Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America (36 page)
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Authors: Giles Milton
BOOK: Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America
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But if the Company was curiously indifferent to the presence of
its guests, London itself was enchanted. The Indians caused a sensation in the streets and markets of the capital, and they found themselves feted wherever they went. The great and the good were particularly excited at the prospect of being entertained by a troop of genuine savages, and Tomocomo proved a good sport when it came to delighting his hosts. His party turn was “to sing and dance his diabolicall measures”—something that never failed to impress his audience. His war dances were even more impressive—“singing and clapping hands … shooting, hollowing, stamping with antike gesture, like to many devils.” He also liked to “discourse of his countrey and religion,” using Dale’s “man” as his interpreter, and enjoyed giving lengthy monologues about the Indian god, Okee.
its guests, London itself was enchanted. The Indians caused a sensation in the streets and markets of the capital, and they found themselves feted wherever they went. The great and the good were particularly excited at the prospect of being entertained by a troop of genuine savages, and Tomocomo proved a good sport when it came to delighting his hosts. His party turn was “to sing and dance his diabolicall measures”—something that never failed to impress his audience. His war dances were even more impressive—“singing and clapping hands … shooting, hollowing, stamping with antike gesture, like to many devils.” He also liked to “discourse of his countrey and religion,” using Dale’s “man” as his interpreter, and enjoyed giving lengthy monologues about the Indian god, Okee.
News of this soon reached the Lord Bishop of London, John King, who declared himself keen to meet this curious band of Indians. They were invited to his palace, where the bishop received them “with festivall state and pompe,” according to the Reverend Samuel Purchas, “beyond what I have seene in his great hospitalitie afforded to other ladies.” Pocahontas behaved with particular propriety and decorum. “[She] did not onely accustome herselfe to civilitie,” wrote Purchas, “but still carried herselfe as the daughter of a king, and was accordingly respected, not onely by the Company, which allowed provision for herselfe and her sonne, but of divers particular persons of honor.”
Tomocomo was less impressed by the niceties of polite society and launched into another lengthy monologue about Okee, bragging that the Indian god was a more tangible presence than the remote Christian deity. “[Okee] doth often appeare,” he informed the horrified bishop, adding that the deity could be conjured from thin air by priests uttering “certaine words of a strange language.” It made for a terrifying sight, for Okee wailed in “strange words and gestures” and made “awefull tokens of his presence.”
When the bishop asked Tomocomo for a description of this bizarre phantom, the Indian explained that he looked very much like an Indian tribesman. “His apparition is in forme of a personable
Virginian,” he said, “with a long blacke locke on the left side, hanging downe neere to the foot.” These Virginian “love-locks” had become all the rage in London, having been first brought back to the capital by Sir Walter Ralegh’s men more than thirty years previously. It was not a fashion that found favour with the Reverend Mr. Purchas. He declared them to be “sinister … Christians imitating savages, and they the devill.”
Virginian,” he said, “with a long blacke locke on the left side, hanging downe neere to the foot.” These Virginian “love-locks” had become all the rage in London, having been first brought back to the capital by Sir Walter Ralegh’s men more than thirty years previously. It was not a fashion that found favour with the Reverend Mr. Purchas. He declared them to be “sinister … Christians imitating savages, and they the devill.”
The now ageing John Smith had known for some time of Pocahontas’s arrival, yet it was several months before he headed to London, accompanied by a party of curious friends. More than seven years had passed since he had last seen Pocahontas, and the princess had changed from a girl into a married woman. His excitement at seeing her was soon checked by her frosty reception: “after a modest salutation, without any word, she turned about, obscured her face, as not seeming well contented; and in that humour … we all left her two or three houres.” The reason for her strange behaviour bewildered Smith, and he sat outside her chamber puzzling over it. He was no less surprised when the door opened and she invited him back into the room, smiling as if nothing had happened. Smith never learned the cause of her ill humour, and the two of them chatted about old times and relived the many occasions on which Pocahontas had helped the English. At one point, Smith paused to ask her why she insisted on calling him “father.”
“You did promise Powhatan [that] what was yours should bee his, and he the like to you,” she explained. “You called him father, being in his land a stranger, and by the same reason so I must doe you.”
Smith was disappointed to learn that the Indians had not yet been received at court, and he took it upon himself to write to King James I’s wife, Anna, to inform her of all the kindnesses that “this tender Virgin” had performed for the English in Virginia, and to beg that she be received with all due pomp at the royal court. He reminded the queen that Pocahontas had saved the lives of dozens of Englishmen, and has also been “the instrument to preserve this colonie from death, famine and utter confusion.” She was a living example of
what could be achieved by the civilising influence of an English colony in Virginia, having rejected “her barbarous condition, [and] maried to an English gentleman with whom, at this present, she is in England, the first Christian ever of that nation, the first Virginian ever spake English, or had a childe in mariage by an Englishman.”
what could be achieved by the civilising influence of an English colony in Virginia, having rejected “her barbarous condition, [and] maried to an English gentleman with whom, at this present, she is in England, the first Christian ever of that nation, the first Virginian ever spake English, or had a childe in mariage by an Englishman.”
The queen heeded Smith’s advice and invited Pocahontas and her retinue to the most extravagant and bibulous festival of the year—the Twelfth Night revels. They were to attend the first performance of Ben Jonson’s
Masque of
Christmas
—written specially for the occasion—and would afterwards join the revellers in the Banqueting Hall, which had been redecorated in gold and silver. The planned entertainment was to be so lavish that one courtier predicted it would “increase his majesty’s debt by two thousand pounds.”
Masque of
Christmas
—written specially for the occasion—and would afterwards join the revellers in the Banqueting Hall, which had been redecorated in gold and silver. The planned entertainment was to be so lavish that one courtier predicted it would “increase his majesty’s debt by two thousand pounds.”
The queen arranged for her guests to be treated with kindness. They were “well placed at the masque” and were “graciously used.” But King James was not quite so receptive as his sympathetic wife. His well-publicised phobia about Indians had in no way diminished over the years; he still considered them to be “barbarous,” “beastly,” and “vile.” For all his misgivings about their presence at the festivities, he showed an uncharacteristic courtesy and even had the good grace to allow Pocahontas and her party to be presented to him. The bewildered Indians were passed along a long line of perfumed courtiers until they reached a dirty and rather dishevelled fifty-year-old with food in his beard and stains on his waistcoat. Overcome by the noise and bustle of the occasion, the significance of the moment escaped them. They had no idea that they had been introduced to the mighty King James,
weroance
of Virginia, and it was only when they were told to fall to their knees in homage that they realised he was someone of importance. When John Smith later asked Tomocomo what he thought of England’s
weroance
, “he denied ever to have seene the king,” wrote Smith, “till by circumstances he was satisfied he had.” Even so, he was sorely disappointed that King James cut such an unimpressive figure and was surprised that he had not been presented with gifts and trinkets.
weroance
of Virginia, and it was only when they were told to fall to their knees in homage that they realised he was someone of importance. When John Smith later asked Tomocomo what he thought of England’s
weroance
, “he denied ever to have seene the king,” wrote Smith, “till by circumstances he was satisfied he had.” Even so, he was sorely disappointed that King James cut such an unimpressive figure and was surprised that he had not been presented with gifts and trinkets.
Pocahontas arrived in London in 1616. She was given lodgings in the Belle Sauvage Inn, whose owner capitalised on her fame by replacing his pub sign with her portrait
“You gave Powhatan a white dog,” he reminded Smith, “which Powhatan fed as himselfe, but your king gave me nothing, and I am better than your white dog.” Smith nodded wearily, but did not have the heart to tell him that King James was so prejudiced against “savages” that Tomocomo was lucky not to have been thrown to the dogs.
Pocohontas’s arrival in London coincided with some wholly unexpected news for King James’s most famous prisoner, Sir Walter Ralegh, who was now in his sixty-fifth year. On March 19, 1616, the lieutenant of the Tower was handed a royal warrant that authorised his immediate release from prison. After thirteen years behind bars, Ralegh suddenly found himself a free man.
The news came as a bolt from the blue. For years he had been petitioning for his freedom, promising that as soon as he was out of jail he would return to Guiana and renew his search for the gold mines of El Dorado. “I am contented,” he wrote to the Privy Council, “to venture all I have.” He had written to Robert Cecil, begged the queen to intervene, and used his influence over the young Prince Henry to try to secure his release. All had expressed their sympathy, and Prince Henry had castigated the king for keeping Ralegh in prison, declaring that “none but my father would keep such a bird in a cage.” But Ralegh’s request to be released had been blocked on every occasion, and the lords of the council had sent other adventurers to Guiana in his place. Now—with royal finances in dire straits—the king had dramatically changed his mind and decided to give Ralegh the opportunity to prove his claims. He was to sail to South America and bring back the gold that could replenish King James’s empty coffers.
Sir Walter’s first act on being released was to take a long walk through the streets of London. “[He] goes up and down,” wrote one, “seeing the sights and places built or bettered since his imprisonment.” Much had changed during the long years he had been in the
Tower. The half-timbered Tudor city was fast being replaced by handsome stone structures—the Banqueting Hall, the New Exchange, and the imposing Northumberland House in Charing Cross. Even Durham House had been transformed: its mouldering facade had been reconstructed in finely hewn stone.
Tower. The half-timbered Tudor city was fast being replaced by handsome stone structures—the Banqueting Hall, the New Exchange, and the imposing Northumberland House in Charing Cross. Even Durham House had been transformed: its mouldering facade had been reconstructed in finely hewn stone.
Changes were also apparent in Westminster Abbey, where one particularly magnificent tomb must certainly have arrested Ralegh’s step. The monument to Queen Elizabeth I was now complete, an extravagance of marble that had been adorned by the greatest craftsmen of the age. Nicholas Hilliard had coloured the queen’s cape, while John de Critz had tooled the chiselled inscription with gold. The Latin epitaph would have pleased Elizabeth, for it remembered her as “the mother of this her country, the nurse of religion and learning; for perfect skill of many languages, for glorious endowments, as well of mind as of body, a prince incomparable.” But there was one notable omission in the long list of successes and achievements: there was no mention of Virginia, the land of the Virgin Queen. It was a sorry oversight, since it was Elizabeth who had been the first and original benefactor of the New World and the monarch who had made colonisation possible.
More than three decades after Ralegh had welcomed a trembling Manteo into Elizabeth’s glittering court, he rode out to greet another Indian, the princess Pocahontas. Tradition relates that he met her in the gilded splendour of Syon House, home of the Earl of Northumberland, where the aged and now infirm Thomas Harriot was still in residence. But truth and legend have merged into one, and what really happened behind the walls of that great house remains a mystery. England’s diligent antiquarians have searched high and low for any whisper of evidence, but they have been unable to unearth any details from Syon’s dust-filled library. Yet they had no wish to allow the empty truth to get in the way of a good story. Softened by the romance of the tale, they allowed a rare streak of fantasy into their accounts, relating how the little party might have clambered into a carriage and trooped off to the Tower of London
to entertain the wizard earl. Here, deep in the bowels of that ancient prison, Northumberland was said to have mended Pocahontas’s mussel-shell earrings.
to entertain the wizard earl. Here, deep in the bowels of that ancient prison, Northumberland was said to have mended Pocahontas’s mussel-shell earrings.
It was a fairy-tale end to an enchanting story, but it probably belongs to the realms of fiction. The truth about that ice-chill winter of 1616 will never be known, for the Great Fire of London swept through most of the records, and the only known fact is that the Indian princess did indeed move her lodgings to Brentford, the site of Syon House.
Yet it remains fitting that fact and legend have blended into one and that our last glance of Ralegh and Pocahontas is of them seated side by side in a boneshaker carriage, vanishing like ghosts into the mists of a frozen London.
The only certainty of that winter is that Ralegh was delighted by the joyous news that John Rolfe brought from Jamestown. The establishment of a settlement had been his goal for the greater part of thirty years—a seemingly impossible dream that he had pursued with great energy since the spring of 1584. He had lavished his fortune on the colonisation of the New World, and had assembled many of the brilliant minds of the Elizabethan age to help him in the project. He had inspired loyalty and courage, and pushed men to the limits of their endurance. He might have succeeded had his commanders not let him down and allowed his dream to founder on the marshy island of Roanoke, amid a flurry of arrows and the murderous screams of the Indians.
Now, three decades on, others had built upon his foundations. Inspired by men like Harriot and Lane, they had set sail for the New World with high hopes of success. Their triumph was Ralegh’s triumph, and the silver-haired adventurer was enough of a realist to read the signs of their success. It was not to be found in the propaganda of the Virginia Company, and nor was it contained in the eternally optimistic letters of the governors. The truth was buried in a humdrum report brought back to England by John Rolfe. He brought news that Jamestown had 144 cattle, 216 goats, and “great plentie” of chickens—a simple enough achievement, but one which was to guarantee the colony’s future. Jamestown had become self-sufficient, the long-term goal of Ralegh’s colonists all those years before. It also had a reason to exist. Tobacco was proving “verie commodyous,” while the horizons of this vast continent were being unrolled with every year that passed. America was truly a land of opportunity, and Rolfe told an excited London that there was room “for many hundred thousands of inhabitans.”
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