SEEING WHERE THINGS HAPPENED
We were fortunate in visiting Jamestown Island after considerable had
been accomplished in the way of lessening the number of its historic
sites. For a long while, almost every important event in its story had
occurred at so many different places that it was scarcely possible for
the pilgrim to do justice to them all.
But, some time before our visit to the island, an era of scientific
investigation set in; researches were made among old musty records; and
even the soil was turned up in order to determine the place where this
or that event really did happen. The reduction in the number of places
of interest was astonishing. In every instance, it was found that the
historic event in question had happened at but a single place; and
consequently all its other time-honoured sites suddenly became
unhistoric soil.
An instance or two will serve to illustrate.
Upon our visit to James Towne, we found that the site of the colonists'
first fort (long variously fixed at several points along the river
front) was now limited to a single spot near the caretaker's cottage;
so that all the brave fighting that had been going on at those other
sites, had been for nothing.
In like manner, it had long been well established that Pocahontas and
John Rolfe were married in the church whose tower is yet standing; also
in the brick and wood church that just preceded this one; also in a
rough timber church that just preceded that one. Each of these edifices
was the true, genuine scene of the romantic event.
But, under the new arrangement, we found only one church where Rolfe
and Pocahontas were married--just the old timber one. Indeed, in this
instance, the work of elimination seemed almost unduly rigorous. The
other churches were set aside upon circumstantial evidence merely;
there being nothing against them except that they were found to have
been built some years after the ceremony.
On the whole, however, the work of fixing sites authoritatively was
doubtless just. In any event, there was no opportunity for us to
protest; for by the time we got to the island, they had everything down
on a map in a book. We bought a copy of the book, and resolved to stage
by it the events of the James Towne story. We resolved also to be most
methodical from now on; and to "do" things as nearly as possible in the
same order as the colonists had done them.
So one morning we gathered up our authorities and started out to see
where the settlers first landed and where they first lived. According
to the map, that historic, first landing-place would be anything but a
landing-place to-day; for figure "25" (that was it) stood well out in
the river. The loss by erosion had been great along that part of the
shore since those first settlers arrived. But even though the
landing-place could not be seen, one could look out on the waters
anyway and see where it used to be.
At first we feared that there might be some trouble in telling where
the "25" on the map would be on the water. But it was a very simple
thing to do, largely owing to the thoughtfulness of the settlers in
landing almost opposite a jetty that runs out from the shore a little
above the Confederate fort.
[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE CONFEDERATE FORT.]
[Illustration: LOOKING TOWARD THE FIRST LANDING-PLACE.]
Upon reaching the river front of the island, we took our bearings from
the map and walked slowly toward the water's edge, being careful not to
walk too far as the water's edge is so much closer in now than it used
to be. Going to the uppermost of the several jetties, we sighted along
it straight out over the water and kept on looking, in accordance with
the measurements on the map, until we had looked one hundred and
thirty-five yards; then, turned our eyes sharply to the right and
looked thirty-three and one third yards more. We then had the
satisfaction of feeling that the spot our eyes rested upon was, in
1607, on the shore of the island, and was the place where the original
settlers first landed. Nor was our satisfaction at all dampened by the
discovery that the spot was two spots--Nautica gazing spellbound at one
place, and the Commodore at another.
After all, it made very little difference, for the settlers did not
stay where they landed anyway.
They seem to have built their fort and their little settlement within
it about five hundred feet farther down stream and some distance back
from the shore. It was in the form of a triangle and had an area of
about an acre. Its entire site has been generally supposed to be washed
away, but the recent researches show that such is not the case. A
considerable part of it is left and is now safe behind a protecting
sea-wall. As, at the time of our visit, nothing marked this remnant of
the historic acre, we undertook to locate it. Fortunately, the
Confederate fort stands in such position as to help in running the
boundaries by the map. For a rough approximation, all we had to do was
to get Mr. Leal, the caretaker, to stand at the most westerly angle of
the fort, and his son on the sea-wall at the lower end of the fort, and
Henry on the sea-wall a hundred yards farther up stream; then, straight
lines connecting these three men enclosed all that is left of that
first little fortified settlement where Anglo-Saxon America began.
While the three men stood at the three corners, we took a photograph of
the historic bit of land; and long after they had gone we lingered
reflectively about it.
Here, in that spring of 1607, within the strong palisade, the settlers
built their first cabins. Here, Captain Newport left them, and sailed
back to England. Here, too, he found them again--a pitiful few of
them--when he returned the next winter with reinforcements for the
colony. By another winter, the palisaded village had extended somewhat,
mostly eastward. It then included, so far as we could make out, all the
land now within the Confederate fort and probably also the site of the
present ruined church and graveyard. Upon this little four-acre
settlement hung the destiny of a hemisphere for the next few years.
[Illustration: LOCATING WHAT IS LEFT OF THE SITE OF THE FIRST
SETTLEMENT.]
We trudged about within the old town limits and tried to picture the
chief events of those years; but we could not remember what they were;
so we sat down on the grassy fort, regardless of ticks and redbugs, to
read up some more. For a while there was no sound but the twitter of
the birds and the murmur of the river. Then the Commodore found
something in his book, and he began very solemnly to tell of how on
that very spot the colonists endured the horrors of the "Starving
Time." At this there was such a genuine exclamation of pleasure from
Nautica that the Commodore knew he was too late; she had not even
heard. She had found something in her book too, and was already
announcing that it was right there that John Rolfe and Pocahontas were
married.
But the Commodore insisted that his story came first, as Nautica's
romantic event was not until 1614, while his famine was in 1609-10.
Nautica sighed resignedly as she agreed that we should starve first and
get married afterward.
After all, we found that we could not speak lightly, sitting there in
the midst of the scene of the "Starving Time." By the winter of 1609-10
there were perhaps five hundred persons in this little settlement by
the river, including now, unfortunately, some women and children. When
there was no more corn, the people managed for a while to keep alive on
roots and herbs; then, half-crazed by starvation, they fell to
cannibalism. Gaunt, desperate, de-humanized, they crouched about the
kettle that held their own dead. A Bible fed the flames, cast in by a
poor wretch as he cried, "Alas! there is no God!"
The succeeding spring brought two ships, a belated portion of one of
the "Supplies." But sixty of the five hundred colonists were found
alive--sixty haggard men, women, and children, hunger-crazed, huddled
behind the broken palisades. Sadly suggestive must have seemed the
names of the two vessels that appeared upon that awful scene--Patience
and Deliverance. But the deliverance that they brought was of a poor
sort. They had not on board provisions enough to last a month.
It was decided that it was vain for the colony to try to hold out
longer. James Towne, upon which so much blood and treasure had been
spent and that had seemed at last to give England a hold in the New
World, must be abandoned. To the roll of drums, the remnant of the
colony boarded the vessels, sails were set, and the little ships
dropped down the river bound for far-away England.
The last sail passed around the bend in the stream, and only a desolate
blotch in the wilderness was left to tell of England's attempt to
colonize America; only a great gash in the forest, there in the quiet
and the sunlight, at the edge of the river. Within it were the
shapeless ruins of those queer things the pale-faces had made--broken
palisades, yawning houses, the tottering thing they called a church;
and, all about, the hideous, ghastly traces of living and of dying. The
sun went down; and, in the gloom of the summer night, from the forest
and the marsh wild things came creeping to the edge of the clearing,
sat peering there, then ventured nearer--curious, suspicious, greedy.
Soft, noiseless, and ghost-like was the flight of the great owl through
the desolation, and his uncanny cry and the wail of the whippoorwill
filled the night as with mockery and mourning.
Quick, startling, and almost miraculous was the next change in the
scene: a change from the emptiness of desolation to the bustling
fulness of life and colour--the harbour dotted with ships, the little
village crowded with people, James Towne alive again. For even in the
dark hour of abandonment, it was not destined that the settlement
should perish. Even as the colonists sailed down the James, a fleet
bearing reinforcements and stores of supplies was entering the mouth of
the river. The settlers were turned back; and following them came the
fleet, bringing to deserted James Towne not only new colonists, but
pomp, ceremony, and the stately, capable new governor, Lord Delaware.
"He was the one who went to church with so much show and flourish,
wasn't he?" asked Nautica.
"Yes," answered the Commodore confidently, as he happened to have his
book open at the right page. "Lord Delaware attended the little church
in the wilderness in all state, accompanied by his council and guarded
by fifty halberd bearers wearing crimson cloaks. He sat in a green
velvet chair and--"
"Where do you think that church was?" interrupted Nautica.
"Right near here. They say it stood about a hundred yards above the
later one whose ruins are over there in the graveyard. And in that
church Lord Delaware and his council--"
"Yes," Nautica broke in again. "That was the church that they were
married in--John Rolfe and Pocahontas."
"To be sure," said the Commodore. "Let the wedding bells ring. It is
time now for the ceremony."
And a strange ceremony it must have been that the little timber church
saw that April day in the year 1614, when the young colonist of good
English family linked his fate with that of the dark-skinned girl of
the tepee. It was the first marriage of Englishman and Indian in the
colony, and meant much to the struggling settlers in furthering
peaceful relations with the savages. Speaking in the society-column
vernacular of a later day, the occasion was marred by the absence of
the bride's father. The wary old chieftain was not willing to place
himself within the power of the English. But the bride's family was
represented by two of her brothers and by her old uncle, Opachisco, who
gave her away. Other red men were present. Doubtless the governor of
the colony, Sir Thomas Dale, who much approved the marriage, added a
touch of official dignity by attending the ceremony resplendent in
uniform and accompanied by colonial officials.
It was a strange wedding, party. While the minister (Was it the
Reverend Richard Buck or the good Alexander Whittaker?) read the
marriage service of the Church of England, the eyes of haughty cavalier
and of impassive savage met above the kneeling pair and sought to read
each other. And a strange fate hung over the pale-face groom and the
dusky bride--that in her land and by her people he should be slain;
that in his land and among his people she should die and find a lonely
grave beside an English river.
"That is just one marriage that you have been so interested in, isn't
it?" The Commodore's tone was one to provoke inquiry.
"Just one?" repeated Nautica, "Why, to be sure, unless it takes two
weddings to marry two people."
"Just one wedding," persisted the Commodore. "Now, I am interested in
dozens and dozens of weddings that happened right here, and all in one
day."
There were several things the matter with James Towne from the outset.
Prominent among them was the absence of women and children. After a
while a few colonists with families arrived; but, to introduce the home
element more generally into the colony, "young women to make wives
ninety" came from England in 1619. The scene upon their arrival must
have been one of the most unique in the annals of matrimony. The
streets of James Towne were undoubtedly crowded. The little capital had
bachelors enough of her own, but now she held also those that came
flocking in from the other settlements of the colony. The maids were
not to be compelled to marry against their choice; and they were so
outnumbered by their suitors that they could do a good deal of picking
and choosing. With rusty finery and rusty wooing, the bachelor
colonists strove for the fair hands that were all too few, and there
was many a rejected swain that day.
We might have forgotten the other important events that had happened
round about where we were sitting, in that first little town by the
river, if a coloured man had not wandered our way. He had driven some
sightseers over from Williamsburg, and while waiting for them to visit
the graveyard, he seemed to find relief in confiding to us some of his
burden of colonial lore and that his name was Cornelius. We had over
again the story of Rolfe and Pocahontas, but it seemed not at all
wearisome, for the new version was such a vast improvement upon the one
that we got out of the books. However, his next statement eclipsed the
Pocahontas story.
"De firs' time folks evah meek dey own laws for dey se'fs was right
heah, suh, right in dat ole chu'ch."
While again facts could not quite keep up with Cornelius, yet it was
true that our little four-acre town had seen the beginnings of American
self-government. So early did the spirit of home rule assert itself,
that it bore fruit in 1619, when a local lawmaking body was created,
called the General Assembly and consisting in part of a House of
Burgesses chosen by the people. On July 30 of that year, the General
Assembly met in the village church--the first representative
legislature in America. The place of meeting was not, as is often
stated, the church in which Rolfe and Pocahontas were married, but its
successor--the earliest of the churches whose ruined foundations are
yet to be seen behind the old tower.
Perhaps our thoughts had wandered some from Cornelius, but he brought
them back again.
"Dey set in de chu'ch an' meek de laws wid dey hats on," he asserted.
And as the House of Burgesses had indeed followed in this respect the
custom of the English House of Commons, we were glad to see Cornelius
for once in accord with other historians.
Then, Nautica spoke of how the very year that saw the beginning of free
government in America saw the beginning of slavery too; and she asked
Cornelius if he knew that the first coloured people were brought to
America in 1619 and landed there at James Towne.
"Yas'm; ev'ybody tole me 'bout dat. Seem like we got heah 'bout as soon
as de white folks."
It was a comfortable view to take of the matter, and we would not
disturb it.
Cornelius told us other things.
"Dis, now, is de off season for touris'," he explained. "We has two
mos' reg'lar seasons, de spring an' de fall, yas, suh. I drives right
many ovah heah from Willi'msburg. I's pretty sho to git hol' of de bes'
an' de riches'. An' I reckon I knows 'bout all dere is to be knowed
'bout dis firs' settlemen'. I's got it all so's I kin talk it off an'
take in de extry change. I don' know is you evah notice, but folks is
mighty diffrunt 'bout seem' dese ole things. Yas, suh, dey sut'n'y is.
Some what I drives jes looks at de towah an' nuver gits out de ker'ige;
an' den othahs jes peers into ev'ythin'. Foh myse'f, now, I nuver keers
much 'bout dese ole sceneries; but den I reckon I would ef I was rich."