The Princess Pocahontas | Page 6

if the
corn were high above the ground in which it had only just been planted
with song and the observance of ancient sacred rites and dances. Little
leaves glistened like fish scales, as they gently unfurled themselves on
the walnut and persimmon trees about Werowocomoco, and in the
forest the ground was covered with flowers. The children tied them
together and tossed them as balls to and fro or wound them into
chaplets for their hair; the old squaws searched among them for certain
roots and leaves for dyes to stain the grass cloth they spun, called
pemmenaw.
The boys played hunters, pretending their dogs were wild beasts, but
the bears and wolves did not always understand the parts assigned them
and frolicked and leaped up in delight upon their little masters instead
of turning upon them ferociously. The elder braves lay before their
lodges, many of them idling in the sunshine, others busied themselves
making arrows, fitting handles to stone knives or knotting crab nets.
Two slaves, brought home prisoners by a war party, were hollowing
out a dugout, which the Powhatans used instead of the birchbark canoes

preferred by other tribes. They had cut down an oak tree that, judging
from its rings, must have been an acorn when Powhatan was a papoose,
seventy years before. They had burned out a portion of the outer and
inner bark and were now hacking at the heart of the wood with sharp
obsidian axes.
The squaws were also all busy out of doors, though they chatted in
groups as eagerly as if their energy were being expended by their
tongues only. Many were at work scraping deerskin to soften it before
they cut it into robes for themselves or into moccasins for the men.
Here and there little puffs of smoke that seemed to come from beneath
the earth testified to the dinners that were being cooked under heated
stones.
Pocahontas was seated upon a small hill overlooking the village. As the
chief's daughter, it was only on special occasions and as an honored
guest, that she joined the knots of squaws or maidens chatting before
the wigwams. But she was not alone now in solitary grandeur. She was
accustomed to surround herself, when she desired company, with a
number of younger girls of the tribe who obeyed her, less because she
was the daughter of the feared werowance, than because she had a way
with her that made it pleasant to do as she willed and difficult to oppose
her. Cleopatra, her youngest sister, sat beside her, trying to coax a
squirrel on the branch above them to come down and eat some parched
corn from her hands.
Over Pocahontas's knees was spread a robe of raccoon skin, smooth,
painted in a wide border. Along the edge of this she was embroidering
a deep pattern of white beads made from sea shells. A basket of reeds
beside her was full of other beads, large and small, white, red, yellow
and blue.
"What doth thy pattern mean, Pocahontas?" asked the girl nearest her.
"As it is not one any of our mothers hath ever wrought before, thou
must have a meaning for it in thy mind." "Yes," assented the worker, "it
differeth from all other patterns because my father differeth from all
other werowances. It meaneth this that I sing:

"Powhatan is a mighty chief, As long as the river floweth, As long as
the sky upholdeth, As long as the oak tree groweth, So long shall his
name be known.
"See, this line is for the river, this one that goeth up straight is the oak
tree and this long line all wavy is the heavens. I make this for my father
because I am so proud of him."
"But why, Pocahontas," asked another of her companions, "dost thou
not use more of these red beads? They are so like fire, like the blood of
an enemy; why dost thou refer the white?"
Pocahontas held her bone needle still for a moment and her face wore a
puzzled expression.
"I cannot answer thee exactly, Deer-Eye, since I do not know myself. I
love the white beads as I love best to wear a white robe myself, or a
white rabbit hood in winter. In the woods I always pick the white
flowers, and I love the white wild pigeon best of all the birds except the
white seagull. And the white soft clouds high in the heavens I love
better than the red and yellow ones when the sun goeth down to sleep
in the west. Yet I cannot say why it is so."
As noon approached the day grew hotter, and the fingers wearied of the
work. Down in the village the men had ceased their activities and lay