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[Illustration]
THE DAUGHTER OF VIRGINIA DARE
by
MARY VIRGINIA WALL
[Illustration]
New York and Washington
The Neale Publishing Company
1908
Copyright, 1908, by
Mary Virginia Wall
TO
MY MOTHER, VIRGINIA
AND
MY GRANDMOTHER, ENGLAND
THE DAUGHTER OF VIRGINIA DARE
PRELUDE
The sunbeams were playing hide and seek with the ripples around
the prows of three small vessels lying at anchor in the harbor of
Portsmouth. Their decks were crowded with the colonists going to
seek a home on the soil of Virginia. On the wharf all was bustle and
confusion. The songs of the sailors loading the vessels with the
goods of the voyagers mingled with the whip and snap of the sails as
they were given to the breeze.
At last the creaking of the capstan as the anchors were hoisted on
board sounded the warning note of departure. Leading the diminutive
fleet was the good ship _Admiral_, having as her master Simon
Ferdinando. Closely in her wake followed a pinnace and a flyboat, and
from the masthead of all three fluttered the English flag. They were
not to leave England, however, until they had stopped at two of her
ports on their way out.
For eight days they tarried at the Isle of Wight, and two more in
the harbor of Plymouth. As they sailed out of this quaint old harbor
the balmy air of May wafted the fragrant farewell of the hawthorn
blossoms even to the water’s edge.
“How hard it is to bid farewell to home and friends and turn my face
to this unknown land,” said Eleanor Dare to herself as she stood on
the deck of the _Admiral_. “There is a strange fear welling up in my
heart as if some unknown shadow were falling upon us.
“But I must not even breathe such a thought to my husband, it would
dampen the hope of home and fortune which is buoying him up. I must
rather cheer and encourage him; I must hide the heart sickness, and
leave our future in the hands of God.”
Fainter and fainter grew the outlines of old England’s shores, until
only the dim bluffs of Cornwall, like a mirage, lay on the horizon.
As Eleanor Dare strained her eyes to catch the last glimpse before
the curve of the earth hid them from view, her husband drew her to
him.
“Dear heart, turn your eyes to the west, to home and happiness. See
how the sun is making a pathway of light for our ship. Is it not a
good omen?”
She smiled up into his face bravely and was rewarded by a look of
love and reverence.
“You know, my husband, that my home is in your heart.”
Skirting southward for seven days the little fleet came into the Bay
of Portugal, where they took on a supply of fresh water for the long
journey to the West Indies. Ferdinando, the master of the _Admiral_,
gave secret orders to the captains of his ship and the pinnace to
set sail at the coming of night. No such commands reached the little
flyboat. Basely deserting her, the Admiral turned his prows to the
southwest.
For two long months the frail ships tossed on the troubled waters of
the Atlantic. Only the sullen swish of the waves and the scream of
the seagull broke in on Eleanor Dare’s reveries.
Fragrant June was waning, when she saw the waving palms and orange
groves of Santa Cruz rising beyond the foam-capped billows. Just
before the ships reached this island of gorgeous bloom from the
lookout at the masthead rang the cry, “Sail ho!” and, ploughing
her way through the choppy sea, there came the courageous little
flyboat. For, undaunted by ignorance of the trackless waste and
by the base desertion of the admiral in command, she had pluckily
followed her consort.
No sooner had they landed than the merry laughter and joyous shouts
of the little children filled the air as they chased the crimson and
gold butterflies sipping honey from the orchids which hung from the
tall fern trees. No cares or longing troubled their light hearts, but
their parents were eager to reach their new home, so the sails were
again spread.
* * * * *
July had numbered twenty-two days when the vessels came in sight of a
long fringe of islands guarded by dangerous reefs. The white foam of
the breakers tossed high in the air and the moan of the surf filled
the children with fear.
Down rattled the anchor of the _Admiral_, and the sails were
close-furled, as the pinnace came alongside to take the colony
through the dangerous entry to Roanoke Island. Safely passing through
the hungry mouth of Trinity harbor, they glided into the quiet waters
of the Occam.
Would the fifteen men left by Sir Richard Greenville come to meet
them? A loud halloo brought back no answering hail.
“We must search for them,” said Governor White. “Perhaps they are
farther inland.”
As the pinnace grounded her nose the Anglican priest stepped on the
land, bearing aloft the Sign of Redemption. Around his feet were
grouped the children, their tiny hands clasped together, and guarded
by a circle of kneeling men and women. Deep and fervent was the
thanksgiving prayer, and clear and sweet came the chant of the amen.
Rising from their knees they eagerly explored the land around them.
A living landscape, vivid and beautiful, lay spread before their
eyes. Great yellow pines like the masts of ships towered above them.
Cedars, the rivals of Lebanon, mingled their branches with the live
oak, tulip, and walnut trees, while closer to mother earth clung the
sassafras and witch hazel. Scuppernong grapes flung their vines,
loaded with ripening fruit, from limb to limb of the copper beeches
and bathed their trailing branches in the briny waters of the Occam.
Dotted all around were the log cabins left by the previous settlers.
Melon vines with luscious fruits festooned the windows and carpeted
the floors, and in their open doors stood the startled deer poised
for flight. The gardens were overgrown in weeds and fences were
broken down. The little children ran hither and thither chasing
the “Lazy Lawrence” as it danced in the sun, and over all hung the
languorous air of July, steeped in the fragrance of blossoming jasmine
and magnolia.
Soon the bright blades of the axes made flashes in the sun, and
down came the pine, filling the air with the perfume of its crushed
needles. Many another cabin was added to the “City of Raleigh.”
Meanwhile, a party headed by Governor White had searched the island
for the missing men. Far in the heart of the forest they came upon
their bleaching skeletons, and they decently interred them.
Eleanor Dare chose the cedar cabin, which Lane had used, as a home
for herself and her husband, and she occupied herself busily in
transforming its interior into a restful abiding-place; in one corner
was a mahogany chest with shining brass handles; over the wide
fireplace hung a bit of landscape of her girlhood’s home; and the
pewter plates upon the dresser reflected the dancing flames leaping
up the chimney. In the center of the room stood a table of English
oak.
One evening the table was spread for the evening meal, and now and
then Eleanor Dare paused at the window to watch the swaying of the
wonderful gray moss draping the mighty live-oaks.
As she bent over the fire stirring the contents of a copper kettle
hanging on the crane, her husband entered and gently chided her for
too much exertion.
“Come rest beside me on the settle, dear heart, and let us talk of
the future. Soon your tender hands will have new duties to perform,”
and sitting side by side they talked together as the twilight shadows
fell.
* * * * *
In the hush of the August morn, just as the mocking-birds chanted
“The Creation,” a tiny babe—a babe with Eleanor’s eyes—nestled in the
hollow of Eleanor Dare’s arm. Her husband bending over her mingled
his kisses with the Magnificat breathing on her lips, and soon came
the women of the colony to inquire after mother and child and offer
their congratulations to the happy father.
Little children, peeping in at the door of the cabin, shyly laid
their offering of red clover and honeysuckle upon the sill. Many were
the questions they asked of the smiling father of the new-born babe.
“Is it a boy or a girl,” asked Ambrose Viccars.
“I’m glad it is a girl,” said tiny Robert Ellis. “There will be
somebody to play with me. Can she talk and eat? How soon will she be
able to play Puss in Corner?”
Seven days had the little babe lain on her mother’s breast, and on
the eighth day she was to be christened. The Sunday sun shed its
gorgeous rays over the simple church, where the priest, clad in
surplice and stole, awaited her coming. With the babe went Manteo of
the Croatans, the faithful friend of the English, for he too was to
receive baptism as Sir Walter Raleigh had commanded.
Hither had come the men of the colony clad in brightly hued doublet
and hose, their wives and sisters wearing gowns with long pointed
stomachers and high standing ruffs. Near the door was Winginia and
his Catawbas, their long scalp-locks decorated with the feathers
of the eagle. Grouped around the white-robed pastor stood Governor
White, Roger Bailey and Joyce Archer, sponsors for Manteo. Behind
them was Ananias Dare holding his little daughter.
Rising from his knees with the consecrated drops still glistening on
his brow, Manteo turned to Dare and said:
“I too am a follower of the God of the English. The totem of His
tribe is tattooed on my brow. Let me hold the little pale face to be
received into the tribe.”
“Joyfully will I give her into your keeping,” replied her father.
“She shall be as your daughter,” and he placed the babe in his arms.
Then came the sonorous voice of the priest:
“Virginia, I baptize thee in the name of the Father and of the Son
and of the Holy Ghost. We receive this child into the congregation of
Christ’s flock, and do sign her with the sign of the cross, in token
that hereafter she shall not be ashamed to own Christ crucified, and
manfully to fight under His banner against sin, the world, and the
devil, and to continue Christ’s faithful soldier and servant unto her
life’s end. Amen.”
Then reverently he gave her back into the Indian’s keeping.
Forth stalked Manteo into the sunlight with the little Virginia held
close in his arms, and went straightway to the bedside of Eleanor
Dare.
“I have brought you the little papoose. The Great Spirit has bound us
together, and dear shall she be to Manteo as the ruddy drops of his
heart.”
* * * * *
But all was not well with the “City of Raleigh.” Food and supplies
which the country did not as yet produce were needed. Some one must
go back to the mother country for them. When it came to selecting a
proper person no one wished to go. One and all they urged Governor
White to go as the one most fitting to represent their needs, to take
the task upon himself. He too was unwilling to leave.
“Men will say that with fair words I have enticed you to this land,
and now in your need desert you and leave you to face the enmity of
the Indians.”
But the pleadings of the colony finally prevailed, and with a heavy
heart he consented to go.
“Keep strict watch and ward while I am gone. I do not like the sullen
look of Winginia and his Catawbas. It is but a few weeks since George
Howe’s mangled body was found some two miles distant. Winginia took
his life in revenge of the cruel treatment of Ralph Lane’s men. If
you abandon this settlement, as we have purposed doing, carve the
name of your destination upon a tree or post. If danger threatens,
place a cross above the name.”
He kissed his daughter, and taking the little Virginia in his arms,
gave the child his blessing.
Standing on the beach with her baby at her breast, Eleanor Dare waved
a last farewell to the father whom she was never to see again.
* * * * *
After a voyage beset with one accident after another, Governor White
arrived in England, only to find himself caught in the maelstrom of
war.
Under Her Sovereign Majesty Elizabeth, England was rising to a
position where she would soon be a formidable rival to the countries
of Europe. Her ships had penetrated to the White Sea of Northern
Russia; the dusky tribes of Guinea traveled many miles through the
tropical forests of the Soudan to sell their ivory and gold to the
trading vessels of England. Antwerp and Bruges merchants settled
in London, thereby transferring much of the trade of India and
the Far East from Flanders to England; and Sir Francis Drake had
circumnavigated the globe.
Not only had commercial enterprise filled the coffers of Elizabeth,
but the untilled recesses of men’s minds were beginning to flower
again.
Sir Philip Sidney had enriched the world with his Arcadia, and
immortal sonnets. Edmund Spenser was fighting out the battle between
good and evil in his Faerie Queen, and Francis Bacon was delving into
the secrets of nature.
Behind the fame of commercial enterprise and the glory of the
Literary Renaissance loomed the struggle with Philip of Spain. He
was burning with the desire to crush the power of Elizabeth and to
revenge the death of Mary Queen of Scots. Already the Spanish Armada
was hovering off the coasts of England.
Sir Walter Raleigh tried ineffectually to obtain ships for Governor
White, and even succeeded in fitting out two which were later seized
and impressed into service. Every bark and pinnace was needed to
keep Philip and the Inquisition out of England. No one had time to
remember the colonists shut away in Virginia, for all were watching
Sir Francis Drake and Sir Walter Raleigh scuttle the Spanish
galleons.
About a month after Governor White sailed away a wasting sickness
broke out among the colonists in Virginia. The fields lay untilled
and the corn and vegetables withered up under the hot breath of the
sun. No drop of water fell to cool the parched earth; daily the store
of food dwindled away.
Gaunt starvation stalked through the island, and in his footsteps
crept Winginia and his Catawbas.
At length Eleanor Dare’s husband fell ill and lay dying.
“O dear heart, my soul is filled with anguish when I think of leaving
you and the child,” he moaned. “Who will protect my defenceless ones?
Look again from the window. Is there no sail in sight? Nothing? And
my strength is ebbing fast. Put the little one beside me that I may
kiss her.”
“My husband, let us put our trust in God, and help me say, ‘Though He
slay me, yet I will trust him.’ It will be but a little while before
Virginia and I will join you. There is no ending to our love. Can you
hear me, dear one?” Then came a cry:
“O my Father, the light has gone out of his eyes and his lips are
dumb!”
Sinking beside his body, she swooned away, while the wonder-filled
eyes of baby Virginia gazed long and gravely on the pallid face of
her dead father.
Regaining consciousness, Eleanor feebly raised herself and tried to
perform the last duties for her dead. Through the long night that
followed she watched by his side. Lovingly and gently she talked to
him of the happy past, caressed his cold face, and smoothed back the
hair lying upon his brow.
“No priest is left, dear, to bless you as you go on your long
journey, but you shall not lack. Faithful in life, I shall be
faithful in death. The pitying Father will give me strength for this
last duty. Soon we shall be together again, even as we now are in
spirit.”
On the following day the body of her husband was laid to rest and
Eleanor, with unearthly calm, read the burial service.
* * * * *
Day after day passed and few were left to answer the roll call.
Only one hope lay between the colonists and starvation. Perhaps the
Croatans, their faithful friends, had some corn left and would share
it with them. Manteo would go and ask for food.
As the sickly sun sank to rest on the fourth day after Manteo’s
departure, the colonists crawled to the beach and turned their faces
to the south to watch for his coming.
Presently his canoe rounded a bend in the stream. Fear gripped their
hearts as they watched his bowed form. Every now and then his paddle
churned the water into foam, and then relapsed into idleness. As his
canoe touched the beach they saw that it was empty.
Stepping on the shore he paused before them. Then fell an awful
silence as they looked upon his face. In that face Christianity and
primeval passion were waging deadly warfare. The zigzag lightning
shot from his eyes, and his voice was as the muttering thunder dying
away in the distance. Finally he spoke:
“Listen, O brother of the Rising Sun,
To the woeful tale of Manteo.
Down the sparkling waters of the Occam
Leaped the bounding canoe;
All night the paddles made music
On this side and on that;
Joy sang in the breast of the ‘real man’
As he thought of the corn for the pale face.
The smiling island of Croatan
Beckoned him onward and onward;
Nearer and nearer came Manteo
To the home of his tribe and his father.
Why curled not the serpent of smoke
Up from the wigwam of bark?
Why came not his brethren to greet him
As he stepped on the sandy shore?
The leaping fire of fear
Burnt to ashes on his lips.
There the moccasin of Winginia
Had left its picture in the sand.
In the heart of the sheltered island
Lay the speechless lips of his people.
No more will the shout of the Croatans
Rock the somber leaves of the cedars.
Only Manteo is left as an echo
Of all their greatness and glory.”
No moan from the colonists answered the lament of Manteo. They had
drunk to the dregs of the cup of sorrow. Eyes in which the light of
hope had been frozen into stony despair gazed out upon the eastern
horizon, but no sail broke the blank expanse of water.
* * * * *
Night had put on her robe of black velvet and the stars had
embroidered it in arabesques of silver, when Eleanor Dare laid her
head on her pillow and drew Virginia to her breast.
Soon the hamlet was hushed in sleep; only the booming waves and the
step of the starving sentinel broke the stillness. Exhausted, he
finally sank to the ground and sleep overpowered him.
Then long shadows flitted from tree to tree, and on the breath of
the night rose the death-cry of the Catawbas. Bearded men fell like
corn before the sickle and the agonized cry of the women was crushed
in their throats. Flames from the burning cabins threw the ghastly
scene into bold relief.
Eleanor’s cabin was untouched as yet by the flames. In its door stood
Manteo, fighting for her life and that of the child, when swift as a
swallow came the arrow of Winginia and sucked the lifeblood from his
loyal heart.
“Spare the squaw and her papoose,” said Winginia. “They shall be
slaves in memory of the wrong done us in the past. We will take them
to Croatan, our conquered island. Bind the squaw to the live oak
yonder and place the papoose upon her lap. We will sleep until the
daylight comes.”
Through the rest of the night Eleanor Dare worked desperately, and
succeeded finally in loosening the thongs enough to free one hand and
slightly twist her body.
In the cold gray of the morning she took a knife from her pocket, and
low down on the trunk of the oak carved the word “Croatoan” in Roman
letters. Just as she raised her hand to add the cross, Winginia
stood over her.
“Hold thy hand, thou pale-face squaw! Darest thou call down the anger
of Okee upon us?” and he sank his tomahawk into her brain.
* * * * *
Then rose the wail of the only English being upon American soil, the
cry of the little Virginia. The echoes took up the sound and sent
it reverberating from the flowery banks of Roanoke to the ice-bound
shores of Nova Scotia, and from the rounded tops of the Appalachians
to the beetling crags of the Rockies.
“Thou too shall follow thy kindred,” said Winginia, and again the
tomahawk was raised aloft.
A smile broke through the April tears upon the baby’s cheek as she
held out her wasted arms to him. Slowly the tomahawk sank to the
ground. The angel of God stayed the hand of the destroyer. Bending,
he lifted the baby from the ground.
Soon the scooped paddles sent the canoes swiftly down to Croatan.
Only the waves were left to chant a requiem over the “City of the
Dead.”
* * * * *
Three years had passed when Governor White came again to Roanoke
to seek his daughter and her child. As the boat neared the shore he
saw a column of smoke rising above the trees on the north end of the
island, some distance away from the settlement of the colonists. His
heart beat joyfully as he pictured the meeting with his loved ones.
* * * * *
Quickly landing, he made for the place where he had seen the smoke,
but no one was there. A few smoldering embers (left by some Indians
who had fled on hearing the booming of the cannon on the _Admiral_)
sputtered and fumed.
“Sound a signal blast upon the trumpet,” said White to his men.
Over the stillness rang out the clarion notes, but no answering shout
came back.
“Eleanor!” called her father in pleading accents. “El-e-a-nor!”
answered the hills in melancholy reiteration.
“As we tramp down to the settlement we will sing some of the old
English songs. Perhaps they will reach their hearts.”
Weary and footsore they continued their search, raising their
voices at intervals in some sweet old English song they had sung in
childhood.
At length they arrived at the “City of Raleigh.” Nature, abhorring
disfigurement, had brought down sand from the mainland and covered
the charred remains of the colonists, and had painted the ground
in great purple violets and crimson poppies, whose roots sucked
sustenance from the noble and brave ones sleeping below.
Hunting for some clew, the despairing father came upon the name which
his daughter had carved upon the oak. Standing in the violets above
her, he deciphered the word “Croatoan” low down upon its trunk.
“God be praised, they are alive!” he said joyfully. “Doubtless they
have gone with Manteo to his home in Croatan. On the morrow we will
seek them there. My heart gives thanks, for no cross is carved above
the name. Now we must hasten to embark, for the clouds are banking up
and foul weather will soon be upon us.”
All night the storm raged, tearing the anchors from their hold and
beating the ships out to sea. Having been unable to bring casks of
fresh water aboard on account of the gale, and food supplies running
low, the voyagers determined to make for the island of St. John, and
when properly provisioned, come again to Croatan.
After a perilous voyage they arrived at the island of St. George,
where the disheartened sailors, wearied out by the loss of some of
their men, and lacking food, refused to brave the perilous reefs
around Croatan again, and insisted on sailing for England. White’s
pleadings were stubbornly resisted. He was forced to give in and they
sailed for England.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, what had become of little Virginia whom Winginia had taken
captive?
Carried to conquered Croatan, she was placed in the keeping of the
women. What a strange little one had been brought to them to mother!
Baby ringlets of sunny brown, skin like the petals of a lily formed
a frame out of which looked eyes like pools of water on a cloudy day
when the shadows drift over them. Her appealing eyes and tender baby
ways wound themselves around the heartstrings of the squaws, and they
vied with each other in making dainty moccasins for her little pink
feet. Daily she was bathed in the cold waters of the sound and her
body smeared in paints and ointment. Outwardly she became an Indian
girl, the Water Lily of the Catawbas.
Every year, as winter came on, the Catawbas journeyed back to
Dismonguepeuc, their home on the mainland west of the island of
Roanoke.
Here and there flitted the Virginia Water Lily, now watching the men
burn out the poplar logs for canoes and bend the witch hazel branches
into bows, now searching for flint stones to be sharpened into arrow
heads. She talks with the birds of the forests and with the cranes
by the water side. She knew the secret of the plants with healing in
their leaves.
Day by day her influence over the tribe grew stronger. Did she
possess some invisible power? Her voice alone could soothe the savage
outbursts of Winginia’s wrath and cause him to spare the culprit.
It was written in the book of destiny that she should repay the debt
of life she owed Winginia.
He had fallen upon the Tuscaroras, hoping to exterminate them as he
had done the Croatans, but this time the fortunes of war were against
him. His warriors came back bringing their chief grievously wounded
by a poisoned arrow. They laid him in his house of poles and bark,
and the medicine men in all their hideous paint and feathers came to
chant their incantations.
The tender heart of the Virginia Water Lily ached to see the stoical
Winginia suffer. Kneeling by his side, she bared the wound, and
placing her soft lips upon it, sucked the poison out. Soon health and
strength returned to him.
Day by day she roved the forest; but she loved best the springtime
when the Catawbas went to Croatan for the herring fishing. Her nimble
fingers sharpened the poles that were to spear the gleaming herring,
or fashioned the weirs of rushes to catch the fish.
For hours she would sit on the beach and gaze across the vast waste
of waters. Then a longing for something she could not understand
caused her breast to heave and sink, but no distinct recollection of
mother or father remained to her. Sometimes a voice crooning a few
notes of melody would float across her memory but it was gone in an
instant.
Twelve times she had seen the Indian maidens hunt for the red ear
among the corn. A blush mantled her cheek when she thought that at
the next harvest she too would join in the search.
Already the eyes of the bravest youth among the warriors had marked
her for his own. Many a time he had given her the seat next the fire
when the icicles rattled on the branches of the trees, and she felt
that she would gladly go to the wigwam of Ensinore the Swift One.
* * * * *
Spring had come! The sap was rising in the veins of the trees and
the blood of the Indian answered the call. It was time to be on the
warpath.
Far away on the Powhatan River the king of the Powhatans and his
warriors were stringing their bows, sharpening their arrows, and
making their canoes ready for a raid upon Winginia at his summer home
on Croatan.
“Twenty warriors to each canoe,” was the command of Powhatan.
At length all was ready. Swiftly the canoes glided down the Powhatan,
out into the waters of the Chesapeake, and then, skirting down the
coast, fell upon the Catawbas.
Fiercely and long the warfare raged. Finally the tribe of Powhatan
gained the day, and carried off the Virginia Water Lily as a captive,
over the dead body of Ensinore.
Many of Powhatan’s warriors were worsted in their encounter with the
Catawbas, so they proceeded only as far as Roanoke Island, where they
halted for rest.
The breezes were soft from the ocean, there were many deer in the
forest, and Powhatan lingered there twelve months.
As he looked upon the Virginia Water Lily she was fairer than all
the maidens of his tribe and a fit mate for the grave and stately
Powhatan, then just in his manhood’s prime. But no entreaties or
commands could win a smile from her, for the heart of the Water Lily
lay in the grave of Ensinore.
As the twelfth moon rounded out its last quarter the Water Lily
folded up her petals and sank to sleep, leaving to Powhatan a little
daughter.
A grave was dug under an old and gnarled tree bearing the word
“Croatoan” carved upon its trunk, and Virginia Dare’s body rested
beside the bones of her mother Eleanor.
All the tenderness of Powhatan’s nature had been lavished upon the
unresponsive Water Lily, so the little daughter she had left him
became dearer to him than all of his children.
“Call her Pocahontas,” he said. “She shall be as a bright stream
between two hills. Nations yet unborn and strangers to our tribe
shall hail her as ‘The Blessed Pocahontas.’”
CHAPTER I
As night descends on the tragedy of Roanoke the sun is rising on the
land of England.
The victory over the Spanish Armada has given the English a sense
of security which they have never felt before. They have become a
composite nation, not only able to defend their country in time of
invasion, but able to seek out Philip in his Spanish home, plunder
his towns and ships, and also carry on the subjugation of Ireland
which Henry II. had begun.
The golden flower of literature has burst into full bloom. Grammar
schools for the education of the masses are rising all over the
land. Universities are diligently studying the classics of Italy
and Greece. Education is no more confined to the nobility, and
the genius of the “poor scholar” is giving England her greatest
son, Shakespeare. His wonderful mind is raising to the height of
splendor the English drama begun by Sackville and Marlowe. Bacon is
proclaiming the Philosophy of Science and Gilbert is investigating
the mysteries of electricity.
Action, action is the watchword of the nation.
Elizabeth’s wars abroad have depleted her exchequer. She must now
economize and wait for a more auspicious moment for planting a new
colony in her dominion of Virginia. But the Angel of Death waits at
the threshold, to carry her where she is to give an account of the
deeds done in the body. Elizabeth—Essex—Mary, Queen of Scots—what
did they have to say to each other when they met in the dim world of
spirits? Ambition, power, and the worshiping love of her people could
not fill the hungry heart of Elizabeth, embittered by the perfidy of
Leicester. Lonely she lived; lonely she died.
“The Queen is dead, long live the King!”
James I, son of Mary, Queen of Scots, sits on the throne, while Sir
Walter Raleigh, the “shepherd of the ocean,” lies a prisoner in the
Tower of London, spending his last days in an effort for the good of
mankind—he is writing his History of the World.
Shadows, which the glory of Elizabeth’s reign had hitherto hid, are
overcasting the sky of England. Thousands of disbanded soldiers are
returning home from the wars. The farmers have abandoned agriculture
and taken to sheep raising. Everywhere there is distress. Is there
nothing for the unemployed to do?
Yes, God has opened the land of Virginia.
New hope and energy spring into life and culminate in the formation
of the London Company for the permanent colonization of Virginia, the
territory between Cape Fear and Maryland.