Twenty years had the violets bloomed over the grave of Eleanor Dare
on the island of Roanoke. In all that time the Indian had planted his
corn and tobacco and celebrated the harvest with feasting and dancing
unmolested by the white man.
Gentle May, with tender hands, was removing the furry coats of the
purple and white hepaticas. The pink anemones, swaying in the breeze,
nodded to her as she passed. Down by the pools of quiet waters the
beavers were building dams with their racquet-shaped tails, while
among the rushes on the river’s bank, slate-blue cranes, standing on
one leg, watched for the unwary fish that were to make their dinner.
The rising sun sent its long slanting beams to awaken the colonists
to their first day on Virginia’s soil. Rubbing their eyes and
stretching their limbs, they set about preparing the morning meal and
getting ready for the renewing of the voyage.
Leaving Point Comfort, they entered a broad and pleasant stream,
whose waters traveled many miles before they emptied their amber
flood into the Chesapeake. As they sailed up the stream their
muskets repeatedly awoke the echoes, frightening the birds from
their nest-building to whirl in eddying circles above the tree-tops.
Curious Indians, frightened by the sound, watched them from behind
the trunks of massive trees.
Forty miles up the river they came upon a peninsula jutting into deep
water. Tall and stately trees covered its breast, and the air was
filled with the fragrance of blossoming honeysuckle and wild roses.
It seemed an ideal spot for a settlement.
Sailing their ships close up to the shore they landed upon the ground
which in time to come would be the most historic spot upon the whole
continent of America.
“We will call this city Jamestown and the river James, in honor of
James, first king of the United Kingdoms of England and Scotland,”
pompously declared Wingfield. “As the weather is so pleasant, we
shall not need to build houses just at present. Cut down some of the
trees and make room for your tents.”
“Shall we not set about building a fort as a protection against the
savages?” inquired Smith.
“No, do as you are told. The council and myself are able to direct
affairs without your assistance. Bid the men lay aside their arms and
go to work. There is no need for such precaution.”
Before long a city of tents spread its white cones among the giant
trees. A large sail stretched between two drooping elms, situated on
a green knoll, became the church where the colonists gathered daily
to say morning and evening prayers, led by their faithful pastor, the
Reverend Robert Hunt.
Each day the men were divided into companies, some to cut down
clapboards to load the returning ships, others were busy clearing the
ground for gardens, while the rest made nets to catch the fish of
many kinds which abounded in the stream.
Many Indians came to visit them, chief of whom was the wily
Opechancanough, and numerous presents of bells and beads gained his
apparent good will. In return he brought presents of corn and dried
venison, and gave much news of the country.
“The river you call James, is the Powhatan,” he told them. “It was
named for our king, who is a great and mighty chief. When this river
is filled with sturgeon he comes to his home far up its banks. When
the swans and wild geese come northward he goes to Weriwocomoco on
the Chickahominy.”
Scarcely three weeks had passed when President Wingfield ordered
Captain Smith and Newport to take twenty men and sail up the James to
discover its source. Captain Smith was loath to leave, for discontent
was brewing among the colonists.
When delicate hands were blistered and unused muscles ached with
unaccustomed toil, the idle among them left off work and sat down to
rest, until resting became a habit. The whole of the burden fell upon
the persevering ones, who thus had to work not only for themselves,
but for the lazy ones also.
“It is not fair,” said John Laydon, “that some should have to
fish for food in the hot sun, and work to load the vessels with
clapboards, while others lie idle.”
“We don’t have to work, the common storehouse will feed us,”
responded a man lying among a group of idlers stretched under a tree.
To all of their complaints Wingfield paid no attention but spent his
time in eating, devising plans for gain, and plotting against Captain
Smith.