58 



The Soverane Herbe 



It is easy to picture an ale-house in a seaport or 

 village some evening three hundred years ago. The 

 centre of the company is a sailor, bronzed, ' bearded 

 like a pard,' and full of strange oaths and stories of 

 the Spanish Main, whence he has just returned. He 

 is one of Drake's, Hawkins', Grenville's or Raleigh's 

 men. The company gaze with mingled awe and 

 admiration at the person who has fought the Spaniards 

 and sailed the still wonderful and unknown New 

 World. His stories of strange sights, customs and 

 hairbreadth escapes are listened to with gaping mouth 

 and in breathless silence. He describes the strange 

 custom the Indians have of filling themselves with 

 smoke. Nay, more ; he draws from his breast dark- 

 coloured leaves and a strangely carved instrument, 

 a pipe of clay consisting of a clay bowl, in one end of 

 which a hollow reed or stem is fixed. It is an Indian 

 pipe. Explaining its use and how it was given to 

 him by the Indians, who thought the white men gods, 

 the sailor rubs into powder the dry leaves ; this he 

 packs into the clay bowl, applies to it a burning coal, 

 and, holding the stem in his mouth, draws in the 

 smoke, which he then discharges funnelwise down his 

 nostrils. The men draw back in amazement, mingled 

 with horror and terror; he is the first smoker they 

 have seen. 



' Nay,' he says, ' 'tis no heathen practice nor inven- 

 tion of the devil, but the very gift of God. Had it 

 not been for this blessed tobacco — so do the Indians 

 call it — we had all died. For three days off the 

 Indies did we fortify ourselves with this herb, our 

 food being spent. It's food, drink, sleep, warmth 



