John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

My. . feares, it was soon prov'd, were justify'd. The Emperour made a signall, and the three great Salvages lay'd hold of my C apt. Despite his protestations, the w chwere lowd enow, he was carry'd up to Powhatans couch, and there forc'd to his knees. The Salvages lay'd his head upon a paire of greate stones, put there for the purpose, and catching up there uglie war-clubbs, had beate out what smalle braines my C aptmight make claim to, were it not that at this juncture, the Queene her selfe, to my astonishment, interceded. Running to the altar, she flung her selfe bodilie upon my C apt, and declar'd to Powhatan, that rather w dshe loose her owne head, then that they s hddash in his. Were I the Emperour, I owne I s hdhave done the twain to death, for that so cleare an alliance c dlead but to adulterie ere long. But Powhatan stay'd his bullies; the assemblie was dismist, saving only the Emperour, his Queene, my C apt, & my selfe (who all seem'd to have forgot, thank God), and for the nonce, it appear'd, my heart w dgo on beating in my breast. .

[There follow'd] a speech by the Emperour, w ch, as best I grasp'd it, was unusuall as it was improper. Some I grant escap'd me, for that Powhatan spake with great rapiditie and chew'd his wordes withal. But the summe of what I gather'd was, that the Queene was not his Queene at all, neither one amongst his concubines, but his daughter, her name being Pocahontas. By this name is signify'd, in there tongue, the smalle one, or she of the smallnesse and impenetrabilitie, and this, it seem'd, referr'd not to the maidens stature, w chwas in sooth but slight, nor to her mind, w chone c dpenetrate with passing ease. Rather it reflected, albeit grosslie, a singular physickal short-coming in the childe, to witt: her privitie was that nice, and the tympanum therein so surpassing stowt, as to render it infrangible. This fact greatlie disturb'd the Emperour, for that in his nation the barbarous custom was practic'd, that whensoever a maid be affianc'd, the Salvage, who wisheth to wed her, must needs first fracture that same membrane, whereupon the suitor is adjudg'd a man worthie of his betrothed, and the nuptialls followe. Now Powhatan, we were told, had on sundrie occasions chosen warriors of his people to wedd this Pocahontas, but in everie instance the ceremonie had to be foregone, seeing that labour as they might, none had been able to deflowr her, and in sooth the most had done them selves hurt withal, in there efforts; whereas, the proper thing was, to injure the young lasse, and that as grievouslie as possible, the degree of injurie being reck'd a measure of the mans virilitie. Inasmuch as the Salvages are wont to marrie off there daughters neare twelve yeares of age, it was deem'd a disgracefull thing, the Emperour s hdhave a daughter sixteene, who was yet a maide.

Continuing this discourse, [Powhatan] said, that whereas his daughter had seen fitt, to save my C aptslife, what time it had been the Emperours pleasure to dashe out his braines, then my C aptmust needs regard him selfe affianc'd to her, and submit him selfe to that same labour (to witt, essaying the gate to Venus grottoe) as her former suitors. But. . with this difference, that where, having fail'd, her Salvage beaux had merelie been disgrac'd, and taunted as olde women, my C apt, s hdhe prove no better, his head w dbe lay'd againe upon the stones, and the clubbing of his braines proceed without quarter or respite.

All this Pocahontas heard with greate joye, maugre its nature, W chw dhave mortify'd an English ladie; and my C apt, too, accepted readilie (in sooth he had no option in the matter). For my part, I was pleas'd to gaine reprieve once more from the butchers block, albeit a briefe one, for I could not see, since that the Salvages were of large stature, and my C aptso slight of build, how that he s hdtriumph where they had fail'd, unlesse there were some wondrous disproportion, in both cases, betwixt the size of what in each was visible, and what conceal'd, to the casuall eye. My fate, it seem'd, hung on my C apts, and for that I bade him Godspeed, preferring to heare for ever his endlesse boasting (w chw dsurelie followe his successe), then to wett with my braines the Salvage clubbs, w chfate awaited me upon his failure. The carnall joust was set for sunup, in the publick yard of sorts, that fronted the Emperours house, and the entire towne was order'd to be present. This alone, I wot, w dhave suffic'd to unstarch an ordinarie man, my selfe included, who am wont to worshipp Venus (after my fashion) in the privacie of darken'd couches; but my C aptappear'd not a whitt ruffl'd, and in sooth seem'd eager to make his essaye publicklie. This, I take it, is apt measure of his swinishnesse, for that whenas a gentleman is forc'd, against his will, to some abominable worke, he will dispatch it with as much expedition, and as little notice, as he can, whereas the rake & foole will noise the matter about, drawing the eyes of the world to his follie & license, and is never more content, then when he hath an audience to his mischief. .

[Here endeth the existing portion of the journal.]

" 'Dslife, what a place to end it!" Ebenezer cried when he had finished the manuscript, and hurried to find Burlingame. "Was there no more, Henry?"

"Not another word, I swear't, for I combed the town to find the rest."

"But marry, one must know how matters went — whether this hateful Smith made good his boasts, or thy poor ancestor lost his life."

"Ah well," Burlingame replied, "this much we know, that both escaped, for Smith went on that same year to explore the Chesapeake, and Burlingame at least set down this narrative. What's more, if I be not a bastard he must needs have got himself a wife in later years, for none is mentioned here. I'God, Eben, I cannot tell you how I yearn to know the rest!"

"And I," laughed Ebenezer, "for though belike she was no poet, this Pocahontas was twice the virgin I am!"

To Ebenezer's surprise, Burlingame blushed deeply. "That is not what I meant."

"I know full well you didn't; 'tis your ancestry concerns you. Yet 'tis no vulgar curiosity, this other: the fall of virgins always is instructive, nor doth the world e'er weary of the tale. And the harder the fall, the better."

"Indeed?" Burlingame smiled, regaining his composure. "And prithee tell me, What lesson doth it teach?"

" 'Tis odd that I should be the teacher and you the pupil," Ebenezer said, "yet I will own 'tis a subject close to my heart, and one to which I've given no small attention. My conclusion is, that mankind sees two morals in such tales: the fall of innocence, or the fall of pride. The first sort hath its archetype in Adam; the second in Satan. The first alone hath not the sting of tragedy, as hath the second: the virgin pure and simple, like Pocahontas, is neither good nor vicious for her hymen; she is only envied, as is Adam, by the fallen. They secretly rejoice to see her ravaged, as poor men smile to see a rich man robbed — e'en the virtuous fallen can feel for her no more than abstract pity. The second is the very stuff of drama, for the proud man oft excites our admiration; we live, as't were, by proxy in his triumphs, and are cleansed and taught by proxy in his fall. When we heap obloquy on Satan, is't not ourselves we scold, for that we secretly admire his Heavenly insurrection?"

"That all seems sound," said Burlingame. "It follows, doth it not, that when you profess abhorrence for the Captain, thou'rt but chastising yourself in like manner, or that part of you that wisheth him success?"

" 'Tis unequivocally the case," Ebenezer agreed, "whene'er the critic's of the number of the fallen. For myself, 'twere as if a maid should cheer her ravisher, or my Lord Baltimore support John Coode."

"I think that neither is impossible, but let it go. I will say now, thine own fall, when it comes, must needs be glorious, inasmuch as thou'rt both innocent and proud."