Relentless fate came yet again and blindfolded the colonists with a
veil of golden gauze.
On a frosty morning, as one of the men walked by a little stream,
he saw a shining substance glistening in the sand. Snatching up
a handful, he ran as fast as possible to where George Martin was
standing.
“Look, Master Martin; see if this be not gold?”
Taking the earth into his hand, the refiner of precious metals
examined the glistening mass carefully, turning it over and over in
his hand.
“Yes, it is gold,” said he.
“Gold, gold!” yelled the man at the top of his voice.
At the magic word every man started into life, stumbling over one
another in their efforts to secure spade and pickaxe and join the
maddened crowd hastening to the stream. Puffing and blowing like a
seal, Adam Clotworthy waddled along, bringing up the rear, his spade
dragging behind him.
Did unused muscles ache? Let them. Cracked and bleeding hands smarted
under blisters. Who cared? Was not the precious metal lying in tons
before their eyes?
“Try and put a stop to this digging of fool’s gold,” begged Captain
Smith of Robert Hunt.
“I can do nothing while this fever rages in their veins. If you look
at their frenzied faces and bloodshot eyes you will see that my
efforts would be useless. Even Newport has joined in the mad rush.
His boat will soon be loaded, and after his departure we may be able
to do something.”
The warm breath of spring was upon them before Captain Newport sailed
down the stream with his valuable cargo. All of the gold diggers
gathered on the beach to witness his departure. Here and there the
superstitious ones threw a few beads into the water for luck, as they
had seen the Indians do when starting on a voyage.
After the ships had drifted out of sight, Captain Smith began to urge
the colonists to rebuild the fort and cabins.
“Even if the cargo turns out to be gold, you cannot leave this
country unless you receive a special passport from King James,
and that no doubt will be long in coming. Perhaps if you prove
industrious, the Company will in time give each of you a house, and
land to till for your own gain. But until they see some fruit from
you, nothing will be forthcoming for your benefit.”
This advice seemed reasonable, and as summer was now approaching and
fish abounded in the stream, the colonists started to rebuild the
fort and cabins.
John Laydon, master carpenter and wood-carver, superintended the
work, reserving for his especial care the erection of a commodious
church to take the place of the old affair of rough logs and
reed-thatched roof, the successor of the sail stretched between the
elms.
Choosing two fair and goodly cedars, he shaped them into an altar
and carved upon the front a cross with a grape vine clinging to it,
and the fragrant incense of the cedar swept upward with the prayers
of the colonists when once a month they knelt to receive the Holy
Communion.
The tilled fields began to show tender green shoots of corn and
clinging bean against the rich dark loam. Gradually order was
emerging out of chaos under the energetic supervision of Captain John
Smith, who set the example of industry by his own hard work.