
 The cannon! Sink them if necessary; that's the only thing! I'll 
 do it myself ! Eun you, Eolfe, to the beach, and command them 
 to surrender on pain of being sunk. By God they shall find we 
 have a long reach yet ! 
 
 [Eolfe runs to execute command. Smith mounts the palisade 
 and turns the cannon on the pinnace. Firing of cannon is heard. 
 After an interval he descends to front of stage. Enter Gosnold.] 
 
 Gosnold. By all the saints, Sir Smith, thou hast saved the colony 
 once more ! The villains have surrendered and come reluctantly 
 ashore to the arms of our men. I note among them Eadcliffe, 
 Kendall and Wingfield. The gallows should be made for three at 
 least. 
 
 Smith. Call you the entire company and the council, sir. The 
 hand of vengeance must not be stayed to-day ! 
 
72 Pocahontas, 
 
 [Entire company crowds upon the stage. Radclijfe, Kendall and 
 Wingfield are brought in hound and led to one side of stage and 
 guarded.] 
 
 Percy. [Calling the assemhlange to attention.] Friends and 
 comrades. Under our very eyes there has been enacted a most 
 atrocious piece of villainy, the full extent of which many of you 
 do not yet know. You will shortly hear. Suffice it is to say that 
 the president of this company is a prisoner for good reason. 
 After the work in which he has been caught I feel no hesitation in 
 saying that we need a new leader. 
 
 [Cries of "Aye, aye, damn the miscreant!"] 
 
 I see that we are in accord upon that subject ; I therefore nomi- 
 nate John Smith as president of this company. [Cheers.] Those 
 who wish him to fill the office will raise their right hands. [Every 
 hand goes up.] 
 
 It is well. By the unanimous choice of the Virginia colony John 
 Smith is chosen as its president. [Approaching Smith.] Sir 
 Smith, you have held this colony together and saved it twice. From 
 myself and these people you have heartfelt thanks and most kindly 
 greeting ! 
 
 Smith. [Bowing.] Friends and companions, bear you witness 
 this office is not of my seeking. It comes to me as a duty, and as a 
 duty it is accepted. Let heaven judge my good intentions. [Holds 
 up right hand.] You have seen to what desperate straits some o' 
 .us have come. You have seen treason seeking the destruction of 
 this colony, and you have seen the hand of God in its salvation. 
 Know you well that we have chanced in a land even as the Al- 
 mighty hath made it. There is nothing here to encourage save 
 what nature allows, and which our industry must gain. Every- 
 thing of worth the world over is full of difficulties, and whatever 
 there is here to gain it must be hard earned ; of that be sure. To 
 labor alone must we look for recompense of all our pains. It is 
 no maiden's frolic we are on, and if we would possess the pleasant 
 places of our pilgrimage we must work, and none must shirk his 
 share of it. Let none expect all smiles, sunshine and smooth sail- 
 ing, for were there no vicissitudes of fortune, Marry, there would 
 be no men. And so I say to you that henceforth none shall be at 
 
The Virginia jSTonpareil. 73 
 
 liberty to lead at his own pleasure an unaccountable existence. 
 As your president I am determined to it that he that will not work 
 neither shall he eat. Those who yield a too willing faith to fell 
 designs, such as this last, must look assuredly to arrive at the gal- 
 lows. If any think to find in this land a freedom from just restraint 
 of laws, they shall meet discomfiture. The good Queen Bess hath 
 placed England fairly afloat upon the seas, and, with the help of 
 God, we will, under King James, secure to her this land of Vir- 
 ginia for our posterity ! 
 
 [Enthusiastic applause.] 
 
 Gosnold. Please you, Sir President, I move that we proceed at 
 once to probe this double villainy, and rid the camp of those who 
 would destroy it. 
 
 Smith. Aye, Master Gosnold, an' that we will. Know you all 
 that the council of this company is empowered to deal with traitors 
 caught in the act as with the savages that come by night. We need 
 no jury in this case. I appoint Masters Percy, Gosnold and Rolfe 
 to the council in the places of the prisoners, who will now be 
 brought forward. [Prisoners are led before council.] Gentlemen 
 of the council, on behalf of this the King's realm of Virginia- 
 Britannia I charge you that divers and sundry persons, led by the 
 three prisoners now before you, having of late daily studied how 
 they might execute certain treasonable purposes, have at length 
 been caught in the act within the knowledge and sight of all pres- 
 ent. This is the charge against John Radcliffe, Edward Maria 
 Wingfield and George Kendall. I am prepared to deliberate with 
 you as to what the safety and welfare of this colony demands at 
 our hands in this case. 
 
 Eolfe. Eor reasons that will anon be made clear I request, your 
 honor, that the Indian captive be removed from hearing. 
 
 Smith. Guard, remove the prisoner, but keep within call. 
 Master Eolfe, we would hear from you. 
 
 Rolfe. Your charge, sir, against these men is naught beside the 
 real villainy of which one at least is guilty. I formally charge 
 yonder Kendall that he did conspire last night with the Indian 
 just removed to ambush you and your party to-day with the main 
 intent of taking your own life. 
 
74 Pocahontas, 
 
 Smith. Pray you, Sir Eolfe, but this needs your best evidence, 
 for, indeed, sir, if this be a plot, it well nigh succeeded. Four of 
 our party now lie wounded, and, indeed, we all barely escaped. 
 The Indian was shot in the leg and captured by me. [Turning to 
 Kendall sternly.'] What say you to this, sir? 
 
 Kendall. That it is false. I have those will swear I never left 
 the camp last night. The Indian himself will give the lie to this 
 charge. 
 
 Smith. We will hear your evidence. Sir Eolfe. 
 
 Rolfe. You had scarce been gone half an hour when the maiden 
 Pocahontas called and asked to see you. Finding you gone, she 
 related to myself and Master Gosuold that this Kunderwarka had 
 held a war council at sunrise this morning, at which she was pres- 
 ent. She heard Kunderwarka distinctly relate that he did last 
 night meet Kendall and receive from him intelligence of your in- 
 tended journey, and likewise that the prisoner impressed upon the 
 savage that it was the colony's desire that you be killed, so that 
 they might be free to leave the land of the Indians. 
 
 Kendall. [Appealingly to croivd.] I object to this hearsay evi- 
 dence in a charge so damaging. My only crime against you is that 
 of seeking to run away. Of that I plead guilty to your mercy, and 
 that alone. 
 
 Smith. Let the Indian be brought in. [To Kunderwarha.[ 
 Look you, man, thy life is forfeited to us. Thou art here to be 
 dealt with as thou well deservest. If you answer our questions and 
 speak the truth, it may soften thy punishment. Point you out the 
 man who did meet you last night and prompted your violence of 
 to-day. 
 
 KundertvarTca. Kunderwarka has not the tongue of a woman ; 
 he speaks not ! 
 
 Smith. [To guard.] Present thy piece to this fellow's head. 
 
 [Guard presents piece.'] 
 Kunderwarka, the air is sweet to thee. There are fish in the rivers 
 for thy cunning, and birds in the air for thy arrows. There is the 
 morning sunrise like the smile of the great Spirit to gladden thee, 
 and the soft arms of maidens to give thee joy. Choose thou between 
 all these and the fire death of the white man's iron, and the hate 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 75 
 
 of the great Okee, who curses those of thy people who die by the 
 white man's guns. Speak, then, truly and take thy life. 
 
 KunderwarTca. [Eelenting.] It shall be as the great werowance 
 says. Kunderwarka would not die ; he will speak the truth. 
 
 [Assemblage prepare to hear with intense interest.] 
 
 KunderwarJca. Kunderwarka came last night at the call of the 
 owl to meet white man. The white man told him to kill the chief 
 Smith, who went to-day to the country of the Wanasqueaks. White 
 man told Kunderwarka if he kill the werowance Smith, all white 
 braves go away and leave my people in peace. Kunderwarka has 
 said it. 
 
 Smith. 'Tis well, but who is the man that met you ? 
 
 KunderwarJca. Him. [Points to Kendall; sensation in assem- 
 blage; colonists give a groan; Kendall nearly collapses.] 
 
 Kendall. [With agitated voice.] I pray you, masters, condemn 
 me not on the words of these Indians. I do pronounce it some 
 devilish plot to work my doom ! G-entlemen, for God's sake it 
 needs greater evidence than the mere assertion of these savages to 
 fasten this charge upon me. 
 
 [Soldier is seen to hand Percy a sword with some words of ex- 
 planation.] 
 
 Percy. Mr. President and gentlemen of this council, think not 
 that I am thirsty for the blood of this miserable man, but he hath 
 willingly staked his life against ours, and must bide the conse- 
 quences. I seek but the good of this colony. See, here is a sword 
 belonging to him found upon the person of this Indian. 
 
 Smith. [To KunderwarJca.] How earnest thou by this weapon ? 
 
 KunderwarJca. Kunderwarka did get it from him [pointing to 
 Kendall] last night in the woods. 
 
 Smith. [Turning to Kendall.] Thou standest, sir, convicted. 
 You see to what they come who deal with the devil. If I judge the 
 minds of these whom thou wouldst have cruelly undone, thou art 
 near to thy end. What hast thou to say? Hadst thou any accom- 
 plices in this vile plot? 
 
 [Radcliffe and Wing field visiMy agitated.] 
 
76 Pocahontas, 
 
 Kendall. Mercy, gentlemen, mercy on a miserable man who has 
 listened to the voice of evil counsel. I beg you, sirs, upon my 
 knees for this poor life. Put me in chains, make me a slave, but 
 spare my life! The company needs all its men, and I will be its 
 faithful slave henceforth. I will reveal all if you but spare our 
 lives and mete us out other punishment. 
 
 Smith. For my part, sir, I would not wish "your life, but there 
 are others here whose tempers you may soften by revealing all your 
 fellows in this fearful conspiracy. If thou wouldst unburden thy 
 sinful soul to the general welfare, thou wouldst do no wrong. 
 
 Kendall. [In desperation.] I tell you truly that Eadcliffe and 
 Wingfield were my accomplices in both these plots. Master Ead- 
 cliffe did urge me to the plans and Master Wingfield did encourage 
 them. Gentlemen, thou canst not spare three lives from so small a 
 company. Imprison and punish us I pray you, but spare our lives. 
 
 Smith. How now, Master Eadcliffe, what hast thou to say to 
 this fell accusation ? 
 
 Badcliffe. That I did conspire with this man to leave the colony, 
 and on my solemn oath know nothing of his dealings with the 
 savages. I sought not the life of a single man of this colony, and 
 simply wanted to be quit of it. He has not the slightest evidence 
 to support so wicked a charge. {Looks Jcnoivingly at Wingfield.] 
 
 Smith. [To Wi7igfield.] Wliat is thy reply. Master Wingfield, 
 to the grave charge of thy fellow-prisoner ? 
 
 Wingfield. I repeat, your honor, the assertion of Master Ead- 
 cliffe. I am alone guilty of attempted theft of the pinnace and 
 desertion. Marry, Master Kendall, in his desperation, would mur- 
 der the innocent ! 
 
 Kendall. [Piteously.] Eadcliffe! Wingfield! for God's sake 
 come with the truth to the rescue of a miserable man. They will not 
 kill the three of us — 'twould be too monstrous. Your influence 
 with the company at home would save you and me with you. Thou 
 knowest I speak the truth ! As thou hopest for mercy deal merci- 
 fully with me ! 
 
 Eadcliffe. If you but prove your words I'll yield myself de- 
 serving fruit for the gallows and waive all influence for my sav- 
 ing. But, even to save thyself, thou shalt not drag me with you to 
 an unjust sentence. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 77 
 
 Wingfield. In the present case, Master Kendall, I do protest, 
 before all here assembled, that I know you not. 
 
 Smith. Gentlemen of the council, you have Ixeard the evidence 
 against these three men. I will retire with you apart and decide 
 their punishment. 
 
 [Smith and other members of the council retire to one side of 
 the stage. Colonists group themselves about in serious conversa- 
 tion. Prisoners on one side in charge of guards.] 
 
 Kendall. [In a paroxism of rage.] Damn you, Eadcliffe; my 
 blood be upon your hands. Thou wouldst let me go to death like a 
 dog when thou hast the power to save. The curse of a dying man 
 upon you both. Through you I came to this accursed place, and 
 through you my bones will stay here ! 
 
 [Breaks down and sobs. Smith and council return almost im- 
 mediately. Smith takes stand.] 
 
 Smith. Sir Percy, you will make known to those here assembled 
 the verdict against the prisoners. 
 
 Percy. Men of the colony, we find the three prisoners guilty of 
 treason against his sovereign majesty James and this his realm of 
 Virginia. "We find, in addition, that George Kendall is guilty of 
 conspiring and trafficking with the savages to the purpose of mur- 
 dering John Smith and others. Our verdict is that the said Wing- 
 field and Eadcliffe be removed from all office, authority and per- 
 sonal rights in this colony, and that they be held prisoners until 
 the return of the ships. In the case of George Kendall, we find 
 that so grave an offence against the king and humanity merits 
 nothing short of death. It is for the president to pronounce sen- 
 tence against him. 
 
 Smith. George Kendall, thou hast heard the verdict of thy coun- 
 trymen. Thou hast had a fair trial and opportunity to prove thy 
 innocence of this most hellish charge. This thou hast failed to do. 
 Thou hast too late found out what ills await the wretch who lends 
 his ear to vicious counsels. Thou now cry'st for mercy, but, know 
 you, that mercy to others and justice to thyself demands that thou 
 suffer the penalty of death as provided under our commission for 
 such cases. In the name of this Virginia, then, under the domin- 
 ion of King James, and with the authority vested in me, I charo-e 
 
78 Pocahontas^ 
 
 that you be taken hence and witliin the hour shot to death. I com- 
 mend thee in the short interval of thy remaining life to the kindly 
 offices of the goodly Mister Hunt, from him to receive such counsel 
 as may prepare thee for a higher tribunal than this, and may God 
 have mercy on thy soul ! 
 
 Kendall. Oh ! Grod, that I was born for this ! This last earthly 
 burden is my heaviest, and it bears me to the grave. But, know 
 you all, that when this wrecked soul goes forth from out that cruel 
 rent thy guns will shortly make, it will in passing shriek its curses 
 on yonder villain [pointing to Radcliffe] and maledictions upon 
 you all ! 
 
 [Intense sensation among onlool-ers; some groans. Kendall fixes 
 a piercing gaze upon Radcliffe as guards lead him away.] 
 
 [Tableau. Curtain. End of Act. II.] 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene First. — Some months later. Forest; view of small river on 
 canvass. 
 
 Episode. — Smith's exploration of the Chiohahominy river in 
 search of the "South Sea." 
 
 [Enter Smith, soldier and Indian guide. Smith looks cautiously 
 about him, then takes out compass and makes some notes on paper. 
 Indian moves a little in advance and looks intently into the forest; 
 he looks back at Smith and soldier, and, thinking they do not see 
 him, breaks a branch of tree and drops it on the ground.] 
 
 Soldier. [To Smith.] I like not the antics of yonder savage. 
 Sir Smith; already twice have I noticed him breaking branches of 
 trees and dropping them in our path. 
 
 Smith. Ah ! but this must be looked to ; Marry, the beggar leans 
 with too intent a gaze for mere path-finding. I'll test him some- 
 what. Methinks we have outfooted prudence in this venture. 
 'Twould be a desperate place for an encounter with numbers. Ho, 
 there, Paspahegh ! come hither! [Indian approaches.] Paspahegh 
 has the hawk's eye; what does he see? 
 
 Paspahegh. Paspahegh seeks the trail to the great waters. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 79 
 
 Werowance Smith will see great waters soon. Not far now. Go 
 that way. [Points.] 
 
 Smith. Twice already hast thou told this tale. Hark'ee Pas- 
 pahegh ! if thou dost play us false thou wilt not live to turn the 
 trick again. What means this laying of branches along the road? 
 Speak ! and truly, too, or by my soul [drawing pistol] I'll send thee 
 merrily unto the devil's roast full fresh and bloody ! 
 
 Paspahegli. [Gradually hacking aivaij from Smith.] Paspahegh 
 no would harm white chief; see, he has no weapons. 
 
 [War whoop is heard close hy; Paspahegh maJces sudden leap to 
 get away, hut Smith hounds upon him. Desperate struggle ensues. 
 War cries come nearer. Smith finally overpowers Indian, gets him 
 on hack with hand on throat. Paspahegh signifies submission hy 
 stretching forth right hand with fingers wide open. Smith pulls 
 him up and holds him in front of him just as attacking Indians 
 hreak upon the scene.] 
 
 Smith. Trapped! by all the devils in hell! [To companion.] 
 Face them, man, and drop the nearest ! We must fight our way 
 back to the boat — 'tis our only salvation! Fire as fast as thou 
 canst and look to the rear ! 
 
 [Smith hinds Paspahegh to himself in front as a shield. Two 
 Indians draw how on Smith; he fires pistol and they retreat some- 
 what. Arrow strikes Smith in side. Indian falls at his fire. 
 Indians crowd ah out in endeavor to capture Smith alive. He re- 
 treats, fighting with Paspahegh in front of him. Soldier is killed 
 and falls to one side of stage. Smith and Indians retire in action 
 hehind scenes; continuous sounds of fighting and war cries are 
 heard. They reappear on the other side of stage. Smith still fight- 
 ing and retreating. pechancanough forces way to front of his 
 warriors, waving them hack, and holding up hands in sign he wishes 
 to speak with Smith. Attack ceases pending parley.] 
 
 pechancanough. The werowance Smith cannot escape. See, 
 his man is killed. [Pointing to dead soldier.] All braves in boat 
 are dead. Let the great chief throw away his fire-irons and sword 
 and his life will be spared. Opechancanough must take him to the 
 great Powhatan. 
 
 Smith. Opechancanough shall not take me while I am able to 
 
80 Pocahontas^ 
 
 fight. I must be permitt'ed to reach my boat. I want not the lives 
 of any more of the Pamaunkees. I will not give up my fire-irons, but 
 will use them famously. Let your braves keep their distance, for 
 many of them must pass to Okee before John Smith is taken ! 
 
 [Attach is resumed, hut Indians sorely afraid of Smith's weapons. 
 Smith again retreats fighting. Another Indian falls at Smith's 
 fire. Smith stumbles and falls. Indian fastened to him manages 
 to effect half turn and grapples with him, whereupon savages mahe 
 rush and effect capture.'] 
 
 Opechancanough. [To Smith.] The eagle loves only brave 
 flesh. Opechancanough is glad to capture the big chief of the Yeng- 
 hees. The great Powhatan will have glad heart to see the 
 werowance Smith. The days of the white chief are numbered. He 
 must die! The pale-faces yonder [pointing to Jamestown] \v\V. 
 not stay when he is no more to lead them. 
 
 Smith. Chief Opechancanough is a great brave. He has done 
 great service to his King Powhatan, and the heart of the king will 
 rejoice when he brings in his prisoner. Let him take his captive to 
 Werowocomoco, and he will be the greatest brave of all King Pow- 
 hatan's tribes. 
 
 Openchancanough. [Menacingh/.] Opechancanough can do 
 what he likes with werowance Smith. He can kill him. The white 
 chief has done much harm to the people of Powhatan. He should 
 have gone away long time. Maybe Opechancanough kill him now ! 
 
 Smith. Let Opechancanough know that his prisoner is not 
 afraid. He has at his side the spirit of the great Father who is 
 above. The great Quioughquosickee of the white people will take 
 vengeance if the Pamaunkees seek to harm his child. Let Ope- 
 chancanough beware ! Chief Smith talks not with the idle tongue. 
 See, he has the token of the great Father here ! 
 
 [Talces out pochet compass. Indians lay aside angry attitude 
 and crowd round Smith with much curiosity.] 
 
 Opechancanough. Let the werowance tell about token of the 
 great white Father. Opechancanough would listen. 
 
 Smith. Let Opechancanough look and see the little spirit of the 
 great Father. [Loohs at moving needle through the glass.) The 
 little spirit will not let Opechancanough touch it ; let him try. 
 
POCAHONTAS SAVING LIFE OF CAPTAIN SMITH. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 81 
 
 [Opechancanough hesitates somewhat, and finally attempts to 
 ■put his finger upon the needle, hut, encountering the glass, he is 
 prevented.] 
 
 Opecliancanough. \In great amazement.] Ugh! Great medi- 
 cine ! Little arrow moves so [indicates round movement with 
 finger] ; not let Opechancanough touch him. 
 
 [To Smith.] What does the little spirit tell to the white chief? 
 
 Smith. The little spirit follows the sun, and the moon, and the 
 stars. It shows its friends the way upon the earth and upon the 
 seas. It does not lie, for lying is hateful to its great Father. It 
 protects its friends against danger, and will not let them be killed. 
 See, the little arrow will not point wrong; let Opechancanough try 
 and make it point the other way. 
 
 [Hands Opechancanough the compass, who endeavors to malce 
 it point the other way by turning it around, hut, not succeeding, he 
 hands it reverently hack to Smith.] 
 
 Opechancanough. The white chief has spoken truth. The little 
 spirit is much wonderful. It is great medicine. Opechancanough 
 fears to offend the great Father of the white chief. 
 
 [Wushawunda approaches and draws him aside.] 
 
 Wushawunda. Let Opechancanough try the white fetish. Let 
 him tie the white chief to tree and tell him get ready to die. Wusha- 
 wunda and braves will do dance of Okee about him. Let the braves 
 draw their bows to shoot, and if the chief is afraid Opechancanough 
 will know that the token lies and that it cannot save him; that it 
 can harm us not. 
 
 [Chief assents to proposition and Opechancanough approaches 
 Smith.] 
 
 Opechancanough. Opechancanough believes what white chief 
 says about the little spirit. Opechancanough will bind chief to tree 
 and his braves will shoot arrows at his heart. If the little arrow is 
 from the great spirit it will not let the arrows harm the werowance. 
 It will turn them aside. If the arrows of his braves kill the chief, 
 then the little spirit lies, and it cannot harm my people. 
 
 [Braves advance and hind Smith securely to tree.] 
 
82 Pocahontas, 
 
 Smith. Let Opechancanough know that Chief Smith is sorry 
 for him, for the lightning will come down from the great Father 
 and burn all his people to death. They will be scorched even as the 
 leaves that are cast upon the camp-fire. They will call down the 
 mighty vengeance of the good Quioughquosickee. The prisoner of 
 Opechancanough is not afraid. He will make a prayer to the great 
 Father, and then Opechancanough may do his worst. 
 
 [Smith, thitiking his hour had really come, kneels down and of- 
 fers up silent prayer, commending his soul to God and asking for- 
 giveness of his si7is.] 
 
 [Indians resume their fierce attitude. ^Yushawunda hounds into 
 the midst of them, with tuild cries and hideous contortions of face 
 and figure. In this manner they execute the conjury dance about 
 Smith, the object hcing to frighten him and nullify the power of his 
 token on the assumption that if he exhibits fear they may kill him 
 with impunity.'] 
 
 Wushawunda. [Magic song, himself and braves dancing.] 
 
 Nah me ba o sa yaun 
 
 Neen a ne mah je o sa yaun neen. 
 
 I walk about in the night, 
 I that walk alone — 'tis I ! 
 
 Neen none daun ke tone. 
 Ma na do we aun. 
 
 I hear your mouth. 
 You that are a spirit. 
 
 Shi equah mo mo ke aun e 
 Ning bishue, 
 I ah ne aun e. 
 
 Now I come out of the ground, 
 I that am a lynx. 
 
 Ben, ah, neen bishue; 
 
 Ah nah ke me nuah bum e nak ? 
 
 See. I am a lynx; 
 
 Do YOU like mv looks? 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 83 
 
 [Indian dialect and translation to he given by Wushawunda. 
 Repeat lines as often as desired. During the progress of this dance 
 the savages try every means to intimidate Smith. They approach 
 and hrandish weapons and filled gourds in his face and make to 
 strike Mm. He stands firmly with a look of perfect calm. 
 Failing in this purpose, they prepare for the supreme test. 
 Braves are formed in semi-circle with arrows fixed in hows waiting 
 the word of their chief to shoot. Opechancanough glances at 
 Smith to note the effect of this deadly intent, hut, seeing him un- 
 moved, gives signal to Indians to lower their weapons, which they 
 do with considerable reluctance.^ 
 
 Opechancanough. The great white werowance must be taken to 
 Powhatan. Wushawunda will go before and tell the mighty Pow- 
 hatan that Opechancanough has captured the chief of the Yeng- 
 hees, and that he brings him to Werowocomoco at once. Let Wush- 
 awunda go with the speed of the deer. 
 
 [Smith is released from tree, carefully bound, and triumphal 
 procession formed. The weapons of Smith are borne as trophies 
 on ,a shield in front of Opechancanough. They thus march off 
 stage, once round again and cxit.l^ 
 
 SCEiNTE II. 
 
 ^Verowoco7noco, court of Poivhatan. Council is held in the forest. 
 Fowhatan is under rude canopy half reclining on raised plat- 
 form covered ivith mats made of different skins. His two 
 favorite women are seated beside him. On either hand are 
 ranged the warriors and the women who form his suite, sitting 
 and standing and all appareled in full Indian dress in which 
 the plumage of birds and skins are conspicuous. The warriors 
 have their cheeks and shoulders painted a brilliant red. Poca- 
 hontas sits near her father half reclining upon the lap of a 
 woman. Wushawwida is among the company, having previ- 
 ously arrived and given information of Smith's capture and 
 the approach of Opechancanough. 
 
84 Pocahontas, 
 
 Aspect of Powhatan. Age between -fifty and sixty years; presence 
 commanding and majestical. Rich chains of pearls encircle 
 his neck, and great robe of raccoon shins with tails properly 
 disposed and pendant cover his person. He wears a crown of 
 deer's antlers colored red over a raccoon shin cap, from which 
 the tails hang behind his ears. Ears are hung with bracelets 
 of pearls, face painted blue sprinkled with silver dust. As 
 scene opens the women rise and execute graceful dance before 
 the king. At signal from him they resume their seats. 
 
 Powhatan. Wushawunda will tell us more about capture of the 
 great white chief. How many of our braves did he Icill before he 
 was taken? 
 
 Wushawunda. The werowance fought like a tiger. He 
 killed six warriors with his fire-irons and wounded eight. There is 
 great grief among the women of Opechancanough's lodge. The 
 white chief is a child of the evil one, but he will kill no more of the 
 braves of Powhatan. Opechancanough come soon now. 
 
 [Satisfied grunts and menaces from assembled braves. Enter 
 messenger.] 
 
 Messenger. Opechancanough waits in the woods near with white 
 prisoner. Opechancanough sends the kind heart to the great Pow- 
 hatan and waits his call to the council. 
 
 Powhatan. Let the brave take the love of Powhatan to his chief. 
 Let him say that Powhatan is glad to welcome him to the coun- 
 cil, and that he shall be great guest here. Let him bring the pris- 
 oner at once. [Exeunt messenger.] 
 
 [Triumphal song of approaching Indians is heard. Flurry of 
 expectation passes through Poivhatan's assemblage, the braves of 
 which begin chanting and rise and go forth to meet Opechanca- 
 nough. They return on the instant, leading the procession. The 
 Indians execute a lualk dance before Powhatan, in which the pris- 
 oner is made to join. Opechancanough marches behind Smith, and 
 Smith's arms are borne on a shield in front of him as a trophy. 
 There is much flourishing of weapons, and insults are hurled at the 
 prisoner. The procession stops and Indians cense demonstration 
 and arrange themselves in order about the king.] 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 85 
 
 Powliatan. Powhatan is glad to see his brother of the Pamaun- 
 kees. Opechancanough is welcome here. He is great brave among 
 my people. Let him speak and tell of the great game he has cap- 
 tured, 
 
 Opechancanough. The words of the great Powhatan are as 
 music to the ears of Opechancanough. His heart beats with pride 
 to stand in the council of the king with prisoner he has taken. 
 Opechancanough has brought many captives before Powhatan, but 
 the white werowance will make best sacrifice to Okee. 
 
 Powhatan. Powhatan hears his great werowance with much joy. 
 Opechancanough shall have more braves to command. He shall 
 have two of my best women for his own. Powhatan bids all his 
 braves to see the great deeds of Opechancanough. He is the bright 
 star of our tribe. Powhatan would speak with the prisoner; let 
 him be brought forward. 
 
 [Smith is led before Poivhatan.] 
 
 Powhatan. The white werowance is not a stranger to my coun- 
 cil. He has been here before. He had tongue of honey then, but 
 when he went away he was as the snake that hides in the grass. 
 Wh'at has he to say ? 
 
 Smith. I would tell the great Powhatan that he does not know 
 the heart of his prisoner. Neither I nor my people have done him 
 injury save where his braves provoked us. The great Powhatan 
 lives himself, and the land of the great chief is wide enough to let 
 his friends share it and live also. Some of Powhatan's braves have 
 the lying tongue [murmurs from Indians] ; some of them have the 
 heart of the snake, and some of them would bite the hand that 
 strokes them like the vicious dog. When we did receive injury 
 from the people of Powhatan we fought them, and when they would 
 let us starve with their wigwams full of corn we took it. I speak 
 but the truth to Powhatan, and he loves the truth, for he is a great 
 king and a mighty brave. The white chief is in Powhatan's power, 
 but justice is in the right hand of Powhatan, and he is king, and 
 it is for him alone to decide, and his warriors must listen to his 
 voice and mind his counsels. 
 
 Powhatan. The werowance plays with the truth like the papoose 
 with a ball — first in one hand and then in the other. The great 
 
86 Pocahontas, 
 
 Spirit hath given him a cunning tongue, but the cunning tongue 
 serves not when the hands are tied and cannot aid it. Let the 
 werowance tell the council why the white strangers from over the 
 great waters have come to the land of my people. 
 
 Smith. Our coming, chief, was an accident. Know you that 
 my people have great enemies, called the Spaniards — those same 
 wicked people whose ships came here before us and worried the 
 tribes of Powhatan. They chased and fought us on the great sea, 
 but a storm coming up saved us, and that storm drove us into the 
 waters of Powhatan. 
 
 Powhatan. The white faces have been here many moons; why 
 go they not back to their own lands? 
 
 Smith. The great Spirit of the white people hath told our king, 
 whose name is James, that we must remain and make friends with 
 the people of Powhatan, and send our ships back and forth over the 
 great sea, and bring them presents and goods for trade, and teach 
 the Powhatans the cunning of our hands, and the wisdom of our 
 great Father who is above. 
 
 [Powhatan appears moved at this revelation, orders Smith re- 
 moved to his former seat and that food he given him. The queen 
 of ApamattucJc brings him a howl of water to wash his hands, an- 
 other Indian woman stands hy with a hunch of feathers for him to 
 dry them, and then food is placed hefore him. Powhatan then 
 signals the several chiefs hefore him for counsel as to disposition 
 of prisoner.] 
 
 Powhatan. My warriors have heard the words of the white 
 werowance. What would they have the king do with him ? 
 
 Opechancanough. The land is red with the blood of the braves 
 of Powhatan, and the wails of the women are heard in the wig- 
 wams ! The white chief has taken the corn that was not his ! The 
 pale faces have stolen the land that was not theirs ! It is the white 
 chief tbat keeps them here. The white chief must die now ! 
 
 [Shout of exultation from assemblage.] 
 
 Wushawunda. The blood of Powhatan-'s braves calls for ven- 
 geance on the white dog ! Many braves have passed away since he 
 came. Okee has spoken to Wushawunda, and he says the werowanoe 
 must live no lounger. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 87 
 
 [Pocahontas appears distressed, and malces movement to rise and 
 spealc.) 
 
 Kunderwarka. The great canoes of the Yenghees have sailed 
 away again. They come hack soon with more Yenghees and more 
 fire-arrows and thunder-irons. One of the white men told Kunder- 
 warka that his people are so many as the leaves on the trees and the 
 sands on the shore. They come once, and they come more, and they 
 come again. Soon they take the land of Powhatan, and his hraves 
 must leave the hunting grounds of their fathers which the great 
 spirit has given them. There is not room for the Yenghees and 
 the people of Powhatan. Let the chief die now before the council. 
 The braves of Powhatan will be glad to see his blood ! Kunder- 
 warka has spoken. 
 
 [Indians roused to highest pitch of anger against the prisoner 
 and express their feelings by mahing a rush at him with uplifted 
 clubs and other weapons.] 
 
 Powhatan. [Rising and commanding silence in stern tones.] 
 Powhatan has heard the wisdom of his braves and is pleased. The 
 werowance must die, but he must not die like a mad dog. He is 
 great Medicine and chief among his people, and must die like a 
 chief. My braves are not on the war-path; they are before the 
 council of their king. The werowance Smith must die on the stone. 
 The will of Okee must be done. Let braves bring in the stone ! 
 
 [Pocahontas rises and prostrates herself before her father with 
 intense grief and agitation.] 
 
 Pocahontas. Father ! 'tis Matoaka, thy child, that speaks to thee; 
 See, thy best-beloved falls at thy feet ! The heart of Matoaka is 
 dripping blood ! [Places both hands over heart.] She would not 
 have the werowance die. Oh, father ! great chief of many braves, 
 thou art mighty ! Spare this white chief ! Kill him not ! Spare 
 the friendless stranger who has done no wrong to us. Spare him 
 for thy child's sake! See, Matoaka bathes your feet with tears! 
 
 Powhatan. [Disconcerted but unrelenting.] Let my sweet Ma- 
 toaka go out in the woods and listen to the birds. The council of 
 my braves is no place for her. She is sick. The white chief has 
 killed her people and he must die ! 
 
88 Pocahontas, 
 
 Pocaliontas. He did but answer the arrows that would kill him! 
 He did but fight like a brave and not with the spirit of the evil 
 one. Oh, my father, the heart of the friendless one calls to you. 
 Spare him, my father, spare him ! 
 
 [Powhatan seems impressed against his will. He is plainly 
 touched at the importuning of his child and looks over the faces 
 of his warriors with some perplexity. They are quick to note his 
 slight indecision, and with fierce movement and cries call out for 
 the life of Smith.] 
 
 Powhatan. The werowance has taken the corn of my people ; he 
 must not live to take any more ! 
 
 Pocahontas. He did pay for it, and took but enough to keep his 
 people living. Oh, my father ! Let your heart be open to the sor- 
 rows of the stranger there. [Points to Smith.] He has been good 
 and kind to Matoaka; he stroked her head thus [rises and strokes 
 her father's head and face] ; he has given her sweet things to eat 
 and filled her hands with presents. The daughter of Powhatan 
 would not see him die ; she loves him. Spare him, my father ! let 
 him stay with Matoaka and teach her all the cunning of his hands 
 and the wisdom of his mouth. 'Tis Matoaka, the broken-hearted, 
 that calls to you ! 
 
 [Powhatan is lost for a moment in deep thought; his counte- 
 nance softens as he glances at his well-heloved child in tears before 
 Mm, hut the angry and impatient voices of the warriors rouse him 
 to action. He sees the tide of feeling is too strong, and that he can- 
 not stem it.] 
 
 Opechancanough. Let the weeping Matoaka be taken from the 
 council by her women. The words of Powhatan's warriors have 
 made her heart soft and loosened her tongue with foolishness. 
 
 Pocahontas. No, no, no! Matoaka will stay. She will talk no 
 more. Opechancanough need not fear her tongue. He shall have 
 his way if it be the will of the good Quioughquosickee. 
 
 [She rises, turns an imploring look upon her father, and then, 
 with pathetic resignation, resumes her seat between her two 
 women.] 
 
 Powhatan. [To Smith.] The werowance must prepare for the 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 89 
 
 sacrifice of Okee. He has heard the words of the braves of Powha- 
 tan. It is the will of Powhatan, whose vengeance and whose swift- 
 ness are the eagle's. 
 
 Smith. Grant me but a few more words, king. If it is the 
 will of the great spirit, then Smith must die. He has travelled in 
 many lands. He has fought with many mighty chiefs. He once 
 killed three great warriors in big fight and cut off their heads 
 while two armies looked on. He is not afraid of death. He has 
 seen the face of death so much that he has made friends with him. 
 Okee is the spirit of evil, and the people of Powhatan do wrong 
 to heed his counsels. Quioughquosickee is greater than Okee, and 
 the great Spirit of the white man is greater than he. Smith has 
 prayed to his great Father above to let His will be done. If he 
 wishes that his child shall live. He will send his spirit into this 
 counsel. Smith has spoken, and he is ready for the will of his 
 great Father above ! 
 
 [Uneasy glances are exchanged among ivarriors, hut Wusha- 
 wunda leaps up with cries of vengeance and they hurl themselves 
 upon Smith, hind him and lay his head upon the stone. They then 
 wait the command of Poivhatan.] 
 
 Powhatan. The spirit of the white chief must pass in silence. 
 He is great medicine among his people. Let my braves be quiet, 
 and let Opechancanough work the will of Okee. 
 
 [Opechancanough tal-es up great war club, ivalks up to Wu^h- 
 awunda, who performs some dumb ceremony over him. He then 
 walks arowid council with semi-dancing movement, once around 
 Smith, finally halting at his head, and stepping off the distance to 
 make his hloiv effective prepares to swing the cluh. On the in- 
 stant Pocahontas, with a piercing cry, hounds forivard. The club 
 of execution is in the air; she throws her body across Smith's face, 
 and with hand raised in impassioned protest arrests the falling 
 blow.'] 
 
 Pocahontas. [Intensely excited.] Father! Opechancanough! 
 my people, we must spare him ! The great Spirit of the white 
 strangers hath entered the heart of Matoaka. He has spoken to 
 Matoaka, and his voice is stronger than the waves of the sea. He 
 has smiled upon Matoaka, and the sunrise is not more beautiful ! 
 
90 Pocahontas, 
 
 He is stronger than Okee, for Okee is cruel and lives on blood. The 
 great Father of the white chief is the Spirit of love. He hath put 
 love in the heart of Matoaka, and He gives the werowance to her. 
 If he dies, Matoaka must die too. Let Opechancanough beware 
 the vengeance of Him who is greater than Okee. Let the braves 
 of Powhatan listen to the words of the daughter of their king, for 
 Matoaka hath seen and heard. Let Opechancanough stand back 
 until Matoaka has whispered in Powhatan's ear the message from 
 the great Father of the white chief ! 
 
 [Opechancanough stands hacTc, Pocahontas releases her hold of 
 Smith, rushes to her father, throws her arms about his necJc and 
 whispers in his ear, then rushes hack to Smith and resumes her 
 protective attitude of him.] 
 
 Powhatan. My braves and warriors will listen to the words of 
 Powhatan. The will of your king is undone. The great Spirit 
 hath put words into the mouth of Powhatan's child. He has said 
 wonderful things. A great curse will fall upon our nation if we 
 kill this man. Powhatan wants not the mighty vengeance of the 
 great Father upon his children. He must live and stay with us. 
 Unbind him and raise him up. It must be so. He must be a 
 brother and friend to the king. Let the pipes be lighted. It is the 
 will of Powhatan ! 
 
 [Under the influence of superstitious fears Indians retire ahashed. 
 They resume their places in silence. Smith is led io a seat and pipe 
 is handed him. Braves produce pipes and ivoman moves among 
 them with lighted brand. Drop.] 
 
 SCEiVE III. 
 
 Jamestown two weeks later. Should show a small hamlet on rear 
 drop. Colonists moving about aimlessly in dejected spirits. 
 Some down sicJc with others attending them. Famine and 
 pestilence rife. 
 
 [Enter Percy and Rolfe.] 
 
 Rolfe. 'Tis two weeks since the gallant Smith was butchered. 
 That was the deadliest blow we've yet received. Pestilence blows 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 91 
 
 his horrid breath, and surely fearful fancy never pictured such a 
 scene as here doth shock our eyes. Marry, sir, methinks the world 
 is all a weary waste and life a fearful jest. 
 
 Percy. Indeed, Rolfe, my heart almost sinks within me. But 
 we must not despair. The world's a mirror, sir, and gives us back 
 our faces. Forsooth, let's smile upon the morrow of our hopes and 
 be consoled to-day. 
 
 Rolfe. If thou canst see a silver edge upon these clouds of our 
 calamity, thou hast a keener vision than mine own. Smith himself, 
 I wot, would yield to grim despair at this ! 
 
 Percy. Nay, Rolfe, 'twas not in the nature of the man. To 
 front fell fortune on an unfair field, such as is here, and snatch 
 a standard from the jaws of hell, would be his task were he among 
 us. That man was of high-hearted breed, with thews and sinews 
 for any strain. He was a man of men ! a gallant gentleman ! the 
 sort of which nature makes but few at a time ! Grod ! his death is a 
 most fearful loss, yet must we keep his spirit living. Nought else 
 could show our love and reverence for John Smith. 
 
 Rolfe. Hope mounts on pinions far too frail for reason. Faith, 
 sir, I cannot see salvation, look as I may. 
 
 Percy. Yet do I hold in faith unshaken, despite the doubtful 
 balance whereon our fortunes hang, that this Virginia was not 
 born to find the limbo of oblivion. Even now I feel, I know not 
 why, that we have exhausted the influence of our evil stars, though 
 God knows we have had hard measure dealt us. 
 
 Rolfe. Aye, indeed! Smith and Gosnold dead, half of our poor 
 people in their graves and the balance fit to follow ! It is calamity 
 compounded. Did these Indians but know our desperate condition 
 they'd finish us, I'll warrant ! 
 
 Percy. Forget not, Sir, that the ships are overdue. With New- 
 port's coming be sure we'll find security, or if the enterprise be 
 doomed, at least a safe return to England. Let us, therefore, bear 
 these haps in patience and do our part by our suffering fellows. 
 There is much yet to be endured and little to be enjoyed, but the 
 prospect must not shake us, and — hello ! what have we here ? 
 
 [Enter guard with Indian.] 
 
 Guard. Sirs, this Indian brings a letter from the camp of Pow- 
 
92 Pocahontas, 
 
 hatan addressed to George Percy, which he insists on delivering in 
 person. 
 
 Percy. By Saint Paul — but this is strange ! What English 
 scribe is in tlie camp of Powhatan? {Eagerly iakes the letter from 
 the hands of Indian and opens it ivith amazement.'] Heaven be 
 praised, Eolfe, 'tis from Smith himself !. 
 
 Rolfe. God love us all ! 
 
 Percy. {To guard.] Arouse such as are able to come and bring 
 them hither. 
 
 {Exit guard. Colonists enter and crowd round Percy.] 
 
 Percy. Friends, the good Lord hath not forsaken us. Look you, 
 here is a message from John Smith, written to-day. I will read it; 
 I need not ask your ears. 
 
 Dear Friends, — Since my capture, two weeks ago, I have been a 
 close prisoner in the camp of Powhatan. I am like unto one risen 
 from the grave, for 'twas a very miracle snatched me from death. 
 I was condemned to die before the council of Powhatan and all his 
 warriors. I was bound, my head laid upon a stone, and the club of 
 the executioner was falling, when Pocahontas rushed and inter- 
 posed her body between me and fast oncoming death. Her plead- 
 ings for my life were like unto words sent down from Heaven, for, 
 surely, never did maid or man of all this land utter such before. 
 God's mercy is in that child ! I wait under guard in the near- 
 by woods. Powhatan releases me for certain presents of tools 
 and weapons and other considerations. The return of messen- 
 ger with gun and sword will be their signal to conduct me to you. 
 More anon. Johx Smith. 
 
 {Cheers from assemblage. Percy falls upon Rolfe's nech with 
 great emotion. Crowd slialce hands with demonstrations of joy.] 
 
 Percy. How, now. Sir Eolfe ! saw I not with better eyes than 
 thine ? 
 
 Rolfe. Thy vision, sir is equal to thy wisdom, and both are bet- 
 ter than my best. Let Newport now but come and bring with him 
 some maids to cheer the spirits of these lass-lorn lads, and melan- 
 choly's reign is done. 
 
The ViRGiNixi Nonpareil. 93 
 
 [Cheers and laughter. Alarm without. Guard rushes in and 
 throws his cap in the air.^ 
 
 Guard. The ships, the ships ! Newport comes up the river ! 
 
 [Crowds rush to see the ships, return almost immediately, car- 
 rying Smith and Newport on shoulders amid frantic demonstrations 
 of joy. Drop.] 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Woods near Jamestown. Some days later. Enter Pocahontas, 
 with KunderwarJca importuning her. 
 
 Kunderwarlca. Matoaka must speak with Kunderwarka. The 
 heart of Kunderwarka goes out to the daughter of Powhatan. He 
 loves not the fields, and the bright air, and the hunting-grounds 
 better than the lovely Matoaka. Let Matoaka speak and say she 
 loves Kunderwarka. Let her come to his arms and say she will be 
 the bright star of his wigwam. [Extends arms to grasp her; Poca- 
 hontas pushes him off and moves backward.] 
 
 Pocahontas. Kunderwarka has good ears. Matoaka has many 
 times told she loves him not. Matoaka is the daughter of a king, 
 and she loves as she wills. She is not a woman of the Monicans 
 that our braves take for slaves. Kunderwarka must let Matoaka 
 alone. The daughter of Opeehancanough loves Kunderwarka; let 
 him go to her. 
 
 Kunderivarha. Kunderwarka loves none but Matoaka. For 
 many moons he has loved her. He sleeps not at night for thinking 
 of her. His heart cries out for the love of Matoaka. He cannot 
 live without her. 
 
 Pocahontas. Matoaka is sorry for Kunderwarka, but Matoaka 
 has heart, too, and Matoaka loves another. Let Kunderwarka go 
 his way and find another love, and trouble no more the daughter 
 of Powhatan, for she cannot make him happy. [Pocahontas starts 
 off; Kunderivarha grasps her fiercely, holding her to him, despite 
 her struggles.] 
 
 Kunderwarlca. Let Matoaka listen. Kunderwarka is great 
 brave, and he sees only blood before him ! What he says he will 
 
94 Pocahontas^ 
 
 do, for he does not lie. Let Matoaka speak truly — she loves the dog 
 Smith of the Yenghees, is it not so ? 
 
 Pocahontas. Matoaka will not answer. Matoaka will scream for 
 help. Matoaka's father will be like the tiger when he knows this. 
 Let Kunderwarka beware ! [Struggles to get away.'] 
 
 Kunderwarha. Matoaka sluall not love the Yenghee's dog ! 
 M'atoaka shall love Kunderwarka or she shall die. Kunderwarka 
 will bind her to tree and shoot arrow through her heart ! 
 
 [Pocahontas screams as KunderwarTia drags her to tree. He 
 hinds her thereto, steps aivay some paces and adjusts arrow to 
 how.'] 
 
 Kunderwarka. Let Matoaka speak quick, for the arrow will find 
 her heart ! 
 
 Pocahontas. Dog of a Wanasqueak ! Matoaka hates you like the 
 poison snake. She would rather have Kunderwarka's arrow than 
 his heart ! Let Kunderwarka shoot, and then let him prepare for 
 the fire that Matoaka's father will make for him. Matoaka defies 
 the dog of a Wanasqueak ! 
 
 [Kunderwarka draws his arrow to the head. A shot rings out 
 from the woods. His arm falls wounded, and he grasps it with his 
 other hand, looks round and flees into the forest.] 
 
 [Enter Rolfe, running luith gun in hand, followed hy Laydon 
 and Anne Burras.] 
 
 Bolfe. By G-od — Master Laydon ! We have found an angel in 
 distress and lifted her! [Releases Pocahontas from tree.] [To 
 Pocahontas] : Thou angel of the tribes ! Thank God that to John 
 Eolfe has been vouchsafed the saving hand. What means this 
 dastard deed? [Takes her in his arms.] 
 
 Pocahontas. [^Bursting into tears.] The Wanasqueak dog would 
 kill the daughter of Powhatan because she loves him not; he 
 would — [Pocahontas' agitation is suddenly turned to amazement 
 at the sight of Anne Burras, the first white woman she has seen, 
 and she forgets present troubles in astonishment.] 
 
 Pocahontas. Oh ! see ! Yenghees woman ! with the face like the 
 rose, and eyes like the evening star ! Oh, beautiful Yenghees ! 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 95 
 
 Pocahontas loves you ! [Extending her arms.] Come, be sister to 
 Pocahiontas ! 
 
 [Anne advances to Pocahontas and clasps her in her arms with 
 deep emotion, hissing her repeatedly.'] 
 
 Anne. You sweet, pretty dear ! Indeed Anne will be a sister to 
 you ! John has told me of all your tender mercies. [Kissing her 
 again.] Were it not for you, I should never have seen him again. 
 God bless your sweet soul — how can I thank you? You darling 
 you ! You shall come and live with us — you shall, and there'll be 
 nothing in Anne's home too good for you ! 
 
 Pocahontas. The name of my beautiful sister is Anne? 
 
 Anne. Yes, dear one; and Anne's heart goes out to thee. Thou 
 hast been a very angel to my people, and Anne gladly kneels to the 
 Princess Pocahontas, and kisses her hand in gratitude. 
 
 Pocahontas. Anne must not love Pocahontas too much, for she 
 has not two hearts, and Anne loves the brave yonder; is it not so? 
 
 Anne. [Somewhat confused.] Yes, dear, Anne loves him. 
 
 Pocahontas. Then Anne must make him happy quick; he has 
 been long time away from his love. He has told- Pocahontas of 
 his love for Anne, and said he had great pain here. [Indicating 
 heart.] Go to him, dear Anne, and love him. See, he is hungry for 
 your lips. [Anne, laughing, goes over to Laydon. Rolfe approaches 
 Pocahontas and gently leads her aside, making two groups at op- 
 posite sides of stage. Dumb love show between conversations.] 
 
 Laydon. Truly a dusky and confiding beauty, Anne; she took 
 to you on sight. No English girl had ever such a friend before. 
 
 Anne. I little dreamed this land could yield so sweet a flower, 
 or one of such tender mercy. There are, indeed, earth-angels, and 
 this is one of them. 
 
 Laydon. Forget not thy sweet self, dear Anne, for to John 
 Laydon thou art an angel unexcelled ! 
 
 Anne. Dost thou see my wings — John? 
 
 Laydon [Drawing her passionately to him.]^o, sweet one, but I 
 see these lips. [Kissing them.] I see this lovely hair. [Kissing it.] 
 And wings would but obstruct the arms that now enfold thee. 
 [Kissing her again.] And — 
 
96 Pocahontas, 
 
 Amie. [Blushing and confused, and tearing herself aivay.] Fie, 
 John! thy reason has left thee entirely, methinks ! Marry, Sir, 
 thou takest liberties indeed, and we are not alone. 
 
 Laydon. Go to — sweet ! They look not this way, and if I mis- 
 take not, they have their own affairs to look after ; and don't forget 
 that this is a land of liberty. 
 
 Rolfe. [To Pocahontas.] Thank me no more. One look from 
 those sweet eyes and Rolfe is well repaid. Thou lovest not this 
 Kunderwarka, then? 
 
 Pocahontas. No, no, no ! Pocahontas hates him ! 
 
 Rolfe. Whom is it thou lovest ? 
 
 Pocahontas. Ne saugeau. 
 
 Rolfe. What does that mean? 
 
 Pocahontas. I love a person. 
 
 Rolfe. Who is that blessed man? 
 
 Pocahontas. [Confused.] Pocahontas cannot tell that now. 
 
 Rolfe. [Kneeling and talcing her hand.] Say John Eolfe ! 
 
 Pocahontas. Sageau Binuh? 
 
 Rolfe. Say it in English my pretty one. 
 
 Pocahontas. Lovest thou a person ? 
 
 Rolfe. [Clasping and hissing her.] This is the person ! 
 
 Pocahontas. [Pleased hut confused.] Pocahontas will see. She 
 must speak truth to the beautiful brave. Pocahontas' heart goes 
 out to the werowance Smith. He is so good, so kind, but [sadly] 
 he knows not that Pocahontas loves him. He thinks not of any 
 woman. Pocahontas will see. She has much love for Eolfe, who 
 saved her life. ]\Iaybe she love him — by-and-by. Pocahontas would 
 stroke his hair in friendship. [Rolfe kneels, Pocahontas strokes 
 his head, he clasps and kisses her passionately, to which she offers 
 no resistance. They rise and separate a little, and Rolfe looks 
 over to where Anne and her lover are busily engaged in each other's 
 arms. He coughs loudly to attract their attention. Laydon and 
 Anne break aivay and come forward.] 
 
 Rolfe. How now, Master Laydon — 'tis a pleasant day, methinks. 
 
 Laydon. [Looking confusedly up at the sky.] Yes, sir, but yon- 
 der cloud threatens somewhat. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 97 
 
 Rolfe. [Looking merrily at Anne.] Yet, Sir, I wot thou wilt 
 not lack for sunshine, let come what weather may. 
 
 Laydoii. Marry, Sir, the weather here is not so gloomy as at 
 home. 
 
 Rolfe. Yet, friend Laydon, thou hast imported thy sunshine. 
 Thou didst much complain of the weather until lately. 
 
 Laydon. [In despei'ation.] Thou, Sir Eolfe, dost not seem to 
 need such importation. The native sunshine agrees with you full 
 well, or I mistake not. 
 
 Rolfe. [Laughing.] Come, Laydon, let's mind our own business 
 and talk about yours. When is the happy day? 
 Laydon. Perhaps yonder angel might tell thee. 
 
 Rolfe. Angel iVnne ! AVilt thou tell us ? 
 
 Anne. [Blushing.] Well, Sir, I see I'll have no peace until 'tis 
 over with. John will bear me witness that I wanted him to wait 
 six months; [John hows affirmatively], but he did threaten dire 
 things upon himself if I persisted, and so, though I seem too light- 
 ly won. I promised him to-morrow to be his Avife. 
 
 Rolfe. Truly thou art both wise. Uneasy is the love that waits, 
 and full of pain, but satisfied, it mounts to heaven again ! 
 
 [Exeunt. Laydon and Anne together. Rolfe and Pocahontas 
 together, both couples walking close and in earnest conversation.] 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Jamestown, the following day. Before a rude church, of which 
 the interior shows altar and benches. 
 
 [Enter O'Trigger, McLoyne and Fullfat.] 
 
 Fullfat. x4nd there'll be a 'appy marriage 'ere to-day, but there's 
 no 'appiness for Fullfat. Single hexistence is not 'appiness. If 
 I'd stayed at 'ome in Hengland, I might 'ave been a 'appy 'usband 
 myself by now. My good father hoften told me that roving stones 
 gather no moss, and now I hunderstand it. 
 
 O'Trigger. Mile stones don't gather none, aither. Shu re. Fatty, 
 phwy wud ye be a mossbaek, inyhow ? I'd, myself, rather be sleek 
 
98 Pocahontas, 
 
 an' shiney from sliding through the wur'rld thin stay at home and 
 grow barnacles, an' marrid loife ain't all po'try an' pliim-diiff ! 
 
 Fullfat. 'owever, O'Trigger, there's no place like 'ome, no mat- 
 ter what you say. 
 
 O'Trigger. 0, it's a sofa ye want, an' yer ar'rm chair near yer 
 own foiresoide, an' yer slippers, an' a good woife ter bring ye th' 
 wash-pay at th' ind uv ther wake, is it ? No, no, Fatty, they'd have 
 ter widen th' doors fer ye after a spell — ye'd devilip so. It's single 
 cussedness an' har'rd wur'rk ye nade — it is. Sthay in Virginny, 
 and ate cor'rn an' cultevate yer appetite. What's ther day er th"" 
 month ? 
 
 McLoyne. It's the Fourth o' July, an' hot eno' to bake mealies. 
 
 O'Trigger. Shure, there moight be hotter fourths of July thin 
 this. Fourth o' July ! shure, it has a nate roll under one's tongue I 
 I do not know phwy, but I loikes the sound uv it ! 
 
 McLoync. Hoot, mon ! that's all domned foolishness; one day's 
 as good as anither. 
 
 O'Trigger. 0, I don't know. It depinds on raysults, as me 
 Uncle Tim uster say whin he wint fishin'. He oftin told me that 
 whin he wus a wur-rkin' man he loiked Sundays, holidays, and 
 pay-days th' best, an' with a long vacashun between 'em — fer him, 
 he sed. All days didn't look aloike ter me Uncle Tim. 
 
 McLoyne. Och ! I never did see inything funny in Irish jeuks. 
 
 O'Trigger. In course, ye niver did — ye're Scotch. Ye nade yer 
 jokes well-seasoned be age — ye do. Ye till a joke ter a Scotch 
 family, an' they see ther pint in ther nixt ginerashun. 
 
 Fullfat. Ha-ha ! that's 'ard on the Scotch, but, anyhow, Terry,, 
 the Irish aint much, and they don't cut much figure 'ere. 
 
 O'Trigger. No, they don't, but there's no tilling phwat they'll 
 do later on. Fatty, an' ye're half Dutch yersilf, an' ther Irish aint 
 much, as ye say, no — the Irish ain't much, but they're a damned 
 soide better than th' bloomin' Dutch ! That's po'try, an' I've been 
 known ter do it before. 
 
 McLoyne. Ah, Terry, ye be not th' only Jeuker, lad, an' tho' 
 I be Scotch, I'll give ye one'll pull ye a little— I'll bet. 
 
 O'Trigger. Thin lit it come an' break th' reputashun of yer 
 nashun. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 99 
 
 McLoyne. Well, here's a riddle for ye lad — why are there no 
 Scotchmen in hell ? 
 
 O'Trigger. I do not know phwy there be no Scotchmen in hell. 
 
 McLoyne. Ha, ha, ha ! It's because — ha, ha ! — hell is so full of 
 Irishmen, there be nae room for iny Scotchmen! Ha, ha ! 
 
 O'Trigger. There are no Scotchmen in hell, it is? 
 
 McLoyne. No, ha, ha ! 
 
 O'Trigger. An' th' reason is because hell is so full uv ther Irish 
 there be no room for thim ? 
 
 McLoyne. Yes, ha, ha ! 
 
 O'Trigger. Well, thin, [Taking off coat and rolling up sleeves,] 
 we'll try an' lit ther Irish make a little hell for th' Scotch on 
 airth ! 
 
 McLoyne. Hand ye ban', mon — this is nae practical jeuk ! An' 
 see, here comes the lady ! 
 
 [Enter procession, led by Minister Hunt, in clerical vestments. 
 Behind Mm Anne Burras, on the arm of John Laydon, and Poca- 
 hontas, on the arm of Rolfe. Following these, an orderly pro- 
 cession, consisting of gentlemen, men-at-arms, and some Indians. 
 They take positions in the church. Minister reads marriage ser- 
 vice over couple, who are married in regular form, according to 
 Episcopal service. Bolfe and Pocahontas act as hridesgroom and 
 bridesmaid. Bride is given away by Smith. After ceremony, they 
 file out of church and range themselves outside, where every man 
 insists upon his privilege of hissing the bride. Exeunt Indians.] 
 
 Percy. Three cheers for the first marriage on the soil of Vir- 
 ginia! [Rousing cheers.] 
 
 Smith. Here's hoping it may not be the last! [Cheers and 
 laughter. Exeunt Laydon and wife, and Rolfe and Pocahontas.] 
 
 Percy. Indeed, Captain Newport, saving the happy Laydon yon- 
 der, we all have great grievance against you. Why brought you 
 not more wenches to cheer our hearts? 
 
 Newport. Forgive me, Sirs, and I'll try to do better next time. 
 These late happy circumstances give much promise for the future, 
 and will greatly cheer the gentlemen in London. If female freight 
 is to be gotten, there'll be no bachelors when next I land. [Laugh- 
 
100 Pocahontas, 
 
 ter.] But, now to other business. Gentlemen, I need your counsel. 
 You know my commission from his gracious majesty for the honor- 
 ing of this sullen savage, Powhatan. In his wisdom, our sovereign, 
 James, has minded to exalt this savage with the dignity of vice- 
 king. A'S you know, I brought with me the crown and robes and 
 sundry presents. We did send these tidings to Powhatan, with the 
 command tliat he appear here at Jamestown for the ceremony, to 
 which the haughty Indian did make reply in terms nowise polite — 
 that, being a king himself, in his own right, he accepted no com- 
 mands, and that we must bring the honors to him at Werowoco- 
 moco and crown him at his own court. Forsooth, Sirs, it seems a 
 pretty piece of impertinence. For my part, I would let the beggar 
 go, but the royal commission distinctly enforces upon me its 
 fulfillment. I would welcome the suggestions of the council. 
 
 Smith. With due respect to his Majesty, but with my knowledge 
 of these savages. I am opposed to the whole proceeding. It can 
 serve no purpose, and will likely do much harm. The numerous 
 gifts for the occasion could be better employed in trading for food. 
 Mark me, gentlemen, if the wily Powhatan take not these things 
 as evidence of our fears, and hereafter drive harder bargains upon 
 our necessities. Already, since my release, which they sorely 
 regret, their temper hath changed. I give my opinion as a member 
 of the council, and with no dictation. 
 
 Percy. Please you. Captain Newport, with all respect to Sir 
 Smith, I see no legitimate means of opposing our sovereign's will. 
 I move we comply with its terms by taking a suitable number of 
 men and perform the ceremony at the court of Powhatan. 
 
 Neivport. Those in favor of Sir Percy's motion will raise their 
 right hands. [All raise hands, including Smith.'] 
 
 Newport. It is well; we march to-morrow, then, to Werowoco- 
 moco. [Exeunt. Drop.] 
 
The Virginia ISTonpareil. 101 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Werowocomoco, court of Powhatan, council of State. Powhatan 
 and braves seated in dignified silence. Enter Indian guard. 
 
 Guard. The Yengliees have come, and wait outside the council. 
 
 Pou-hatan. Who is their chief, and how many does he bring? 
 
 Guard. The werowance Smith leads them, and they have so 
 many [Indicating number ivith fingers of both hands.] 
 
 Powhatan. Do they bring their fire-irons with them? 
 
 Guard. They all bring fire-irons. 
 
 Powhatan. [To braves.] My warriors will hide their weapons 
 near them. 
 
 Powhatan. [To guard.] Bid the Yenghees enter. 
 
 [Enter English. Previously posted by Smith, they spread 
 themselves so as to command view of every portion of the assem- 
 blage.] 
 
 Powhatan. The werowance Smith and Captain Newport and 
 braves are welcome. Let them speak. 
 
 Neivport. The great Powhatan knows our mission. Our great 
 King James would, by our hands, do much honor to his brother 
 of the Powhatans. He would have us crown Powhatan his king- 
 brother of all this land. 
 
 Powhatan. The great James is mighty king among his people. 
 Powhatan is king here. The Yenghees king cannot make Pow- 
 hatan more king. [Smith and Newport exchange significant 
 glances.] 
 
 Smith. Our great King James wants the friendship of Pow- 
 hatan and his people, and would thus honor him. He would have 
 Powhatan wear the scarlet robe of royalty and crown him with the 
 crown of gold. He sends many presents to his brother over the 
 sea. 
 
 Powhatan. Powhatan has heard the words of werowance Smith. 
 The Averowance is a great brave. He speaks and Powhatan listens. 
 Let the werowance tell Powhatan if the Yenghees are friends of 
 his people. 
 
102 Pocahontas, 
 
 Smith. Surely, great chief — you cannot doubt it ! Is not our 
 present mission a friendly one? 
 
 Powhatan. Then, why do my brothers of the Yenghees bring 
 their fire-irons to the friendly council of Powhatan? See, my 
 braves have no weapons. Only our enemies come so. 
 
 Smith. Let the great Powhatan know that a ceremony so ex- 
 alted as this requires the presence of soldiers as representatives of 
 our king, and when on duty our soldiers always carry their weapons. 
 
 Powhatan. Powhatan will accept the crown from King James. 
 He will be glad to get the presents from his brother. Let the 
 Yenghees do the will of their great king, but let them also honor 
 the customs of the Powhatans, and place their fire-irons outside 
 the council in charge of my braves, until the crowning is over. 
 
 Smith. The great Powhatan is our friend, is he not ? 
 
 Powhatan. The werowance has spoken truly. 
 
 Smith. Then let the great chief know that what he asks of us 
 is, in our country, a request of our enemies, not of our friends. Let 
 the great Powhatan know that in our country, when we come be- 
 fore mighty warriors such as he, we always come in full dress, and 
 our weapons are a part of our apparel. [TJie argument of Smith 
 prevails, and Powhatan relinquishes his treacherous designs, with 
 some show of discomfiture.'] 
 
 Poivhatan. Powhatan understands the words of Chief Smith. 
 Let him do the will of his king. 
 
 [Neivport motions to one of his men, who brings fonvard an 
 ornamental box. The box is opened before Poivhatan, and the robe 
 and croivn tahen out and laid at his feet.] 
 
 Neivport. Will the great chief now rise? [Powhatan rises.] 
 
 Neivport. [Producing parchment with seal and ribbon, and 
 reading.] To our royal brother, Powhatan, king of thirty tribes, 
 and lord of the colony of Virginia, under our dominion: — 
 Greeting : 
 
 Know all men by these presents, that I, James, King of 
 England and Scotland, do of my sovereign will, through my agents 
 delegated, invest you with these, my tokens of royalty, and pro- 
 claim you King Powhatan, the First, of Virginia, under my do- 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 103 
 
 minion, the state and dignity pertaining thereto, to have and to 
 hold during the term of your natural life. James I., Eex. 
 
 Newport. You have heard, chief, the proclamation of our 
 Koyal James. You will now kneel, please you, to receive the sign 
 and insignia of royalty according to the proclamation. 
 
 Powhatan. Powhatan knows not the meaning of the word kneel. 
 
 Newport. It means this. [Kneeling to show Powhatan.] 
 
 Powhatan. Then, let the Captain Newport know that Powhatan, 
 the king, does that before no man. He kneels not. Let the crown- 
 ing and the presents be taken away — for Powhatan is not a slave. 
 He is a king. His warriors will never be slaves; and 'tis slaves 
 alone that kneel. [With a gesture of disdain.~\ No, let the Yen- 
 ghees depart in peace from Powhatan's council. Let them send 
 the crown back to the great James. Powhatan does not need it. 
 He is king that was, king that is, and king that will always be. 
 This is the country of Powhatan. The Yenghees came as beggars to 
 the doors of my people. They did want a little land, and Pow- 
 hatan did give them a little land, but he will not kneel ! Go tell 
 your king that the king of the Powhatans kneels to none ! 
 
 Smith. Pray you, Captain Newport, there is some great error 
 here. Let me see the parchment. [Reads parchment very atten- 
 tively.'] 
 
 Smith. Ho, Captain, thou hast made a great mistake. See here, 
 what the royal James hath written: [Reads.] My worthy ambassa- 
 dor, Newport, will be mindful that King Powhatan is a mighty 
 prince, equal to myself. He will, therefore, confer the crown upon 
 him while standing, for Powhatan does not and must not kneel, not 
 even to me. 
 
 Poiohatan. The werowance Smith has^good eyes. Powhatan is 
 glad he sees what others do not. Powhatan will take the presents 
 now; and the crown. [Two soldiers come forward, each taking a 
 side of the scarlet robe. They carry it around Poivhatan and cere- 
 moniously place it about his shoulders. Newport takes crown, 
 and, standing on tip-toe, places it on the head of Powhatan.'] 
 
 Newport. I salute thee, King Powhatan the First, of Virginia ! 
 [Soldiers present arms, and Opechancanough gives signal for 
 dance by Indians. At signal from Powhatan, they stop.] 
 
104 Pocahontas, 
 
 Netvport. We will now depart for Jamestown. Has the king 
 aught to say? 
 
 Powliatan. Powhatan would send message and present to his 
 great brother, James. He would have Captain Newport speak to 
 him and tell that Powhatan does not kneel. He would have the 
 white chief give this present to the Yenghees king. [Tahes off old 
 moccasins and presents them to Newport.] 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 London. Court of King James. Eight years later, 1616. Re- 
 ception room; Lords and ladies are discovered sitting and 
 standing, engaged in laughter and conversation. The Duke 
 of Buckingham is conversing with Captain John Smith. 
 
 Buckingham. Indeed, Sir Smith, thou talkest entertainingly. 
 Thy discourse whets desire to see these Indians. If there be many 
 wenches in Virginia like to this Pocahontas, it must be a land of 
 dusky and confiding beauties, fit for any appetite. I wonder not 
 at thy enthusiasm. [Slapping him on shoulder and laughing.'] 
 
 Smith. Your Grace mistakes the purport of my words. These 
 simple savages, vindictive and cruel as they can upon occasion be, 
 have. many excellent virtues, enough, I assure you, to put to blush 
 our vaunted piety. This dear and blessed Pocahontas, whom you 
 will shortly see, was in purity but a type of her people. That man 
 who knowing, could hold wanton thoughts of her — would foul an 
 angel. 
 
 Buckingham. Come, Sir Admiral, admit that thou wert slow; 
 or at least, unloved. 
 
 Smith. Slow, perhaps, your Grace, yet fast and sure enough for 
 the necessity, as methinks, the record will show. 
 
 Buckingham. I question it not. Sir, but I have given scant at- 
 tention to this Virginia. Marry, there are more important things 
 than the ventures of tradespeople for our high thoughts. 
 
 Smith. I would your Grace had been with us upon this trades- 
 
Tpie Virginia Nonpareil. 105 
 
 men's venture. Thy knowledge and experience, if I may say it, 
 would both be greater. You who sit in silken security at home 
 can never feel the great pulse-beat of nature, or know her mighty 
 wisdom. 
 
 Buckingham. Well, that may be, but each to his fate and taste 
 say I. Thou hast had a bounding career, Sir Smith, and hast set 
 thy feet in many strange places, so I bear. 
 
 Smith. Your Grace has heard aright. I have been a wanderer 
 indeed. My hope is that I've left my footprints in the firmer 
 ground, that those who follow may trace my path aright, and none 
 despitefully my memory use. I hold it a most precious thing to 
 live beyond the limits of our little day and in the kinder memory 
 of our kind. 
 
 Buchingham. If thou hast found thy fortune. Sir, it is enough. 
 Let others fret over our memories, say I. 
 
 Smith. In worldly goods, your Grace, my wanderings and la- 
 bors have profited me but little. I may most truly say that my 
 whole estate and fortune is covered by my hat. Since thou hast 
 been so kind to mention my fortune, may I be so bold to hope that 
 thou wilt seek to better it by urging my late plans upon his 
 majesty ? 
 
 Buckingham. This shall have my thoughts, I promise you. But 
 let us to the guests, for here they come. 
 
 Usher. The Lord and Lady Delaware ! 
 
 Buckingham. [Approaching Lord Delaivarc] My Lord Dela- 
 ware is welcome. 'Tis a quaint embassy, Sir, that comes to-night 
 before the Court of England. 
 
 Delaivare. Your Grace has never entertained a nobler. The 
 spirit of a new world breathes in these halls to-night, and future 
 ages will unfold the story, deeming it most precious. 
 
 Usher. Don Diego Sarmiento de Acuna ! 
 
 [Enter Don, with suite, preceded hy page, hearing standard of 
 Castile. Buckingham approaches, hows very low and engages the 
 Don in conversation, sotto voce.] 
 
 Usher. Sir Thomas Dale, Sir John Eolfe, the Lady Eebecca 
 Rolfe ! 
 
106 Pocahontas, 
 
 [Enter Pocahontas, in English attire, with suite of Indians, in 
 native costume. All conversation stops and company turn inter- 
 ested looks upon the newcomers. Buckingham approaches and 
 leads Pocahontas to seat provided for her. Indians seat themselves 
 on rugs about her, forming a group apart from balance of com- 
 pany, and facing the state reserved for king. Company indulge 
 in conversation. Lady Delatvare, patroness of Pocahontas, ap- 
 proaches Iter.] 
 
 Lady Delaware. The Lady Rebecca may feast her eyes to-night. 
 This all must seem most strange to her. 
 
 Pocahontas. It makes me very sad. Which one is your great 
 king? 
 
 Lady Delaware. The king, your ladyship, has not yet come. He 
 will be here anon. 
 
 Pocahontas. Oh, see! Captain Smith! [Puses and rushes to 
 Smith with manifestations of surprise and great pleasure. Smith 
 bows low and with the reserve necessary to the etiquette of the 
 court.] 
 
 Pocahontas. [Taking his hand fervently and kissing it.] Po- 
 cahontas is so glad, so glad to see you. Oh, my father ! Why — 
 they did tell me you were dead. Oh, why was this? Pocahontas 
 has never forgotten you ! 
 
 Smith. My dear lady, we must not discuss these matters here. 
 Their majesties come presently, and 'twould ill become my station 
 to be thus found monopolizing their guest. Return, I pray you, 
 to your station See, already we are the subject of comment, not 
 kindly, I'll warrant you. 
 
 Pocahontas. [Misconstruing Smith's attitude as one of indiffer- 
 ence, is visibly pained.'] You did promise Powhatan that what 
 was yours, should be his, and he made a like promise unto you. I 
 am Powhatan's daughter. You being in a land of strangers, called 
 him father, and Pocahontas will call you father here. 
 
 Smith. [Painfully embarrassed.] My dear Pocahontas, you 
 are the daughter of a king, and I a simple subject. I should, not 
 hold converse at the court of the royal James with his royal guest. 
 
 Pocahontas. You were not afraid to come into my father's coun- 
 try, and cause fear in him and all his people but myself, and do 
 
The Virginia jSTonpareil. 107 
 
 jou fear that I should call you fiather here? I tell you that I will 
 call you father, and you shall call me child, and stroke my head 
 as yiou used to. The heart of Pocahontas is a throne, and her 
 friends are always her guests in any place. [Talcing his hand and 
 kissing it.] They did always tell me that you were dead, and I 
 believed it. Oh, Pocahontas is so, so sorry, yet — so glad! 
 
 [Flourish of trumpets is heard.'] 
 
 Smith. My dear child, if thou lovest me, seek your post; the 
 King comes, and 'twould be my ruin to find me thus ! 
 
 [Pocahontas resumes her scat. Company compose themselves 
 for entrance of royalty.] 
 
 Usher. Make room for his Eoyal Highness, the King, her Gra- 
 cious Majesty, the Queen, his Highness, the Prince Charles ! 
 
 [Enter royal party. King and Queen under canopy, home by 
 four attendants. They are ushered by duTces. Standard bearer car- 
 ries the royal gonfalon. Entire company rises, bow, and remain 
 in this attitude until the royal pair are seated, when they also re- 
 sume their seats.] 
 
 Usher. His Grace, the Bishop of London ! 
 
 [Enter the Bishop in state dress, with suite. Company, except 
 royalty, rise and seat themselves upon his taking state.] 
 
 King. [To Buckingham.'] Our thanks, my lord, for your kind 
 offices in this reception. Upon my faith, but 'tis a company worthy 
 of our audience [looking at Pocahontas and Indians] and enter- 
 tainment. Is the company complete? 
 
 Buckingham. Your royal list, Sire, is filled to-night. So great 
 the interest in these new guests of thine that Saint Pauls would 
 not hold the host who clamored for the invitations. Marry, Sire, 
 we have been sore beset for days past in this business. 
 
 King. Thy discretion, my lord, merits our thanks. Let the 
 guests be brought before us. 
 
 [Buckingham bows to Lady Delaware, who arises, approaches 
 Pocahontas, bows to her and leads her to the royal presence. Pre- 
 viously instructed, Pocahontas observes the full court etiquette, 
 and drops on one knee before their majesties. 
 
108 Pocahontas, 
 
 Lady Delaware. I present to your majesties the Lady Rolfe, 
 Princess Pocahontas, of Virginia. 
 
 King. The daughter of my royal brother, of Virginia, is very 
 welcome. 
 
 Queen. [Extending her hand and raising Pocahontas.'] I gladly 
 clasp the hand of her who comes so kindly heralded, a small recom- 
 pense, I feel, for such devotion as thou hast shown to our im- 
 periled people. You have quite touched my heart, Princess. 
 
 Pocahontas. Pocahontas is glad the great Queen loves her. Po- 
 cahontas feels it here. [Placing hand over heart.] 
 
 Queen. Although thou wert not a stranger to my thoughts, I 
 never fully knew thy sweet, surpassing virtue until this letter 
 [Producing letter.] from our Admiral Smith enlightened me. In- 
 deed, Princess, thou art an angel, and we must hold you until you 
 leave a blessing. I would speak with thee again when I may pri- 
 vately enjoy thy discourse. [Pocahontas and Lady Delaware hoiv 
 low and return to their places.] 
 
 Buckingham. [Introducing John Rolfe.] Sir John Rolfe, your 
 majesties' humble servant from Virginia. [Rolfe bows very loiv, 
 receives a slight nod from the Queen, and a disdahlful glance from 
 the King.] 
 
 Buckingham. [Bringing Smith forward.] Sir John Smith, Ad- 
 miral in your m^ajesties' service. 
 
 King. Ah, Sir Smith, we greet you ! Thou hast done the state 
 some service, and we are not unmindful. I believe thou hast some 
 matter now before the court? 
 
 Smith. My service, Sire, has ever been to thy advancement. 
 The opportunity to further serve your gracious majesty and my 
 country would be my best recompense, and for this I humbly 
 proffer hand and heart. 
 
 Queen. [Extends hand, which Smith hisses.] I thank thee. 
 Admiral, for this most kindly letter and the kindly heart which 
 prompted it. Be sure, Sir, it has touched me deeply. 
 
 Smith. Your majesty was ever gracious. There is no worthier 
 object to thy hand than her of whom 'tis writ. 
 
 King. If thou wilt favor us. Sir Admiral, we would a little 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 109 
 
 later hear with pleasure thy discourse upon tliis most interesting 
 subject. 
 
 Smith. Your Highness' command shall ever be my duty. 
 
 Buckingham. [Introducing Dale.] Sir Thomas Dale, com- 
 mander of your Majesty's fleet. 
 
 King. We owe you thanks, Sir Dale, for this quaint embassy 
 thou hast brought from our domain of Virginia. I almost envy 
 you adventurers your rich experience. Truly, thou hast made a 
 pleasant break in our monotonous lives with these Indians. It is 
 all most interesting. 
 
 Dale. Monotony, Sire, is not to be desired, but 'tis seldom dan- 
 gerous. Hadst thou shared awhile the perils of thy colonists, me- 
 thinks thou would welcome monotony as a happy relief. 
 
 King. True, Sir Dale, but monotony is like the burden on the 
 helpless beast, that grows heavier with the miles. On the path of 
 danger a beggar may be king, monotony doth make a king a beggar, 
 even on his throne. Pray you. Sir, bring forward these Indians, 
 I would admire their movements and their forms. 
 
 Queen. [Placing her hand upon the King's arm, with slight 
 alarm.'] Please, my noble lord, not too close! Their savage mien, 
 even from this distance, doth give me chills. 
 
 Dale. [Smiling.] I warrant them domesticated, my gracious 
 lady. Pray have no fear. 
 
 [Dale walks to Indians^ and, motioning them to rise, he leads 
 them before the king, where they stand in respectful hut not servile 
 attitude, neither bowing nor kneeling. All eyes are turned upon 
 the group with breathless curiosity.] 
 
 King. [To Dale.] Which one, Sir Dale, will understand me? 
 [Dale indicates Chiscomauna.] 
 
 King. The King of England is glad to welcome his wild chil- 
 dren of Virginia. 
 
 Chiscomauna. Chiscomauna is glad. 
 
 King. "V\ntiat dOes Chiscomauna think of his trip, and of this 
 land of England? 
 
 Chiscomauna. — Chiscomauna did much wonder at the wide sea 
 
110 Pocahontas, 
 
 and the ships and at the stone wigwams^ and the great tribes 
 of tlie Yenghees. Chiscomauna much fears for his people over the 
 great waters. 
 
 King. What dost thou fear? 
 
 Chiscomauna. — The Yengliees are many as the waves of tlie 
 great waters. Chiscomauna has looked out over a great sea of 
 white faces, and he fears the rise of the tide. The Yenghees are 
 the people of the sea. They have many ships, and the great waters 
 is their pathway, Chiscomauna sees the Yenghees in the land of 
 his fathers. The Yenghees must have room, and the people of 
 Chiscomauna must give them room. The land of Powhatan is a 
 great land, but the Yenghees are many, and they will come, and 
 there will be two peoples in the land of Powhatan, but only one 
 will stay. Chiscomauna has spoken. 
 
 Queen. Verily, but this is philosophy, and the very wisdom of 
 nature. 
 
 King. Statesmanship, Madam ! a quaint sagacit}^, and an elo- 
 quence to grace the court of any king. 
 
 King. Come, my good Chiscomauna, thine eye prophetic looks 
 through melancholy's glass. Thou pinest for thy native sunshine, 
 and this it is that gives a sombre edge unto thy thoughts. But 
 know you this — and to your king relate my utterance — that James, 
 his brother of the Island Kingdom, means him no ill. The Eng- 
 lish — as you say — will go to the land of Powhatan, but they will 
 go as friends. Say to your king that the English land is small, 
 and its people many, and that they must live through commerce. 
 They need but the products of your virgin soil, your timber and 
 stones, and metals and skins, and for these things he shall be 
 recompensed. Say also, to your king that those of my people who 
 come among you are but a symbol of this brave young England, 
 bursting the bonds of their small island prison, and that the world 
 is wide enough for them and for the tribes of Powhatan. 
 
 Chiscomauna. Chiscomauna has heard the words of the great 
 king; he will tell them to his council. 
 
 King. 'Tis well, my good Chiscomauna. And now, for your 
 entertainment, we will a little later engage in some festivities, at 
 
The Virginia Xoxpareil. Ill 
 
 which I hope you and your people will favor us with your dances, 
 for nothing in all England could so entertain us. 
 
 Chiscomauna. My people will be happy to dance before the 
 great king. [Indians return to places.l 
 
 King. [To Buchingham.'] Bid Sir Smith approach. 
 
 [Smith comes before Icing bowing.] 
 
 King. Thou art blessed with fluent speech, Sir Admiral, and 
 we would hear in brief the story of thy part in our far colony. 
 
 Smith. Your gracious majesty honors me beyond my worth. I 
 fain would be excused. There is a speechlessness that falls on 
 those who strive to do their mission well. Let this, Sire, give me 
 indulgence now. 
 
 King. Marry, Sir Admiral, but thou art modest. At least a word 
 about the colony, its wealth and prospects? 
 
 Smith. "Twould take a score of prophets, Sire, to dream its 
 future. Its wealth is not the wealth of cities that, once despoiled, 
 are desolate, but 'tis the boundless wealth of generous nature ripe 
 to the service of our hands. No sudden spoil that Spaniards seek 
 is there, no gold, no precious stones, but yet is this Virginia richer 
 than the spoils of empires, or the plundered treasures of the ages. 
 In that vast land the firmer fortitude that finds a way — though 
 barriers loom — will have rich recompense, but labor, looking for- 
 ward to his toil, must walk with patience at his side to reach the 
 goal. Nor must we grudge the seed unto the willing soil, for then 
 we would be like unto the barren sands that drink the generous 
 rain and render nothing. This is the substance. Sire, of what these 
 ej'es have seen beneath the light of reason. A greater England lies 
 beyond the sea, and under heaven we will haul its banner to the 
 mast-head of the world ! God grant your Majesty may live to see 
 its waking glories ! 
 
 King. And our dear Princess yonder — surely thou wouldst say 
 a word of her ? 
 
 Smith. No more, your Highness, than that to John Smith she 
 saved his life^ and to King James his colony. 
 
 King. A saving angel o' the Lord indeed, for she had naught 
 to gain and much to fear. How dost thou account for this great 
 mercy in a savage breast? 
 
112 Pocahontas,, 
 
 Smith. Pity, Sire, is woman's noblest attribute, and she came 
 among us a pitying angel. The sympathy of sorrow is stronger 
 than the sympathy of prosperity, and pity is the note that stirs 
 our kinder qualities. 
 
 King. A very feast of reason; by heavens, friends — [Turning 
 to assemblage.'] our guests turn hosts and entertain us ! Let us 
 now try to recompense them. \To Buckingham.] Your Grace, 
 we must not longer keep our good Lord Bishop waiting, think 
 you we better now retire for preparation? 
 
 BucTcingham. The time is all too short, your Highness. The 
 invitations call for a ball in masques and fantastic costumes. The 
 costumes may be waived, but masques are necessary. If it suit 
 your royal pleasure, then, I think we should not longer tarry. 
 
 \ Company make exit to music, in same mariner as entrance, 
 royal party leading, followed by the rest, with due form and cere- 
 mony.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 No dialogue. Grand fantastic and masque ball at the mansion of 
 the Bishop of London. Entire company take part, variously 
 costumed and engaged in the minuet, quadrille and sword 
 dances. The Indians join in, and do their war and other 
 dances around the others. Curtain falls upon a grand spec- 
 tacular grouping of fantastic dancers, and Indians in motion. 
 
 CURTAIN, 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 

 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 ' ''^'"W^^^ - 
 
 I^^C.-:'-^ 1 
 
 
 
 •'; " .^5 ' -^^^^tm. 
 
 
 Hv' ^ I 
 
 ^^^^ ^--*' ^ '^^^"'■^^^^^k'^^^^P^^^^^- 
 
 
 ^^^m' ' 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 ^^«i"J^"^Rt:: .. 
 
 
 ".. -^-sp**^. ^P 
 
 V^^" "^ "^Sfc^'^^jB^B 
 
 fci"" 
 
 
 |!y^'.-f^^ 
 
 „ ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 113 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 GRAND SPECTACULAR BALLET. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Jamestown, 1621, five years later. Road just outside village, forest 
 scene with moonlight. Enter Percy, Rev. Mr. Hunt, and John 
 Laydon. 
 
 Percy. Thou wilt shortly be a busy man, your reverence? 
 
 Hunt. 'Twill be the pleasantest business of my life, Sir Eolfe, 
 and I pray that God will smile upon it. 
 
 Laydon. It is a pretty programme, for never before, I'll war- 
 rant, hath Cupid crossed the ocean with such heavy business on his 
 hands. 
 
 Percy. Aye, that is so, and for this sweet stroke the good Sir 
 Edwin Sandys merits a cozy nook in the temple of fame. He is a 
 very high-priest at the shrine of love. 
 
 Hunt. A generous inspiration, surely, one that will convert 
 this land of trial and suffering to one of refuge and delight. 
 
 Percy. It is indeed the dawn of happy times, full of glorious 
 promise. It is no paltry thing to stand as sponsors to a nauon 
 as we have done. The cruel years have passed, and we that bore 
 them and their bitter burdens will, ere another sunset, see the 
 crowning of our labors. 
 
 Laydon. And yet for me, one contemplation gives it a deep 
 tinge of sadness. 
 
 Percy. And what is that, friend Laydon? 
 
 Laydon. That neither Smith or that dear Pocahontas will be 
 here to share the joy and victory. 
 
 Percy. Thou art not alone in that reflection. Ungrateful would 
 we be indeed, to let their memory dim. To them alone is due this 
 nation's birth, and their fair fame will be a nation's precious 
 heritage. 
 
114 Pocahontas, 
 
 Lay don. And, yet, Sir Smith has many enemies, and is much 
 maligned, and others, even now, are reaping honors tliat should be 
 his. 
 
 Percy. That is the portion of the truly great. John Smith will 
 live in song and story when long posterities of those who pestered 
 him are cast to nature's dust-bin, unhonored and unknown. It 
 takes great men to make great kings, and James himself will not 
 be free of future scorn for his neglect of this same Smith. He 
 should be here to-morrow, an honored guest and representative 
 of the king, but as it is not so, I propose that we draw up a letter 
 of greeting and appreciation and send it to him. Most of the men 
 would sign it. 
 
 Hunt. An excellent idea, Sir Percy, and don't let us forget it. 
 
 Laydon. I heartily indorse it, and further suggest we make a 
 purse, to have our friends at home put flowers, in our name, upon 
 the grave of Pocahontas, the lonely stranger in a land of strangers. 
 
 Percy. This, too, shall be done. Perhaps, some generation of 
 the future, heart-touched at her story, will bring her sainted ashes 
 to repose amid the scenes she knew and loved so well. 
 
 Hunt. Xay, Sir Percy, let her lie in peace beneath our English 
 flowers, a shrine for pilgrims from a newer world, and a sweet 
 bond of union between two lands. 
 
 Percy. Your Eeverence is right, but let her story be a house- 
 hold one in this Virginia, and let us do our part to keep her 
 memory fresh. Laydon. where do the ships now lie? 
 
 Laydon. Hard by Point Comfort, in the lower bay. They 
 weigh anchor with the sunrise. 
 
 Hunt. How many maidens are reported in the ships? 
 
 Laydon. Ninety, and 'tis most amusing to note the antics of 
 our men in their contriving of fond artifices for the morrow. 
 
 Percy. Ninety rosy English girls ! Marry, after the loneliness 
 of all these years, 'tis a prospect to make the heart jump. No 
 guests will ever find such fond hospitality as these, I'll warrant. 
 Already are our men tumultuous with devotion. 
 
 Hunt. 'Twill be a scene to pass to song and story, one of those 
 which historv vields but once. 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 115 
 
 Laydon. Just fancy, sirs! the beauty of Devonshire, the lilies of 
 Kent, and the roses of Surrey ! a bouquet fit to grace the plains of 
 paradise ! 
 
 Percy, But thou, at least, good Laydon, wilt not hold forth with 
 supplicating hands to-morrow. Thy wife will see to that, will she 
 not? 
 
 Laydon. ISTor have I any inclination, Sir. Not all the sweet- 
 ness of England could lure my heart from my dear Anne. The 
 lads are welcome to these dear maids, my own cup of happiness 
 is full, I assure you. 
 
 Hunt. Trul3^3 Master Laydon, thou hast above us all, been 
 greatly blessed. 
 
 Laydon. Yes, your Reverence, and I am not unmindful of God's 
 goodness to one so ill-deserving. 
 
 Percy. Indeed, Laydon, thou hast been the one contented man 
 of all this colony, and not a little envied. The grumblers have been 
 many, but this cargo will silence them, no doubt of that. When 
 fortune fiddles, even lame men dance, and the colony has found its 
 fortune. 
 
 Laydon. Poor chaps, they'll get but their just deserts. These 
 darlings come to befriend their toils and recompense their suffer- 
 ings. But how about th3^€elf. Sir Percy, surely one so well de- 
 serving must not go lacking ? 
 
 Percy. Bless you, Laydon, 'tis not for me. Long has the grass 
 grown o'er the saintly form I loved; long has the sea wind wailed 
 above her^ and when from a new-made mound I turned and went 
 forth in the world alone, I left my heart within it. My love, Lay- 
 don, is in the grave, and that is why I hither came to smother sor- 
 row in a sea of peril. 
 
 Laydon. My heart bleeds for you. Sir, but surely you are still 
 too young to wed with melancholy. Thou art the man to make 
 the best of women happy, and consolation often comes to those 
 who seek it. 
 
 Percy. No more o' it, Laydon ! In Egypt, I'll marry the moon ! 
 What is the programme for the morning? 
 
 Laydon. The Governor hath issued orders that rude, unseemly 
 
116 Pocahontas, 
 
 behavior will not be tolerated. The men are enjoined to restrain 
 their ardour, and to await in the public square the coming of the 
 maids. The last man deposited to-day his tobacco in the ware- 
 house and received his certificate, and each will hold his precious 
 passport to Love's court to-morrow. There'll be sweet dreams this 
 blessed night in Jamestown. 
 
 Hunt. Gentlemen, the night's no longer young, and drowsy 
 eyes would ill become to-morrow's happy scenes. 
 
 Percy. Away, then! 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Ballet. Public Square at Jamestown. Back canvass should show 
 a prosperous village. Colonists assembled in gala attire, much 
 talk and laughter. Indians, in full finery, move about among 
 them. Booming of cannon announce the nearby landing of 
 maids. Great cheering. At command of Percy, men range 
 themselves in military order on one side of stage, Indians be- 
 hind them. March music by orchestra — "The Girl I Left 
 Behind Me." No dialogue. 
 
 Entrance of Maids. All costumed alike and keeping step to 
 music. They form line opposite men and drop courtsey; then 
 march half way towards men and drop another courtsey. Men 
 advance to meet them, boiu with hands over hearts and both 
 lines return to position. Both lines advance, open, and pass 
 to opposite sides of stage, maids now in front of Indians. In- 
 dians give whoop a7id commence dance, maids, in terror, rush 
 towards men, who advance open-armed and receive them, hold- 
 ing them thus for an instant in protective and reassuring 
 attitude. They part and occupy first position. 
 
 Selection of Wives. Selection is made by men advancing singly to 
 center of stage, looking upon the object of his choice, and 
 
The Virginia Nonpareil. 117 
 
 holding forth his arms. Maid courtseys, then goes forth to 
 meet him. This is repeated until whole line is paired. They 
 march in pairs around stage, to Mendellsohn's wedding march. 
 General dance, Indians doing native dance around and be- 
 tween others. Suddenly hugle call, at which company malce 
 two lines on each side of stage and look expectantly towards 
 rear. 
 
 Entrance of Allegorical figures. Enter to patriotic marches Col- 
 umbia with pole and liberty cap, Britannia with trident of 
 Neptune and shield. Soldier, in Continental uniform, bears 
 the American flag behind Columbia. Sailor performs the same 
 office for Britannia. They halt near front of stage. Orches- 
 tra plays Star Spangled Banner and God Save the King. Com- 
 pany then line up behind. Enter, from opposite sides of stage. 
 Uncle Sam^ and John Bull; they advance to front of stage, ex- 
 tend and shake hands. Curtain falls upon grand tableau of 
 Indians, colonists and their wives, and allegorical figures 
 grouped appropriately. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 FINIS. 
 
^W0 yODies netciveu 
 
 APR 22 1907 
 
 i-v i»Byrljfht Entry 
 / /class a^ XXc, No. 
 
 ET* 
 
 VIRGINIA'S WELCOME, 1907. 
 By George F. Viett. 
 
 Her flaming festal flags unfurled 
 
 And gates thrown open wide, 
 The Old Dominion greets the world 
 
 With friendship, joy, and pride. 
 She calls upon the stately host — 
 
 The children of her line. 
 And bids them yield devotion at 
 
 The iSTation's sacred shrine. 
 
 Xo stint is in the mother's heart, 
 
 jSTo check upon her hand, 
 Xo discord in the greeting note 
 
 Of welcome to her strand; 
 A'irginia knows them for her own 
 
 By every ancient sign. 
 By race, by creed, by tongue, by flag. 
 
 And heritage divine. 
 
 Open lies the seaward way. 
 
 Open lies the land; 
 r)pen is Virginia's heart 
 
 And open is her hand; 
 And by these symbols will she claim 
 
 Her children, kin and kith, 
 r>y lovely Pocahontas, and 
 
 By gallant Captain Smith ! 
 
 (Copyright, 1907.) 
 
AfR 32 »07 
 
 LEAp'09 
 
<x^^ 
 
 Jamestown Exposition 
 
 The C. W. REX CO. Inc. 
 
 — PRESENT — 
 
 The Great Feature Attraction 
 
 The Miller Brothers' Famous 
 
 101 RANCH 
 
 WILD WEST SHOW 
 
 (From Bliss, Oklahoma) 
 
 cnn INDIANS, COWBOYS, cnn 
 
 J U U COWGIRLS ^^^ ME XICANS JUU 
 
 Buffalos, Bucking Bronchos, and Long Horn 
 Steers in a Stupendous Reproduc- 
 tion of Western Life. 
 
 Unrivalled in its Immensity. 
 
 Performances Every Afternoon and Night 
 
 OPENING DATE MAY 20TH. 
 
 Seating Capacity for 15.000 Under Cover 
 
 W 18 
 
 3 -i 
 
^ "^ <^^ *^ •-" a9 ^ "^ ^V^ 
 
 
 
 f^^* ^ v* *^ 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 ;* y o. 
 
 
 •"^^.^^ '^^^\ ^-.cJ^^ o.:^te^ "-^^.^^ ^*.^^^.'. ^^..-i^^ 
 
 -^o^ 
 
 3.0 V\ 
 
 "^0^