Just because we talk history doesn't mean we have to stick to the U.S., so let's turn to the Stuart rulers of England. James II and his son, who would cause untold problems for all parties, is the subject upon which we'll focus. Why was the infant, who might have been James III, known as "the warming pan baby"?
James II had innumerable issues as the Duke of York, not so surprising for a direct descendant of Mary Stuart. Still this future king had done his duty, married a nice Protestant girl, Anne Hyde, and produced two children. This in itself had been somewhat scandalous because she was a commoner and, less so, because she was extremely pregnant. Yet, the only real problem here was that, in an era of primogeniture (the eldest son as heir), the couple produced only the princesses Mary and Anne. So, when James became a widower, he had no male to continue the Stuart succession.
Quite the ladies man, Stuart was not alone for long. In 1673, his brother, Charles II, granted him permission to marry the Italian princess Mary of Modena. She was 15; he was just days shy of 40. It's a sure bet that reproduction was the major objective here. But James had, despite laws to curtail the practice, long ago become a quietly practicing Catholic. His new bride was of the same religion. This was just one of the many things that would lead to his downfall.
When his brother died two years later, without recognizing any of his children as legitimate and having also become Catholic, James II took his place on the throne. He believed that God had predetermined that he do so. This thinking did not bode well. There was trouble with Parliament, extreme church strife, and war in Ireland--all of which led to a general distrust of the king. He could not even control William, his Dutch (and Protestant) son-in-law by marriage to young Mary Stuart. But he finally met one duty when the prince, James Francis Edward, was born in 1688.
Such was a happy occasion, we would naturally conclude. But the reasoning there would be wrong. The birth of the child was surrounded by secrecy. Because their other children had died in infancy, the queen waited until very late in her pregnancy to share the news. Few people saw her undress, and these were only the most trusted courtiers. On the day of the prince's birth, just the closest staff was allowed into the bed chamber, and, though it was a warm summer day, a woman entered the room carrying a warming pan. This is a lidded device on a long handle that, after being filled with hot coals, is slipped into a bed to heat the cold sheets in winter. All of this was considered very suspicious.
There was already talk of overthrowing the monarch. William and Mary were eager to replace her father. Once all factors were considered, little James made the decision for the rebels. The majority of them believed the heir had died, and a changeling had been smuggled in hidden in the warming pan--thus, "the warming pan baby." They sang a song concerning his questionable ancestry:
"Rock a bye baby, in the tree top,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.
Then down will come baby, cradle, and all."
The tree represented the Stuart dynasty. The wind was one of revolution. The fall presaged that of the monarch and his supposed heir, "baby, cradle, and all."
At any rate, later that year, William of Orange deposed his father-in-law in the Glorious Revolution, also called the Bloodless Rebellion, for little blood was shed. In December, after failing to muster military aid, James II packed up his wife and son and fled to France, never to return. William and Mary became the joint rulers of England by Parliamentary measure.
So if you sing a lullaby tonight, remember little James, that "warming pan baby," as he was forever known. And know that every little word has its own very original meaning.
VK
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
General H and the Women
Yesterday, we took up Sam Houston and the mystery of Eliza Allen. I do believe I pointed out that SH had trouble determining what women want. So let's continue from there, with "The Big Drunk."
As is often the case with a shattered man, another woman stepped in to pick up the pieces. This was Tiana, a member of the tribe which had adopted the lost man. In "white" culture, she would become known as Diana Rogers, the great-grandmother of famous Cherokee raconteur Will. This tall, attractive widow of 30 became Houston's second wife in the customary ceremony, as she had fallen in love.
Now remember, he and Eliza had not yet gotten a bill of divorcement, as it was called, passed through the Tennessee legislature. Hard to believe it was ever that difficult to get unhitched, but it was. This did not set well with the people of his state when word got back to them. They saw Houston as a barbarian who had, at the very least, abandoned Eliza, and he effectively burned his bridges behind him.
But the marriage to Tiana did not last. She, too, was left behind when the former governor crossed the Sabine River in February, 1832, ignoring Mexican law against Americans doing so. In the province, he took up residence in Nacogdoches, where he became deeply involved in political affairs--and those of the heart.
The new victim of his affections was Anna Raguet, all of 17, who came from an excellent local family. Houston may have chosen often, but he chose well. Of Swiss descent, Anna was considered a great beauty, with fair skin, large eyes, and dark curls. She was well educated, impressively intelligent, and charmingly musical. Despite the age difference (which seemed to be Houston's preference), they spent much time together and began to talk of marriage. But his divorce from Eliza was not finalized.
And he was involved in a law practice and politics, which led him to spend more time away from Anna. When he rode off to command the revolutionary army, she made a sash for him, as was the custom, and kept a lock of his hair. After he was elected president of the fledgling Texas Republic, he continued to stay in contact with her and seek his divorce. His secretary of state, Robert Irion, carried letters back and forth between the two, though they did not visit, and the inevitable happened. Houston finally found himself free--and the Irions were married in 1837. C'est la guerre. C'est la vie.
Anna and Robert were famously happy together. She even caused a stir by appearing in public in the very last days of her pregnancy, ignoring class convention. So things had worked out in their own way. Houston had his divorce, Anna married the man she loved, and, unfortunately, poor Tiana had died of a fever. The right woman was out there though.
Margaret Lea, of Alabama, had first seen the newly-wounded hero of San Jacinto when she was only 14. Upon glimpsing him at a New Orleans dock, where he hobbled ashore in great pain, she was so touched that she cried in sympathy. After the Raguet incident, she met Houston formally when he visited mutual friends in Georgia. All agree that here was the most striking of his paramours. With dark violet eyes, jet black hair, and pale ivory skin, Lea painted a slim, petite portrait of femininity. But this was no pushover. Houston had met his match. They married in 1840. He was 47; she was 21.
This was a very romantic and private couple. They wrote sensitive poetry and lengthy letters. And while Margaret had no qualms about sharing her opinions and feelings with her husband, she was renowned throughout the nation and then the state as the perfect political wife. And they adored each other.
The former first president of Texas had found out quickly that his betrothed was also very Baptist. He had gone through only one religious formality, having been baptized a Catholic upon settling in Nacogdoches, as was the law of Mexico. Otherwise, he'd had not so much as a brush with any denomination. But Margaret was determined to whip him into shape in this area--almost literally.
During one buggy excursion in Austin, during his second presidential term, he cursed vehemently at the horse, as it was ignoring his prodding. With this, his diminutive wife snatched up the whip and threatened him with it. She proceeded to force him down from the buggy and onto his knees in the street. There, the great general did as he was told and prayed for forgiveness. Sam Houston had become a Baptist.
He and Margaret spent the remainder of his life together. She bore him eight children, supported his opposition to secession (you read it right), saw him bless his sons as they fought for the Confederacy, and buried him when he died in 1863. His last word was "Margaret."
She followed him in death only five years later. The cause was unknown, or so we are told. Maybe she just remembered that "the two shall be as one." At any rate, their story was either the end of his troubles or the beginning, depending on your point of view.
VK
As is often the case with a shattered man, another woman stepped in to pick up the pieces. This was Tiana, a member of the tribe which had adopted the lost man. In "white" culture, she would become known as Diana Rogers, the great-grandmother of famous Cherokee raconteur Will. This tall, attractive widow of 30 became Houston's second wife in the customary ceremony, as she had fallen in love.
Now remember, he and Eliza had not yet gotten a bill of divorcement, as it was called, passed through the Tennessee legislature. Hard to believe it was ever that difficult to get unhitched, but it was. This did not set well with the people of his state when word got back to them. They saw Houston as a barbarian who had, at the very least, abandoned Eliza, and he effectively burned his bridges behind him.
But the marriage to Tiana did not last. She, too, was left behind when the former governor crossed the Sabine River in February, 1832, ignoring Mexican law against Americans doing so. In the province, he took up residence in Nacogdoches, where he became deeply involved in political affairs--and those of the heart.
The new victim of his affections was Anna Raguet, all of 17, who came from an excellent local family. Houston may have chosen often, but he chose well. Of Swiss descent, Anna was considered a great beauty, with fair skin, large eyes, and dark curls. She was well educated, impressively intelligent, and charmingly musical. Despite the age difference (which seemed to be Houston's preference), they spent much time together and began to talk of marriage. But his divorce from Eliza was not finalized.
And he was involved in a law practice and politics, which led him to spend more time away from Anna. When he rode off to command the revolutionary army, she made a sash for him, as was the custom, and kept a lock of his hair. After he was elected president of the fledgling Texas Republic, he continued to stay in contact with her and seek his divorce. His secretary of state, Robert Irion, carried letters back and forth between the two, though they did not visit, and the inevitable happened. Houston finally found himself free--and the Irions were married in 1837. C'est la guerre. C'est la vie.
Anna and Robert were famously happy together. She even caused a stir by appearing in public in the very last days of her pregnancy, ignoring class convention. So things had worked out in their own way. Houston had his divorce, Anna married the man she loved, and, unfortunately, poor Tiana had died of a fever. The right woman was out there though.
Margaret Lea, of Alabama, had first seen the newly-wounded hero of San Jacinto when she was only 14. Upon glimpsing him at a New Orleans dock, where he hobbled ashore in great pain, she was so touched that she cried in sympathy. After the Raguet incident, she met Houston formally when he visited mutual friends in Georgia. All agree that here was the most striking of his paramours. With dark violet eyes, jet black hair, and pale ivory skin, Lea painted a slim, petite portrait of femininity. But this was no pushover. Houston had met his match. They married in 1840. He was 47; she was 21.
This was a very romantic and private couple. They wrote sensitive poetry and lengthy letters. And while Margaret had no qualms about sharing her opinions and feelings with her husband, she was renowned throughout the nation and then the state as the perfect political wife. And they adored each other.
The former first president of Texas had found out quickly that his betrothed was also very Baptist. He had gone through only one religious formality, having been baptized a Catholic upon settling in Nacogdoches, as was the law of Mexico. Otherwise, he'd had not so much as a brush with any denomination. But Margaret was determined to whip him into shape in this area--almost literally.
During one buggy excursion in Austin, during his second presidential term, he cursed vehemently at the horse, as it was ignoring his prodding. With this, his diminutive wife snatched up the whip and threatened him with it. She proceeded to force him down from the buggy and onto his knees in the street. There, the great general did as he was told and prayed for forgiveness. Sam Houston had become a Baptist.
He and Margaret spent the remainder of his life together. She bore him eight children, supported his opposition to secession (you read it right), saw him bless his sons as they fought for the Confederacy, and buried him when he died in 1863. His last word was "Margaret."
She followed him in death only five years later. The cause was unknown, or so we are told. Maybe she just remembered that "the two shall be as one." At any rate, their story was either the end of his troubles or the beginning, depending on your point of view.
VK
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Mystery of Sam and Eliza Houston
OK, let's just get this on record now--Sam Houston had woman troubles. The particular situation we are going to discuss tonight involves his first wife. On January 22, 1829, when he was the governor of Tennessee and 35 years old, he married Eliza Allen, 19 at the time.
As innocuous as that seems, seeming isn't necessarily believing. This was the wedding of the leader of the state to the daughter of a prominent family--a big deal indeed, with all the best folks, clothes, music, food, and drink available. The couple were far from strangers, having known each other for six years, and he had been her friend and confidante. This was also an arrangement that her father, in particular, had pursued wholeheartedly. And, girl though she was when she and her husband left in their honeymoon coach, the new first lady seemed fine with the events of the evening. Little did anyone suspect what changes this would bring to so many lives, for Eliza would break Houston's heart and drive him from the state.
The couple traveled to an inn at Nashville, where the marriage effectively ended with the journey. Over the next couple of days, the governor failed to make several meetings, so friends and staff sought him out. They found a pitiable sight. Houston sat in his bedroom, accompanied by a man he had known since childhood. obviously agitated to the point of being distraught.
He and his bride had separated. And he absolutely refused to explain how or why. Not only that, the gentleman would never, ever tell anyone, nor would Eliza. Unsuspectingly, they created a riddle that historians have failed to unravel for almost 200 years.
Theories, historical and amateur, abound. Some argue that the girl was simply too young. Perhaps no one had bothered to share the facts of life in detail, and the whole affair was off-putting or even offensive. Others believe that machismo was the culprit, for Houston had the "Robin Williams body type." He was a large, hirsute, macho bear of a man. Maybe the sight was too much for her. There is the "oozing wound theory," as the governor had taken an arrow in the abdomen 15 years earlier, during the Indian Wars, when he served with Andrew Jackson. The trouble there was that the wound had failed to heal. Seems the arrowhead had shattered and, therefore, could not be removed in toto. Was this the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back?
And finally, many developed the notion that the only reason Eliza would abandon such a hopeful match would be for another love. She had been the object of other attentions, and Houston was aware of this. But if she had developed deep feelings for someone else and told her groom only on their wedding night, it would have broken his heart. The only question here is why then didn't Eliza Allen ever remarry after receiving her bill of divorcement?
The gist of it is that no one knows. The two survivors of this tragedy took their hurt with them to their graves. Margaret Lea, Houston's widow, believed that Eliza had admitted to loving another. But this woman held her husband so deeply in her heart that she could imagine no other reason to abandon him.
For his part, Governor Sam Houston was so traumatized that he resigned his position and fled to the wilderness of Arkansas. There, he grew a beard, moved in with the Cherokee (again), and was given an Indian name--"The Big Drunk."
So the Hero of San Jacinto got hurt, for the first time, but certainly not the last. Other women would enter his life, but it seems he did not learn a damn thing from Tennessee. More on that later.
So, the next time you are broken-hearted, remember it happens to the best of us--and for reasons we may never share.
And you thought the English royal family was confused.
VK
As innocuous as that seems, seeming isn't necessarily believing. This was the wedding of the leader of the state to the daughter of a prominent family--a big deal indeed, with all the best folks, clothes, music, food, and drink available. The couple were far from strangers, having known each other for six years, and he had been her friend and confidante. This was also an arrangement that her father, in particular, had pursued wholeheartedly. And, girl though she was when she and her husband left in their honeymoon coach, the new first lady seemed fine with the events of the evening. Little did anyone suspect what changes this would bring to so many lives, for Eliza would break Houston's heart and drive him from the state.
The couple traveled to an inn at Nashville, where the marriage effectively ended with the journey. Over the next couple of days, the governor failed to make several meetings, so friends and staff sought him out. They found a pitiable sight. Houston sat in his bedroom, accompanied by a man he had known since childhood. obviously agitated to the point of being distraught.
He and his bride had separated. And he absolutely refused to explain how or why. Not only that, the gentleman would never, ever tell anyone, nor would Eliza. Unsuspectingly, they created a riddle that historians have failed to unravel for almost 200 years.
Theories, historical and amateur, abound. Some argue that the girl was simply too young. Perhaps no one had bothered to share the facts of life in detail, and the whole affair was off-putting or even offensive. Others believe that machismo was the culprit, for Houston had the "Robin Williams body type." He was a large, hirsute, macho bear of a man. Maybe the sight was too much for her. There is the "oozing wound theory," as the governor had taken an arrow in the abdomen 15 years earlier, during the Indian Wars, when he served with Andrew Jackson. The trouble there was that the wound had failed to heal. Seems the arrowhead had shattered and, therefore, could not be removed in toto. Was this the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back?
And finally, many developed the notion that the only reason Eliza would abandon such a hopeful match would be for another love. She had been the object of other attentions, and Houston was aware of this. But if she had developed deep feelings for someone else and told her groom only on their wedding night, it would have broken his heart. The only question here is why then didn't Eliza Allen ever remarry after receiving her bill of divorcement?
The gist of it is that no one knows. The two survivors of this tragedy took their hurt with them to their graves. Margaret Lea, Houston's widow, believed that Eliza had admitted to loving another. But this woman held her husband so deeply in her heart that she could imagine no other reason to abandon him.
For his part, Governor Sam Houston was so traumatized that he resigned his position and fled to the wilderness of Arkansas. There, he grew a beard, moved in with the Cherokee (again), and was given an Indian name--"The Big Drunk."
So the Hero of San Jacinto got hurt, for the first time, but certainly not the last. Other women would enter his life, but it seems he did not learn a damn thing from Tennessee. More on that later.
So, the next time you are broken-hearted, remember it happens to the best of us--and for reasons we may never share.
And you thought the English royal family was confused.
VK
Saturday, November 27, 2010
They Guided Them Here
Good Evening.
Why don't we do something along the same lines today. Pocahontas and her plight got me thinking about other Indian or Native women, whichever term you prefer, so let's follow up a bit. Two others came to mind--Angelina in East Texas and Sacajawea in the Louisiana Territory. I know which one is most familiar to you all.
So I'll start with the lesser known Angelina. As usual, the dates are hard to nail down, but she was a Caddo woman who came into contact with the Spanish and French in the late 17th century. They called her Angelina because of her disposition, and we continue the tradition, as her real name is still a mystery. Not much more is known of her. The Europeans considered her personable and wise. She was able to communicate with all the people she met. And, as the Caddo were resourceful traders, Angelina may have traveled all over the Province of Tejas (the Caddo word for friendly) y Coahuila, which is now northern Mexico. As for her actual private life, you have to fill in the blanks on your own.
In general terms, most Caddo women married, had their children on the river in a birthing hut, ate corn and venison and fish, helped set the trot lines their people invented, and were considered on a par with the men. They even served as chiefs. Whether Angelina was a chief, or even wife and mother, we do not know. But she was an intelligent leader, who managed to keep the peace between Texas natives and soldier explorers during her time.
The Spanish considered her contributions significant enough to name a river and a land grant for her. In Angelina County, Texas, there is a statue in her memory. But remember, there are no physical portraits upon which to base her likeness.
Sacajawea is the much better known of the two. This Shoshone woman, who was married to the French trapper Charboneau, stepped into the pages of history with the Lewis and Clark Expedition in 1804. These explorers had reached a wintry leg of their journey, still searching for the headwaters of the Missouri and in need of an interpreter. Sacajawea and Charboneau were able to help, as she did not allow the impending birth of her son, Jean-Batiste, to hinder her activities. She and her husband and little son spent several months with the Discovery Corps, while she interpreted Indian languages, guided over water and land, bartered for horses, and even retrieved items lost when a canoe capsized. The men were very impressed with her intelligence and quickness.
The events surrounding Sacajawea's life and death after the journey with Lewis and Clark are often hotly debated. Most historians agree that she later brought her son and her daughter to Missouri to place one or both under the guardianship of William Clark. Her death seems to have taken place soon after, around 1812 or 1813. Yet some argue that she did not die until many years later. At any rate, her friend noted in his 1825 information concerning fellow travelers that the woman was dead. Today, even her burial place is uncertain.
So here are two aboriginal women who helped make life possible in America. Without them, would Texas have been settled by the Spanish? The West explored by the Americans? What of U.S. expansion at all? Without them, would we even be here?
Some would argue that this doesn't necessarily place them in the best light, as European success was oftentimes a harbinger of native destruction. Think about it. What would you have done in the same situations?
Goodnight.
VK
Why don't we do something along the same lines today. Pocahontas and her plight got me thinking about other Indian or Native women, whichever term you prefer, so let's follow up a bit. Two others came to mind--Angelina in East Texas and Sacajawea in the Louisiana Territory. I know which one is most familiar to you all.
So I'll start with the lesser known Angelina. As usual, the dates are hard to nail down, but she was a Caddo woman who came into contact with the Spanish and French in the late 17th century. They called her Angelina because of her disposition, and we continue the tradition, as her real name is still a mystery. Not much more is known of her. The Europeans considered her personable and wise. She was able to communicate with all the people she met. And, as the Caddo were resourceful traders, Angelina may have traveled all over the Province of Tejas (the Caddo word for friendly) y Coahuila, which is now northern Mexico. As for her actual private life, you have to fill in the blanks on your own.
In general terms, most Caddo women married, had their children on the river in a birthing hut, ate corn and venison and fish, helped set the trot lines their people invented, and were considered on a par with the men. They even served as chiefs. Whether Angelina was a chief, or even wife and mother, we do not know. But she was an intelligent leader, who managed to keep the peace between Texas natives and soldier explorers during her time.
The Spanish considered her contributions significant enough to name a river and a land grant for her. In Angelina County, Texas, there is a statue in her memory. But remember, there are no physical portraits upon which to base her likeness.
Sacajawea is the much better known of the two. This Shoshone woman, who was married to the French trapper Charboneau, stepped into the pages of history with the Lewis and Clark Expedition in 1804. These explorers had reached a wintry leg of their journey, still searching for the headwaters of the Missouri and in need of an interpreter. Sacajawea and Charboneau were able to help, as she did not allow the impending birth of her son, Jean-Batiste, to hinder her activities. She and her husband and little son spent several months with the Discovery Corps, while she interpreted Indian languages, guided over water and land, bartered for horses, and even retrieved items lost when a canoe capsized. The men were very impressed with her intelligence and quickness.
The events surrounding Sacajawea's life and death after the journey with Lewis and Clark are often hotly debated. Most historians agree that she later brought her son and her daughter to Missouri to place one or both under the guardianship of William Clark. Her death seems to have taken place soon after, around 1812 or 1813. Yet some argue that she did not die until many years later. At any rate, her friend noted in his 1825 information concerning fellow travelers that the woman was dead. Today, even her burial place is uncertain.
So here are two aboriginal women who helped make life possible in America. Without them, would Texas have been settled by the Spanish? The West explored by the Americans? What of U.S. expansion at all? Without them, would we even be here?
Some would argue that this doesn't necessarily place them in the best light, as European success was oftentimes a harbinger of native destruction. Think about it. What would you have done in the same situations?
Goodnight.
VK
Friday, November 26, 2010
Who the Hell was Rebecca Rolfe?
Good evening, people. Let's burst a Disney bubble. How 'bout it?
Ya know, the wide world over, people still talk about the princess Pocahontas and her romance with handsome John Smith. Well, though her father was a Powhatan chief, she was never considered a princess. The Algonquin did not use such terms or make these distinctions. And as for Smith, doubtless a more notorious liar never walked the planet. In his autobiography, he claimed to have beheaded three Turks with one quick slash of his sword. Oh he was good--at storytelling. There is little evidence that he was any more than acquainted with Pocahontas, who, by the way, was decades his junior. Nor was he, even by the standards of his day, more than average (I'll cut him some slack) in appearance. Van Dyke beard, anyone?
At any rate, "Pocahontas" was a nickname bestowed upon the young girl, born circa 1595, because of her playful nature. It loosely translates to mischievous, for that she was. After the English settled Jamestown, she became very curious about them and developed the habit of skirting the barricades, turning cartwheels and whistling. While this fascinated the colonists, it didn't work out so well for her.
When Pocahontas was approximately 15 years old, the English took her captive, believing she was the perfect bargaining chip. The natives were holding some European trespassers, and here was the plan for a trade. But fighting took precedence over negotiating, so the girl found herself in a foreign environ, where she was viewed as a political pawn above all else.
The people of Virginia baptized her "Rebecca" and arranged a marriage with John Rolfe, the man who developed a hybrid tobacco which ensured the success of most newcomers. These things were not done of love, but, as her husband himself admitted, they were motivated by desperation. The need to end the war between settlers and natives was predominant in the minds of Rolfe and his friends. So they married.
A year later, the couple went on a PR tour of England to promote settlement in America. In 1615, their son Thomas was born, and they settled in Middlesex for a while. At one gathering, they met Smith, but it does not seem to have turned Pocohontas' world upside down--for obvious reasons. Then, in 1617, while sailing down the Thames headed for home, the young woman contracted a fever, courtesy of the bugs her neighbors willingly shared, and died at Gravesend, though her burial site there was lost long ago.
Moral of the story? Things are not always what they seem. The man behind the curtain here is greed. Smith used Pocahontas to sell books and garner attention. The entire Virginia Colony enlisted Rolfe and religion to turn her into something she was not--a Christian, loving, "civilized" wife. She was never unloving or a shrew to be tamed in the first place. In her transformation from happy child to political pawn, was she allowed to keep her dignity and sense of self?
You decide. Remember, she was still just a girl at her death. And yes, her descendants are still out there. At any rate, she had no reason to feel shame. Being used is not a choice or an option; instead, it is most often a situation into which one is thrust.
Bless Pocahontas, the girl who lay under a stone that bore the name Rebecca Rolfe. The marker has disappeared, the location is unknown, but she lives on and on and on.
It is National American Indian and Alaska Native Heritage Month. Honor them.
VK
Ya know, the wide world over, people still talk about the princess Pocahontas and her romance with handsome John Smith. Well, though her father was a Powhatan chief, she was never considered a princess. The Algonquin did not use such terms or make these distinctions. And as for Smith, doubtless a more notorious liar never walked the planet. In his autobiography, he claimed to have beheaded three Turks with one quick slash of his sword. Oh he was good--at storytelling. There is little evidence that he was any more than acquainted with Pocahontas, who, by the way, was decades his junior. Nor was he, even by the standards of his day, more than average (I'll cut him some slack) in appearance. Van Dyke beard, anyone?
At any rate, "Pocahontas" was a nickname bestowed upon the young girl, born circa 1595, because of her playful nature. It loosely translates to mischievous, for that she was. After the English settled Jamestown, she became very curious about them and developed the habit of skirting the barricades, turning cartwheels and whistling. While this fascinated the colonists, it didn't work out so well for her.
When Pocahontas was approximately 15 years old, the English took her captive, believing she was the perfect bargaining chip. The natives were holding some European trespassers, and here was the plan for a trade. But fighting took precedence over negotiating, so the girl found herself in a foreign environ, where she was viewed as a political pawn above all else.
The people of Virginia baptized her "Rebecca" and arranged a marriage with John Rolfe, the man who developed a hybrid tobacco which ensured the success of most newcomers. These things were not done of love, but, as her husband himself admitted, they were motivated by desperation. The need to end the war between settlers and natives was predominant in the minds of Rolfe and his friends. So they married.
A year later, the couple went on a PR tour of England to promote settlement in America. In 1615, their son Thomas was born, and they settled in Middlesex for a while. At one gathering, they met Smith, but it does not seem to have turned Pocohontas' world upside down--for obvious reasons. Then, in 1617, while sailing down the Thames headed for home, the young woman contracted a fever, courtesy of the bugs her neighbors willingly shared, and died at Gravesend, though her burial site there was lost long ago.
Moral of the story? Things are not always what they seem. The man behind the curtain here is greed. Smith used Pocahontas to sell books and garner attention. The entire Virginia Colony enlisted Rolfe and religion to turn her into something she was not--a Christian, loving, "civilized" wife. She was never unloving or a shrew to be tamed in the first place. In her transformation from happy child to political pawn, was she allowed to keep her dignity and sense of self?
You decide. Remember, she was still just a girl at her death. And yes, her descendants are still out there. At any rate, she had no reason to feel shame. Being used is not a choice or an option; instead, it is most often a situation into which one is thrust.
Bless Pocahontas, the girl who lay under a stone that bore the name Rebecca Rolfe. The marker has disappeared, the location is unknown, but she lives on and on and on.
It is National American Indian and Alaska Native Heritage Month. Honor them.
VK
Thursday, November 25, 2010
They Ain't Your Grandmaw's Pilgrims
Well, I am going to conclude that those of you sitting around stuffed with turkey know the story of the Pilgrims, a group of Separatist Puritans who fled to the Plymouth Colony in 1620. Their route was somewhat circuitous, England to Holland to England to America, over the course of more than one generation, but their adventures have been ladled out for centuries with a good dose of hooey.
To put it bluntly, religious freedom my Aunt Fanny. The question is liberty for whom? These people did not, in any way, come to the "New World" to establish this "right" for anyone but themselves.
An example? The Quakers had developed from the same strain of church reform in England, but the people of Massachusetts felt no kinship with them. You see, the Quakers were unashamed of their bodies, temples of their God, and therefore lacked "modesty"--and sometimes clothing--on their stopovers in Massachusetts. Was this sort of behavior fined by law? Of course not. These free spirits were convicted and hanged for their dissension.
Another example? Roger Williams began to work with the Algonquins, translated the Bible into their language, and disagreed with the accepted belief that these natives had no souls. The settlers ran him out of the colony, leaving him to live, teach, work, and create the Baptist Church--all in Rhode Island.
Up for more? What about women? Anne Hutchison, daughter of a minister, began to question the basic tenants of the religion in Massachusetts. After much soul searching, she even went so far as to hold Bible study and liberal discussion in her own home. Her fellow gentry, as you can imagine, were not exactly thrilled with this development. In 1637, during her criminal trial, she declared "you have no power over my body" and then proceeded to basically damn the court. This led to a "religious" trial for blasphemy, resulting in such undue stress that she miscarried a child. Church leaders pointed to this as a sign of her heresy. She and her followers were excommunicated, and, in the end, they too settled in Rhode Island.
Surprised? Shocked? Turkey not so delicious? Let's flip it over, so long as your remember the witch trials came in 1692.
Puritan children (and all Separatists were Puritans, though not all Puritans were Separatists) played ball and practiced other forms of recreation (no cards). Women wore bright colors, from yellow to red, but no fabric patterns. Couples courted in wintertime by bundling, a practice which involved getting in bed together fully clothed, but with a board placed between the parties. Apparently, there were ways around such barriers, for they were less effective than many other forms of birth control. The colony was rife with "seven month" babies, upon which no one looked askance. Bestiality, on the records as being practiced only occasionally with the humble pig, was punishable primarily by time in the stocks. And people gathered together regularly to work and to play.
These were not the dour black and white folks of our Thanksgiving pageants.
Neither were they, however, the great American heroes who died for religious freedom, at least none but their own. Banishment was the preferable alternative if you disagreed with the theocracy. Separation of church and state was not yet so much as a distant dream.
So let your pumpkin pie digest. Realize that these were mere human beings--opinionated, fearsome, stubborn, loving, and giving. We are all Janus, whether we see it in the mirror or no.
So if Grandmaw still believes in Santa or Washington and the cherry tree, you might set her down and discuss life as a so-called Pilgrim.
Have a happy holiday.
VK
To put it bluntly, religious freedom my Aunt Fanny. The question is liberty for whom? These people did not, in any way, come to the "New World" to establish this "right" for anyone but themselves.
An example? The Quakers had developed from the same strain of church reform in England, but the people of Massachusetts felt no kinship with them. You see, the Quakers were unashamed of their bodies, temples of their God, and therefore lacked "modesty"--and sometimes clothing--on their stopovers in Massachusetts. Was this sort of behavior fined by law? Of course not. These free spirits were convicted and hanged for their dissension.
Another example? Roger Williams began to work with the Algonquins, translated the Bible into their language, and disagreed with the accepted belief that these natives had no souls. The settlers ran him out of the colony, leaving him to live, teach, work, and create the Baptist Church--all in Rhode Island.
Up for more? What about women? Anne Hutchison, daughter of a minister, began to question the basic tenants of the religion in Massachusetts. After much soul searching, she even went so far as to hold Bible study and liberal discussion in her own home. Her fellow gentry, as you can imagine, were not exactly thrilled with this development. In 1637, during her criminal trial, she declared "you have no power over my body" and then proceeded to basically damn the court. This led to a "religious" trial for blasphemy, resulting in such undue stress that she miscarried a child. Church leaders pointed to this as a sign of her heresy. She and her followers were excommunicated, and, in the end, they too settled in Rhode Island.
Surprised? Shocked? Turkey not so delicious? Let's flip it over, so long as your remember the witch trials came in 1692.
Puritan children (and all Separatists were Puritans, though not all Puritans were Separatists) played ball and practiced other forms of recreation (no cards). Women wore bright colors, from yellow to red, but no fabric patterns. Couples courted in wintertime by bundling, a practice which involved getting in bed together fully clothed, but with a board placed between the parties. Apparently, there were ways around such barriers, for they were less effective than many other forms of birth control. The colony was rife with "seven month" babies, upon which no one looked askance. Bestiality, on the records as being practiced only occasionally with the humble pig, was punishable primarily by time in the stocks. And people gathered together regularly to work and to play.
These were not the dour black and white folks of our Thanksgiving pageants.
Neither were they, however, the great American heroes who died for religious freedom, at least none but their own. Banishment was the preferable alternative if you disagreed with the theocracy. Separation of church and state was not yet so much as a distant dream.
So let your pumpkin pie digest. Realize that these were mere human beings--opinionated, fearsome, stubborn, loving, and giving. We are all Janus, whether we see it in the mirror or no.
So if Grandmaw still believes in Santa or Washington and the cherry tree, you might set her down and discuss life as a so-called Pilgrim.
Have a happy holiday.
VK
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
It Was Not the First Time
Hey Folks,
Thought we could touch on the Roanoke Fiasco today. Most people assume that those "pilgrims" in 1620, little settlers that they were, happened to make the first attempt to stay in the Virginia Territory. Well, that's just wrong.
In 1587, John White led the second English party to the area, and they planted themselves in what is now Roanoke, Dare County, NC (remember, the colony in its entirety covered a huge territory). But these men and women were in trouble from day one. Previous visitors had attacked the Croatan neighbors, who didn't exactly break out the welcome wagon this time around. One bright spot came in August, when Eleanor Dare, daughter of White, gave birth to the first English child of record in America. She named her Virginia, so originality was not her strong suit, but Elizabeth was the Virgin Queen (hmmm) at the time.
Well, because their search for gold (yep) and their affairs with the natives of the area were failing tremendously, White returned to England unusually later that same year. Then the Spanish-Anglo War and the Armada got in his way, preventing a safe return--for three more years. When he finally arrived in Roanoke, the governor found that, quite literally, no one was home. While barricades, cabins, and make-shift shelters stood as he'd left them, there was no sign of life. Nor did he locate any clues to confirm what had happened. Was it disease, starvation, raid, all of these? The only questionable evidence White came upon was the word "Croatan" carved into a tree trunk.
So, here's the great mystery. Where did these 100 plus English invaders go? Did they die? Did the survivors relocate to Croatan Island? Did the natives wipe them out or take them captive and leave a calling card? Did they go willingly? Did they vanish for a combination of these reasons?
And little Virginia Dare would have turned three the very day of her grandfather's reappearance. Had she survived? The answer is most obviously no. But even today in NC and Virginia, her loss fascinates both locals and tourists. For many decades, people claimed to spot Croatan descendants with blue eyes, therefore giving rise to the legend that she was reared by and married to the natives, producing a line of "white Indians." For their part, the people who had tried originally to live in peace with the English came to tell stories of the blue-eyed deer, believing that the child had becme a totem to ensure her own survival.
At any rate, for those of you who learned that the "pilgrims" came over in 1620 on the Mayflower, you now understand that they were greeted by others who spoke English--and for a very good reason.
Here's to Virginia Dare and hoping she roams the Carolina woods still.
Have a great day!
VK
Thought we could touch on the Roanoke Fiasco today. Most people assume that those "pilgrims" in 1620, little settlers that they were, happened to make the first attempt to stay in the Virginia Territory. Well, that's just wrong.
In 1587, John White led the second English party to the area, and they planted themselves in what is now Roanoke, Dare County, NC (remember, the colony in its entirety covered a huge territory). But these men and women were in trouble from day one. Previous visitors had attacked the Croatan neighbors, who didn't exactly break out the welcome wagon this time around. One bright spot came in August, when Eleanor Dare, daughter of White, gave birth to the first English child of record in America. She named her Virginia, so originality was not her strong suit, but Elizabeth was the Virgin Queen (hmmm) at the time.
Well, because their search for gold (yep) and their affairs with the natives of the area were failing tremendously, White returned to England unusually later that same year. Then the Spanish-Anglo War and the Armada got in his way, preventing a safe return--for three more years. When he finally arrived in Roanoke, the governor found that, quite literally, no one was home. While barricades, cabins, and make-shift shelters stood as he'd left them, there was no sign of life. Nor did he locate any clues to confirm what had happened. Was it disease, starvation, raid, all of these? The only questionable evidence White came upon was the word "Croatan" carved into a tree trunk.
So, here's the great mystery. Where did these 100 plus English invaders go? Did they die? Did the survivors relocate to Croatan Island? Did the natives wipe them out or take them captive and leave a calling card? Did they go willingly? Did they vanish for a combination of these reasons?
And little Virginia Dare would have turned three the very day of her grandfather's reappearance. Had she survived? The answer is most obviously no. But even today in NC and Virginia, her loss fascinates both locals and tourists. For many decades, people claimed to spot Croatan descendants with blue eyes, therefore giving rise to the legend that she was reared by and married to the natives, producing a line of "white Indians." For their part, the people who had tried originally to live in peace with the English came to tell stories of the blue-eyed deer, believing that the child had becme a totem to ensure her own survival.
At any rate, for those of you who learned that the "pilgrims" came over in 1620 on the Mayflower, you now understand that they were greeted by others who spoke English--and for a very good reason.
Here's to Virginia Dare and hoping she roams the Carolina woods still.
Have a great day!
VK
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Hello and Welcome!
Hello there. Welcome to blueiota. I am sure you are wondering about the url, so let me briefly explain. An intelligent friend liked the title because it clarifies the topic, which is primarily minutiae. We will be talking "over the fence," so to speak, about a myriad of things, from why they are called Queen Anne's sleeves to the sexualization of the Southern woman in literature. In other words, this site deals with social history and pop culture issues and changes. Now, before you flee in terror, assuming this is just another place where a frustrated teacher is venting, remember that you learn only that which you find truly interesting. And guys, don't you run either. The site will contain plenty of iotas for you, as well. For example, any true student of Texas history can tell you that the Battle of the Alamo might never have taken place if Travis, Crockett, and assorted company had been more successful in their relationships--with both men and women. But more on that later.
As you can see, my goal is to capture your attention and keep it.
So sit back, enjoy the ride, and stayed tuned. We'll have fun. I can promise you that.
VK
As you can see, my goal is to capture your attention and keep it.
So sit back, enjoy the ride, and stayed tuned. We'll have fun. I can promise you that.
VK
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