SMITH AND NEWPORT.
News of Smith's escape from cruel death ere long
Reached the eager ears of England's Scottish king
(He who wrote the scathing Counterblast to smoke),
And he straightway sent a brilliant scarlet robe
Present for the Indian "Emperor Powhatan,"
Ordering that the royal native should be crowned.
"On fool's errand dost thou come, Captain Newport,"
Quoth John Smith with rising ire as he read
Quaintly worded mandate from across the sea.
"What is this that we must vainly search for next?
'Gold mines, South Sea Islands, and lost colonists!'
Daily have we much ado to keep ourselves,
What with starving, mutiny, and Indian raids,
Questions vexed that keep our minds from roving far
From these palisades our toiling hands have reared,
Come, Newport, we'll set our wits to work at once
To unravel from this web of words the sense
That our monarch would impart.
Come, sit you down,
Let us gaily fill our pipes with fragrant weed
Such as natives grow—perchance its soothing power
Anger will assuage; vexations disappear
In these wreaths of smoke King James will never see!
"Of one thing be thou assured," said Newport, smiling—
"That King James will at your hands (through me) require
Full account of crowning of the Werowance,
Cost of every gift bestowed upon the chief,
Or upon that charming Princess Pocahontas,
Rumor couples with your name, Sir President!"
"Nay, Newport, a child in years, the bright-eyed maid,
Yet with heart of gold and mother wit
Working e'er to save our colony from ruin.
He who dares vile slander make or evil think
Is unworthy woman's love or England's trust."
"No offense was meant," the Captain quick replied,
"'Tis romantic tale, and still a nine days' wonder,
You, the noble victim of a murderous plot,
Maiden's fancy but the arbiter of fate."
"Idle Gossip hath her day," Smith slowly said—
"Let us plan to carry out the crowning farce,
May it serve to charm the haughty Powhatan,
As it pleases England's monarch for the time.
Yes, the scarlet robe will dazzle Indian chief,
An' it is your wish to make of him a clown.
'Tis a trifling matter that; more serious far
Charges given you by the London Company,
Who from distant lands know naught, in truth,
Of the frontier hardships, of the settler's needs.
Can you not inform them in the plainest terms
Of the falseness of the accusations made?
Stay! myself will write them and boldly refute
All their calumnies; set forth details in order,
Calling 'spade a spade'—'twill be my 'Answer Rude.'"[FN#5]
[FN#5] Smith's "Rude Answer," sent as a refutation of charges made by
the London Company at the instigation of his enemies.
"It were wiser, Mr. President, for you
Moderation still to use, although in part
Truth be veiled; the Company it pleaseth not
Always to be told of factions in our midst.
Even though you, the foremost man, the brave explorer,
Much have suffered, many ills have yet to bear,
Still be patient, for the darkest clouds will lift,
Future sunlight blaze your name on history's pages,
As the Saviour of the English colony—
Fair Virginia! Raleigh's life-long hope and passion,
Vast and proud possession of the Virgin Queen.
You alone, Sir President, command the power
Simple natives of this beauteous land to sway,
Tribes to hold in check; these struggling homes to foster,
Realizing dream of years, desire of nations.
You alone hold key to knowledge of this country,
For the which bold science will reward you well."
"Key to knowledge?—It is here," Smith made reply,
Holding up to view his lately finished maps,
Work of months at cost of body and of brain.
"Here," he added, lifting closely written sheets,
"Look! first draft of this, my "Generall Historie."[FN#6]
[FN#6] Smith's "Generall Historie" pub. in England in 1624.
"Patience yet must have her limit, trusty friend,
Comes the time for action, e'en to men of peace,
Maps and Historie and Answer Rude shall form
Trio to convince the London Company."