Paper Sovereigns. Jeffrey Glover

      The question of how to refer to the pre-Columbian inhabitants of North America has been politically charged for many centuries. It is further complicated by the inaccurate descriptions of European settlers and by the many migrations and displacements that occurred after European arrival. Where possible, I use contemporary names for specific tribes. In cases where a tribe did not survive the colonial period, I use the most widely accepted transcription of its name. I also use the most widely accepted names for individual Native Americans, with the acknowledgment that these are usually European renderings of names that did not take alphabetic form. I use “Native” as the default descriptor for pre-Columbian North Americans, but I also use “Indian,” especially when paraphrasing European points of view or referring to European concepts of American people. European spelling presents problems as well. In general, I have preserved the punctuation and spelling of early modern sources. However, I have corrected “u” to “v,” “i” to “j,” “VV” to “w.” I have also silently modernized all shorthand or unusual typographical practices, changing “ye” to “the,” “Yf” to “if,” and “consultacòn,” to “consultation.” I have deleted the spaces that early modern printers sometimes left before colons and semicolons. Finally, I have emended in brackets all obvious compositors’ errors. I have retained the capitalization of the titles of printed works, with the exception of words that are entirely capitalized, which are capitalized only in their first letter here (articles and most prepositions excepted).

      Introduction: A Great Shout

      The Indian guide was trying to get the sailors’ attention before it was too late. They were docked by a waterfall, waiting for the Indian king to arrive. The sailors were confident. They had feasted with the king the day before, and their captain, Christopher Newport, had “kyndly imbraced” him, confirming “a leauge of fryndship.”¹ This next meeting would go well, they were sure. But the Indian guide was worried. The night before, the sailors had departed without offering the formal goodbye required by Powhatan diplomacy. They could be excused that once—they were new, after all. But the guide had to show them how to behave this time around, or risk offense to the king.

      Raising his voice over the steady roar of the falls, the guide made a quick demonstration of proper protocol. It was simple. When the king arrived, they were to shout in unison. When he left, they were to shout again, bringing things to a close. The shout, a simple rhythmic cadence, was easy to learn. It felt familiar to the sailors, who did the same thing for important people in England. When the king finally appeared, they followed the guide’s example, shouting a happy welcome. And later, when he turned to go home, they did it again, “two severall times,” and the Indians “answer[ed]

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