THE BEGINNERS
Nearly five hundred years ago, there lived, in the beautiful old Italian
city of Genoa, a poor wool-comber named Dominico Colombo, and about
1446, a son was born to him and to his wife, Susanna, and in due time
christened Christoforo.
The world into which the child was born was very different to the one in
which we live. Europe was known, and northern Africa, and western Asia;
but to the east stretched the fabulous country of the Grand Khan,
Cathay, Cipango, and farthest Ind; while to the west rolled the Sea of
Darkness, peopled with unimaginable terrors.
Of the youth of Christopher Columbus, as we call him, little is known.
No doubt it was much like other boyhoods, and one likes to picture him,
in such hours of leisure as he had, strolling about the streets of
Genoa, listening to the talk, staring in at the shop-windows, or
watching the busy life in the harbor. That the latter had a strong
attraction for him there can be no doubt, for though he followed his
father's trade till early manhood, he finally found his real vocation as
a seaman. It was on the ocean that true romance dwelt, for it led to
strange lands and peoples, and no one knew what wonders and mysteries
lay behind each horizon. It was there, too, high courage was developed
and endurance, for it was there that men did battle hand to hand with
nature's mightiest forces. It was the one career of the age which called
to the bold and adventurous spirit. What training Columbus received or
what voyages he made we know not; but when, at about the age of thirty,
he steps into the light of history, it is as a man with a wide and
thorough knowledge of both the theory and practice of seamanship; a man,
too, of keen mind and indomitable will, and with a mighty purpose
brooding in his heart.
It was natural enough that his eyes should turn to Portugal, for
Portugal was the greatest sea-faring nation of the age. Her sailors had
discovered the Madeira Islands, and crept little by little down the
coast of Africa, rounding this headland and that, searching always for a
passage to India, which they knew lay somewhere to the east, until, at
last, they had sailed triumphantly around the Cape of Good Hope. It is
worth remarking that Columbus's brother, Bartholomew, of whom we hear so
little, but who did so much for his brother's fame, was a member of that
expedition, and Columbus himself must have gathered no little
inspiration from it.
So to Lisbon Columbus went, and his ardent spirit found a great stimulus
in the adventurous atmosphere of that bustling city. He went to work as
a map-maker, marrying the daughter of one of the captains of Prince
Henry the Navigator, from whom he secured a great variety of maps,
charts and memoranda. His business kept him in close touch with both
mariners and astronomers, so that he was acquainted with every
development of both discovery and theory. In more than one mind the
conviction was growing up that the eastern shore of Asia could be
reached by sailing westward from Europe--a conviction springing
naturally enough from the belief that the earth was round, which was
steadily gaining wider and wider acceptance. In fact, a Florentine
astronomer named Toscanelli furnished Columbus with a map showing how
this voyage could be accomplished, and Columbus afterwards used this map
in determining his route.
That the idea was not original with Columbus takes nothing from his
fame; his greatness lies in being the first fully to grasp its meaning,
fully to believe it, fully to devote his life to it. For the last
measure of a man's devotion to an idea is his willingness to stake his
life upon it, as Columbus staked his. The idea possessed him; there was
room in him only for a dogged determination to realize it, to trample
down such obstacles as might arise to keep him from his goal. And
obstacles enough there were, for many years of waiting and
disappointment lay before him--years during which, a shabby and
melancholy figure, laughed at and scorned, mocked by the very children
in the streets, he "begged his way from court to court, to offer to
princes the discovery of a world." And here again was his true
greatness--that he did not despair, that his spirit remained unbroken
and his high heart still capable of hope.
Yet let us not idealize him too much. The eagerness to reach the Indies
was wholly because of the riches which they possessed. The spice trade
was especially coveted, and tradition told of golden cities of fabulous
wealth and beauty which lay in the country to the east. The great motive
behind all the early voyages was hope of gain, and Columbus had his full
share of it. Yet there grew up within him, in time, something more than
this--a love of the project for its own sake--though to the very last, a
little overbalanced, perhaps, by his great idea, he insisted upon the
rewards and honors which must be his in case of success.
With his route well-outlined and his plans carefully matured, Columbus
turned naturally to the King of Portugal, John II., as a man interested
in all nautical enterprise, and especially interested in finding a route
to the Indies. That crafty monarch listened to Columbus attentively and
was evidently impressed, for he took possession of the maps and plans
which Columbus had prepared, under pretense of examining them while
considering the project, placed them in the hands of one of his own
captains and dispatched him secretly to try the route. That captain,
whose name has been lost to history, must afterwards have been chagrined
enough at the manner in which he missed immortal fame, for, after
sailing a few days to the westward, he turned back and reported to his
royal master that the thing could not be done. His was not the heart
for such an enterprise.
Columbus, learning of the king's treachery, left the court in disgust,
and sending his brother, Bartholomew, to lay the plan before the King of
England, himself proceeded to Spain, whose rulers, Ferdinand and
Isabella, were perhaps the most enlightened of the age. Of Bartholomew's
adventures in England little is known. One thing alone is
certain--England missed the great opportunity just as Portugal had. And
for long years it seemed that, in Spain, Columbus would have no better
fortune. The Spanish monarchs listened to him with interest--as who
would not?--and appointed a council of astronomers and map-makers to
examine the project and to pass upon its feasibility. This council, not
without the connivance of the king and queen, who were absorbed in war
with the Moors, and who, at the same time, did not wish the plan to be
taken elsewhere, kept Columbus waiting for six years, alternating
between hope and despair, and finally reported that the project was
"vain and impossible of execution."
Indignant at thought of the years he had wasted, Columbus determined to
proceed to Paris, to seek an audience of the King of France. His wife
was dead, and he started for Palos, with his little son, Diego,
intending to leave the boy with his wife's sister there, while he
himself journeyed on to Paris. Trudging wearily across the country, they
came one night to the convent of La Rabida, and Columbus stopped to ask
for a crust of bread and cup of water for the child. The prior, Juan
Perez de Marchena, struck by his noble bearing, entered into
conversation with him and was soon so interested that he invited the
travellers in.
Marchena had been Isabella's confessor, and still had great influence
with her. After carefully considering the project which Columbus laid
before him, he went to the queen in person and implored her to
reconsider it. His plea was successful, and Columbus was again summoned
to appear at court, a small sum of money being sent him so that he need
not appear in rags. The Spanish monarchs received him well, but when
they found that he demanded the title of admiral at once, and, in case
of success, the title of viceroy, together with a tenth part of all
profits resulting from either trade or conquest, they abruptly broke off
the negotiations, and Columbus, mounting a mule which had been given
him, started a second time for Paris. He had proceeded four or five
miles, in what sadness and turmoil of spirit may be imagined, when a
royal messenger, riding furiously, overtook him and bade him return. His
terms had been accepted.
This is what had happened: In despair at the departure of Columbus, Luis
de Santangel, receiver of the revenues of Aragon, and one of the few
converts to his theories, had obtained an audience of the queen, and
pointed out to her, with impassioned eloquence, the glory which Spain
would win should Columbus be successful. The queen's patriotic ardor
was enkindled, and when Ferdinand still hesitated, she cried, "I
undertake the enterprise for my own crown of Castile. I will pledge my
jewels to raise the money that is needed!" Santangel assured her that he
himself was ready to provide the money, and advanced seventeen thousand
florins from the coffers of Aragon, so that Ferdinand paid for the
expedition, after all.
It is in no way strange that the demands of Columbus should have been
thought excessive; indeed, the wonderful thing is that they should,
under any circumstances, have been agreed to. Here was a man, to all
appearances a penniless adventurer, asking for honors, dignities and
rewards which any grandee of Spain might have envied him. That they
should have been granted was due to the impulsive sympathy of Isabella
and the indifference of her royal consort, who said neither yes nor no;
though, in the light of subsequent events, it is not improbable that the
thought may have crossed his mind that royal favor may always be
withdrawn, and that the hand which gives may also take away.
But though Columbus had triumphed in this particular, his trials were by
no means at an end. The little port of Palos was commanded by royal
order to furnish the new Admiral with two small vessels known as
caravels. This was soon done, but no sailors were willing to embark on
such a voyage, the maddest in all history. Only by the most extreme
measures, by impressment and the release of criminals willing to
accompany the expedition in order to get out of jail, were crews
finally provided. A third small vessel was secured, and on the morning
of Friday, August 3, 1492, this tiny fleet of three boats, the Santa
Maria, the Pinta and the Niña, whose combined crews numbered less than
ninety men, sailed out from Palos on the grandest voyage the world has
ever known.
The shore was lined with people weeping and wringing their hands for the
relatives and friends whom they were sure they should never see again,
and most of the sailors were certain that they were bidding farewell
forever to their native land. Even at the present day, few men would
care to undertake such a voyage in such ships. The two little caravels,
Niña and Pinta, were decked only at stern and prow. The Santa Maria was
but little larger, her length being only about sixty feet, and all three
of the vessels were old, leaky, and in need of frequent repairs.
The map which Toscanelli had given Columbus years before showed Japan
lying directly west of the Canaries, so to the Canaries Columbus steered
his fleet, and then set forth westward into the unknown. By a fortunate
chance, it was the very best route he could have chosen, for he came at
once into the region of the trade winds, which, blowing steadily from
the east, drove the vessels westward day after day over a smooth sea.
But this very thing, favorable as it was, added greatly to the terror of
the men. How were they to get back to Spain, with the wind always
against them? What was the meaning of a sea as smooth as their own
Guadalquiver? They implored Columbus to turn back; but to turn back was
the last thing in his thoughts. An opportune storm helped to reassure
his men by proving that the wind did not always blow from the east and
that the sea was not always calm.
But there were soon other causes of alarm. The compass varied strangely,
and what hope for them was there if this, their only guide, proved
faithless? They ran into vast meadows of floating seaweed, the Sargasso
Sea, and it seemed certain that the ships would soon be so entangled
that they could move neither backward nor forward. Still Columbus pushed
steadily on, and his men's terror and angry discontent deepened until
they were on the verge of mutiny; various plots were hatched and it was
evident that affairs would soon reach a crisis.
One can guess the Admiral's thoughts as he paced the poop of his ship on
that last night, pausing from time to time to strain his eyes into the
darkness. Picture him to yourself--a tall and imposing figure, clad in
that gray habit of the Franciscan missionary he liked to wear; the face
stern and lined with care, the eyes gray and piercing, the high nose and
long chin telling of a mighty will, the cheeks ruddy and freckled from
life in the open, the white hair falling about his shoulders. Picture
him standing there, a memorable figure, whose hour of triumph was at
hand. He knew the desperate condition of things--none better; he knew
that his men were for the most part criminals and cowards; at any
moment they might rise and make him prisoner or throw him overboard.
Well, until that moment, he would hold his ship's prow to the west! For
twenty years he had labored to get this chance; he would rather die than
fail.
And then, suddenly, far ahead, he saw a light moving low along the
horizon. It disappeared, reappeared, and then vanished altogether. The
lookout had also seen it, and soon after, as the moon rose, a gun from
the Pinta, which was in the lead, announced that land had been sighted.
It was soon plainly visible to everyone, a low beach gleaming white in
the moonlight, and the ships hove-to until daybreak.
In the early dawn of the twelfth day of October, 1492, the boats were
lowered, and Columbus and a large part of his company went ashore, wild
with exultation. They found themselves on a small island, and Columbus
named it San Salvador. It was one of the Bahamas, but which one is not
certainly known. Columbus, of course, believed himself near the coast of
Asia, and spent two months in searching for Japan, discovering a number
of islands, but no trace of the land of gold and spices which he sought.
One of his ships was wrecked and the captain of the third sailed away to
search for gold on his own account, so that it was in the little Niña
alone that Columbus at last set sail for Spain.
[Illustration: COLUMBUS]
It was no longer a summer sea through which the tiny vessel ploughed her
way, but a sea swept by savage hurricanes. More than once it seemed
that the ship must founder, but by some miracle it kept afloat, and
on March 15, 1493, sailed again into the port of Palos. The great
navigator was received with triumphal honors by Ferdinand and Isabella,
and invited to sit in their presence while he told the wonderful story
of his discoveries.
Wonderful indeed! Yet what a dizziness would have seized that audience
could they have guessed the truth! Could they have guessed that the
proud kingdom of Spain was but an insignificant patch compared with the
vast continent Columbus had discovered and upon which a score of nations
were to dwell.
The life-work of the great navigator practically ended on the day he
told his story to the court of Spain, for, though he led three other
expeditions across the ocean, the discoveries they made were of no great
importance. Not a trace did he find of that golden country, which he
sought so eagerly, and at last, broken in health and fortune, in
disfavor at court, stripped of the rewards and dignities which had been
promised him, he died in a little house at Valladolid on the twentieth
of May, 1506. He believed to the last that it was the Indies he had
discovered, never dreaming that he had given a new continent to the
world.
Yet is his fame secure, for the task which he accomplished was unique,
never to be repeated. He had robbed the Sea of Darkness of its terrors,
and while those who followed him had need of courage and resolution, it
was no longer into the unknown that they sailed forth. They knew that
there was no danger of sailing over the edge and dropping off into
space; they knew that there were no dragons, nor monsters, nor other
blood-curdling terrors to be encountered, but that the other side of the
world was much like the side they lived on. That was Columbus's great
achievement. To cross the Atlantic, perilous as the voyage was, was
after all a little thing; but actually to _start_--to surmount the wall
of bigotry and ignorance which, for centuries, had shut the west away
from the east, to surmount that wall and throw it down by a faith which
rose superior to human belief and incredulity and terror of the
unknown--there was the miracle!
* * * * *
Many there were to follow, each contributing his mite toward the task of
defining the new continent. Perhaps you have seen a photographic
negative slowly take shape in the acid bath--the sharp out-lines first,
then, bit by bit, the detail. Just so did America grow beneath the gaze
of Europe, though two centuries and more were to elapse before it stood
out upon the map clean-cut and definite from border to border.
First to follow Columbus, and the first white men since the vikings to
set foot on the North American continent, which Columbus himself had
never seen, were John and Sebastian Cabot, Italians like their
predecessor, but in the service of the King of England and with an
English ship and an English crew prophetic of the race which was, in
time, to wrest the supremacy of the continent from the other nations of
Europe. They explored the coast from Newfoundland as far south, perhaps,
as Chesapeake Bay, and upon their discoveries rested the English claim
to North America, though they themselves are little more than faint and
ill-defined shadows upon the page of history, so little do we know of
them.
And just as the New World was eventually to be dominated by a nation
other than that which first took possession of it, so was it to be named
after a man other than its discoverer: an inconsiderable adventurer
named Amerigo Vespucci, a Florentine, who accompanied three or four
Spanish expeditions as astronomer or pilot, but who had no part in any
real discovery in the New World. He wrote a number of letters describing
the voyages which he claimed to have made, and one of these was printed
in a pamphlet which had a wide circulation, so that Vespucci's name came
to be connected in the public mind with the new land in the west much
more prominently than that of any other man. In 1502, in a little book
dealing with the new discoveries, the suggestion was made that there was
nothing "rightly to hinder us from calling it [the New World] Amerige or
America, i.e., the land of Americus," and America it was
thenceforward--one of the great injustices of history. Since it had to
be so, let us be thankful that it was Vespucci's first name which was
selected, and not his last one.
Meanwhile, the Spaniards had pushed their way across the Caribbean and
explored the shores of the gulf, finding at last in Mexico a land of
gold. World-worn, disease-racked Ponce de Leon, conqueror and governor
of Porto Rico, struggled through the everglades of Florida, seeking the
fountain of eternal youth, and getting his death-wound there instead.
Ferdinand Magellan, man of iron if there ever was one, seeking a western
passage to the Moluccas, skirted the coast of South America, wintered
amid the snows of Patagonia, worked his way through the strait which
bears his name, and held on westward across the Pacific, making the
first circumnavigation of the globe, a feat so startling in audacity
that there is none in our day to compare with it, except, perhaps, a
journey to another planet. Magellan himself never again saw Europe,
meeting his death in a fight with the natives of the Philippines, but
one of his ships, with eighteen men, struggled south along the coast of
Africa, around the Cape of Good Hope, and so home.
Half a century was to elapse before the feat was repeated--this time by
that slave-trader, pirate, and doughty scourge of the Spaniard, Sir
Francis Drake, who, following in Magellan's wake, and pausing only long
enough to harry the Spanish settlements in Chili and Peru and capture a
Spanish treasureship, held northward along the coast as far as southern
Oregon, and then turned westward across the Pacific, around the Cape of
Good Hope, and home again, where Elizabeth, in spite of Spanish
protests, was waiting to reward him with a touch of sword to shoulder.
The Muse of History smiles ironically when she records that Drake's
principal discovery in the New World was that of the potato, which he
introduced into England.
Not until Drake's voyage was completed was the vast extent of the North
American continent even suspected, although its interior had been
explored in many directions. Hernando de Soto, with an experience gained
with Pizarro in the conquest of Peru, and succeeding Ponce de Leon in
the governorship of Florida, marched with a great expedition through
what is now South Carolina, Tennessee and Georgia, and came out, at
last, upon the Mississippi, only to find burial beneath its waters,
while the tattered remnant of his force staggered back to Mexico.
Francisco de Coronado, marching northward from Mexico, in search of the
fabled Seven Cities of Cibola, found only the squalid villages of the
Zuni Indians, after stumbling on the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, and
marching as far north as the southern line of Kansas. Jacques Cartier,
following another will-o'-the-wisp to the north, and searching for the
storied city of Norembega, supposed to exist somewhere in the wilderness
south of Cape Breton, found it not, indeed, but laid the foundations for
the great empire which France was to establish along the St. Lawrence.
And Henry Hudson, in the little Half-Moon, chartered by a company of
thrifty Dutchmen to search for the northwest passage, blundered instead
upon the mighty river which bears his name, explored it as far north as
the present city of Albany, and paved the way for that picturesque
Dutch settlement which grew into the greatest city of the New World. He
did more than that, for, persevering in the search and sailing far to
the north, he came, at last, into the great bay also named for him,
where tragic fate lay waiting. For there, in that icy fastness of the
north, his mutinous crew bound him, set him adrift in a small boat, and
sailed away and left him.
So, by the beginning of the seventeenth century, the New World was
fairly well defined upon the maps which the map-makers were always
industriously drawing; and so were the spheres of influence where each
nation was to be for a time paramount; the Spaniards in the Gulf of
Mexico, the Dutch along the Hudson, the French on the St. Lawrence, and
the English on the long coast to the south. But in all the leagues and
leagues from the St. Lawrence to the Gulf, nowhere had the white man as
yet succeeded in gaining a permanent foothold.
* * * * *
Although the continent of North America had been discovered by John
Cabot in 1497, nearly a century elapsed before England made any serious
attempt to take possession of it. Cabot's voyages had created little
impression, for he had returned from them empty-handed; instead of
finding the passage to the Indies which he sought, he had discovered
nothing but an inconvenient and apparently worthless barrier stretching
across the way, and for many years the great continent was regarded only
in that light, and such explorations as were made were with the one
object of getting through it or around it. In fact, as late as 1787,
opinion in Europe was divided as to whether the discovery of the New
World had been a blessing or a curse.
But Spain had been working industriously. The honor of giving America to
the world was hers, and she followed that first discovery by centuries
of such pioneering as the world had never seen. Her explorers overran
Mexico and Peru, discovered the Mississippi, the Pacific, carved their
way up into the interior of the continent, looked down upon the wonders
of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, founded settlements up and down the
land from Kansas to Chili--yes, and did more than that. They opened the
first churches, set up the first presses, printed the first books, wrote
the first histories, drew the first accurate maps. They established
schools among the Indians, sent missionaries to them, translated the
Bible into twelve Indian dialects, made thousands of converts, and
established an Indian policy as humane and enlightened--once Spanish
supremacy was recognized--as any in the world. The savages with whom
Spain had to contend were the deadliest, the most cruel, that Europeans
ever encountered--no more resembling the warriors of King Philip and the
Powhatan than a house-cat resembles a panther. They conquered them
without extermination, and converted them to Christianity! An amazing
feat, and one which disposes for all time of that old, outworn legend
that the Spain of the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries was a
moribund and degenerate nation.
But a change was at hand. The world moved, and Spain, chained to an
outworn superstition, did not move with it. The treasure she drew from
Mexico and Peru she poured out to prop the tottering pillars of church
despotism; and the end came when, in 1588, Elizabeth's doughty captains
wiped out the "invincible" armada, and dethroned Spain for all time from
her position as mistress of the seas.
It was then that English eyes turned toward the New World and that
projects of colonization were set afoot in earnest; and the one great
dominant hero of that early movement was Sir Walter Raleigh. He had
accompanied his half-brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, on a voyage to the
New World ten years earlier, and after Gilbert's tragic death, took over
the patent for land in America which Gilbert held. It is worth noting
that this patent provided in the plainest terms that such colonies as
might be planted in America should be self-governing in the fullest
sense--a provision also included in the patent granted to the company
which afterwards succeeded in gaining and maintaining a foothold on the
James.
Raleigh spent nearly a million dollars in endeavoring to establish a
colony on Roanoke Island--a colony which absolutely disappeared, and
whose fate was never certainly discovered; and it was not until the
Virgin Queen, after whom all that portion of the country had been named,
was dead, and Raleigh himself, shorn of his estates, was a prisoner in
the Tower under charge of treason, that a new charter was given to an
association of influential men known as the Virginia Company, which was
destined to have permanent results. On New Year's Day, 1607, an
expedition of three ships, carrying, besides their crews, one hundred
and five colonists, started on the voyage across the ocean, under
command of Captain Christopher Newport. Among Newport's company was a
scarred and weather-beaten soldier, who was soon to assume control of
events through sheer fitness for the task, and who bore that commonest
of all English names, John Smith.
But John Smith's career had been anything but common. Born in
Lincolnshire in 1579, and early left an orphan, he had gone to the
Netherlands while still in his teens, and had spent three years there
fighting against the Spaniards. A year or two later, he had embarked
with a company of Catholic pilgrims for the Levant, intent on fighting
against the Turk, but a storm arose which all attributed to the presence
of the Huguenot heretic on board, and he was forthwith flung into the
sea. Whether the storm thereupon abated, history does not state, but
Smith managed to swim to a small island, from which he was rescued next
day. Journeying across Europe to Styria, he entered the service of
Emperor Rudolph II., and spent two or three years fighting against the
Turks, accomplishing feats so surprising that one would be inclined to
class them with those of Baron Munchausen, were they not, for the most
part, well authenticated. He was captured, at last, but managed to
escape, and made his way across the Styrian desert, through Russia,
Poland, Hungary, Bohemia, and finally back to England, just in time to
meet Captain Newport, and arrange to sail with him for Virginia.
It is not remarkable that a man tried by such experiences should, from
the first, have taken a prominent part in the enterprise. An unwelcome
part in the beginning, for scarcely had the voyage begun, when he was
accused of plotting mutiny, arrested and kept in irons until the ships
reached Virginia. Late in April, the fleet entered Hampton Roads, and
proceeding up the river, which was forthwith named the James, came at
last on May 13th, to a low peninsula which seemed suited for a
settlement. The next day they set to work building a fort, which they
called Fort James, but the settlement soon came to be known as
Jamestown.
Once the fort was finished, Captain Newport sailed back to England for
supplies, and the little settlement was soon in desperate straits for
food. Within three months, half of the colonists were in their graves,
and bitter feuds arose among the survivors. These were for the most part
"gentlemen adventurers," who had accompanied the expedition in the hope
of finding gold, and who were wholly unfitted to cope with the
conditions in which they found themselves. Of all of them, Smith was by
far the most competent, and he did valiant service in trading with the
Indians for corn and in conducting a number of expeditions in search of
game.
It was while on one of these, in December, 1607, that that incident of
his career occurred which is all that a great many people know of
Captain John Smith. With two companions, he was paddling in a canoe up
the Chickahominy, when the party was attacked by Indians. Smith's two
companions were killed, and he himself saved his life only by exhibiting
his compass and doing other things to astonish and impress the savages.
He was finally taken captive to the Powhatan, the ruler of the tribe,
and, according to Smith's story, a long debate ensued among the Indians
as to his fate. Presently two large stones were laid before the chief,
and Smith was dragged to them and his head forced down upon them, but
even as one of the warriors raised his club to dash out the captive's
brains, the Powhatan's daughter, a child of thirteen named Pocahontas,
threw herself upon him, shielding his head with hers, and claimed him
for her own, after the Indian custom. Smith was thereupon released,
adopted into the tribe, and sent back to Jamestown, where he arrived on
the eighth of January, 1608.
From the Indian standpoint, there was nothing especially unusual about
this procedure, for any member of the tribe was privileged to claim a
captive, if he wished. A century before, Ortiz, a member of De Soto's
expedition, had been captured by the Indians and saved in precisely the
same way, and many instances of the kind occurred in the years which
followed. But to the captive, it partook of the very essence of
romance; he had only the dimmest idea of what was really happening, and
his account of it, written many years later, was of the most sentimental
kind. Many doubts have been cast on the story, and historians seem
hopelessly divided about it, as they are about many other incidents of
Smith's life. Certain it is, however, that Pocahontas afterwards
befriended the colony on more than one occasion; and was finally
converted, married to a planter named John Rolfe, and taken to England,
where, among the artificialities of court life, she soon sickened and
died.
On the very day that Smith reached Jamestown with his Indian escort, the
supply ship sent out by Captain Newport also arrived, bringing 120 new
colonists. Of the original 105, only thirty-eight were left alive. But
Smith's enemies were yet in the ascendancy, and he spent the summer of
1608 in exploration, leaving the colony to its own devices. When he
returned to it in September, he found it reduced and disheartened. His
brave and cheery presence acted as a tonic, and at last the colonists,
appreciating him at his true value, elected him president. He put new
life into everyone, and when, soon afterwards, Newport arrived again
from England with fresh supplies, he found the colony in fairly good
shape.
But the members of the Virginia Company were growing impatient at the
failure of the venture to bring any returns, and they sent out
instructions by Newport demanding that either a lump of gold be sent
back to England or that the way to the South Sea be discovered. Smith
said plainly that the instructions were ridiculous, and wrote an answer
to them in blunt soldier English. Then, turning his hand in earnest to
the government of the disorderly rabble under him, he instituted an iron
discipline, whipped the laggards into line, and by the end of April had
some twenty houses built, thirty or forty acres of ground broken up and
planted, nets and weirs arranged for fishing, a new fortress under way,
and various small manufactures begun. A great handicap was the system,
by which all property was held in common, so that the drones shared
equally with the workers, but Smith took care that there should be few
drones. There can be no doubt that his sheer will power kept the colony
together, but his credit with the company was undermined by enemies in
England, nor did his own blunt letter help matters. The company was
re-organized on a larger scale, a new governor appointed, new colonists
started on the way; and, finally, in 1609, Smith was so seriously
wounded by the explosion of a bag of gun-powder, that he gave up the
struggle and returned to England.
Instant disaster followed. When he left the colony, it numbered five
hundred souls; when the next supply ship reached it in May, 1610, it
consisted of sixty scarecrows, mere wrecks of human beings. The rest had
starved to death--or been eaten by their companions! There was a hasty
consultation, and it was decided that Virginia must be abandoned. On
Thursday, June 7, 1610, the cabins were stripped of such things as were
of value, and the whole company went on shipboard and started down the
river--only to meet, next day, in Hampton Roads, a new expedition headed
by the new governor, Lord Delaware, himself! By this slight thread of
coincidence was the fate of Virginia determined.
The ship put about at once, and on the following Sunday morning, Lord
Delaware stepped ashore at Jamestown, and, falling to his knees, thanked
God that he had been in time to save Virginia. He proceeded at once to
place the colony upon a new and sounder basis, and it was never again in
danger of extinction, though Jamestown itself was finally abandoned as
unsuited to a settlement on account of its malarious atmosphere. But
Virginia itself grew apace into one of the greatest of England's
colonies in America.
John Smith himself never returned to Virginia. In 1614, he explored the
coast south of the Penobscot, giving it the name it still bears, New
England. A year later, while on another expedition, he was captured by
the French and forced to serve against the Spaniards. Broken in health
and fortune, he spent his remaining years in London, dying there in
1631. There is a portrait of him, showing him as a handsome, bearded
man, with nose and mouth bespeaking will and spirit--just such a man as
one would imagine this gallant soldier of fortune to have been.
While the English, under the guiding hand of John Smith, were fighting
desperately to maintain themselves upon the James, the French were
struggling to the same purpose and no less desperately along the St.
Lawrence. We have seen how Jacques Cartier explored and named that
region, but civil and religious wars in France put an end to plans of
colonization for half a century, and it was not until 1603 that Samuel
Champlain, the founder of New France, and one of the noblest characters
in American history, embarked for the New World.
Samuel Champlain was born at Brouage about 1567, the son of a sea-faring
father, and his early years were spent upon the sea. He served in the
army of the Fourth Henry, and after the peace with Spain, made a voyage
to Mexico. Upon his return to France in 1603, he found a fleet preparing
to sail to Canada, and at once joined it. Some explorations were made of
the St. Lawrence, but the fleet returned to France within the year,
without accomplishing anything in the way of colonization. Another
expedition in the following year saw the founding of Port Royal, while
Champlain made a careful exploration of the New England coast, but he
found nothing that attracted him as did the mighty river to the north.
Thither, in 1608, he went, and sailing up the river to a point where a
mighty promontory rears its head, disembarked and erected the first rude
huts of the city which he called by the Indian name of Quebec, or "The
Narrows." A wooden wall was built, mounting a few small cannon and
loopholed for musketry, and the conquest of Canada had begun. A
magnificent cargo of furs was dispatched to France, and Champlain and
twenty-eight men were left to winter at Quebec. When spring came, only
nine were left alive, but reinforcements and supplies soon arrived, and
Champlain arranged to proceed into the interior and explore the country.
The resources at his disposal were small, he could not hope to assemble
a great expedition; so he determined to make the venture with only a few
men and little baggage, relying upon the friendship of the Indians,
instead of seeking to conquer them, as the Spaniards had always done.
Champlain had from the first treated the Indians well, and it was this
necessity of gaining their friendship that determined the policy which
France pursued--the policy of making friends of the Indians, entering
into an alliance with them, and helping them fight their battles.
Champlain opened operations by joining an Algonquin war-party against
the Iroquois, and assisting at their defeat--starting, at the same time,
a blood feud with that powerful tribe which endured as long as the
French held Canada. In the course of this expedition, he discovered the
beautiful lake which bears his name.
He went back to France for a time, after that, and on his next return to
Canada, in 1611, began building a town at the foot of a rock which had
been named Mont Royal, since corrupted to Montreal. Succeeding years
were spent in further explorations, which carried him across Lake
Ontario, and in plans for the conversion of the Indians, to which the
aid of the Jesuits was summoned. Missions were established, and the
intrepid priests pushed their way farther and farther into the
wilderness. To this work, Champlain gave more and more of his thought in
the last years of his life, which ended on Christmas day, 1635.
Among the young men whom Champlain set to work among the Indians was
Jean Nicolet. The year before his death, Champlain sent him on an
exploring expedition to the west, in the course of which he visited Lake
Michigan and perhaps Lake Superior. Following in his footsteps, the
Jesuits gradually established missions as far west as the Wisconsin
River, and, finally, in 1670, at Sault Ste. Marie, the French formally
took possession of the whole Northwest.
It was at about this time there appeared upon the scene another of those
picturesque and formidable figures, in which this period of American
history so abounds--Robert Cavalier La Salle. La Salle was at that time
only twenty years of age. He had reached Canada four years earlier and
had devoted himself for three years to the study of the Indian
languages, in order to fit himself for the career of western exploration
which he contemplated. One day he was visited by a party of Senecas, who
told him of a river, which they called the Ohio, so great that many
months were required to traverse it. From their description, La Salle
concluded that it must fall into the Gulf of California, and so form the
long-sought passage to China. He determined to explore it, and after
surmounting innumerable obstacles, actually did reach it, and descend it
as far as the spot where the city of Louisville now stands, afterwards
exploring the Illinois and the country south of the Great lakes, as well
as the lakes themselves.
Fired by La Salle's report of his discoveries, two other Frenchmen,
Louis Joliet, a native of Quebec, who had already led an expedition in
search of the copper mines of Lake Superior, and Jacques Marquette, a
Jesuit priest and accomplished linguist, started on a still greater
journey. With five companions and two birchbark canoes, they headed down
the Wisconsin river, and on June 17, 1673, glided out upon the blue
waters of the Mississippi. A fortnight later, they reached a little
village called Peoria, where the Indians received them well, and
continuing down the river, passed the Missouri, the Ohio, and finally,
having gone far enough to convince themselves that the river emptied
into the Gulf of Mexico and not into the Gulf of California, they turned
about and reached Green Bay again in September, having paddled more than
2,500 miles. Marquette, shattered in health, remained at Green Bay,
while Joliet pushed on to Montreal to tell of his discoveries. Marquette
rallied sufficiently at the end of a year to attempt a mission among the
Illinois Indians, where death found him in the spring of 1675. Joliet
spent his last years in a vain endeavor to persuade the government of
France to undertake on a grand scale the development of the rich lands
along the Mississippi.
But the story which Joliet took back with him to Quebec fired anew the
ambition of La Salle. He conceived New France as a great empire in the
wilderness, and he determined to descend the mighty river to its mouth
and establish a city there which would hold the river for France against
all comers. Such occupation would, according to French doctrine, give
France an indisputable right to the whole territory which the river and
its tributaries drained, and La Salle's plan was to establish a chain of
forts stretching from Lake Erie to the Gulf, to build up around these
great cities, and so to lay the foundations for the mightiest empire in
history. We may well stand amazed before a plan so ambitious, and before
the determination with which this great Frenchman set about its
accomplishment.
To most men, such a scheme seemed but the dream of an enthusiast; but La
Salle was in deadly earnest, and for eight years he labored to perfect
the details of the plan. At last, on April 9, 1682, he planted the flag
of France at the mouth of the Mississippi, naming the country Louisiana
in honor of his royal master, whose property it was solemnly declared to
be. That done, the intrepid explorer hastened back to France; a fleet
was fitted out and attempted to sail directly to the mouth of the great
river, but missed it; the ships were wrecked on the coast of Texas, and
La Salle was shot from ambush by two of his own followers while
searching on foot for the river.
So ended La Salle's part in the accomplishment of a plan which,
grandiose as it was, reached a sort of realization--for a great French
city near the mouth of the river _was_ built and a thin chain of forts
connecting it with Canada, where the French power remained unbroken for
three quarters of a century longer; while not until the beginning of the
nineteenth century, when the royal line of Louis had been succeeded by a
soldier of fortune from Corsica, did the great territory which La Salle
had named Louisiana pass from French possession.
* * * * *
On the nineteenth day of November, 1620, fourteen years after the
settlement of Jamestown and twelve after the settlement of Quebec, a
storm-beaten vessel of 120 tons burthen crept into the lee of Cape Cod
and dropped anchor in that welcome refuge. The vessel was the Mayflower,
and she had just completed the most famous voyage in American history,
after that of Columbus. The colonists she carried, about a hundred in
number, Separatists from the Church of England, have come down through
history as the "Pilgrim Fathers." Among them was one destined to rule
the fortunes of the colony for more than a quarter of a century. His
name was William Bradford, and he was at that time thirty years of age.
Bradford was born in 1590 at Austerfield, in Yorkshire, England, and at
the age of sixteen, joined a company of Puritans or Separatists, which
met for a time at the little town of Scrooby, but, being threatened with
persecution, resolved to remove to Holland. Most of the congregation got
away without interference, but Bradford and a few others were arrested
and spent several months in prison. As soon as he was released, he
joined the colony in Amsterdam, and afterwards, in 1609, removed with it
to Leyden. But the newcomers found themselves out of sympathy with Dutch
customs and habits of thought, and after long debate, determined to
remove to America and found a colony of their own. A patent was
obtained, the Mayflower chartered, the congregation put aboard, and the
voyage begun on the fifth day of September, 1620.
The colonists expected to settle somewhere near the mouth of the Hudson,
but, whether by accident or design, their captain brought up off Cape
Cod, and it was decided to land there. After some days' search, a
suitable site for a settlement was found, work was begun on houses and
fortifications, and the place was named New Plymouth.
Jonathan Carver had been chosen the first governor and guided the colony
through the horrors of that first winter; the story of Jamestown was
repeated, and by the coming of spring, more than half the colonists were
dead. Among them was Carver himself, and William Bradford was at once
chosen to succeed him. There can be no doubt that it was to Bradford's
wise head and strong hand the colony owed its quick rally, and its
escape from the prolonged misery which makes horrible the early history
of Virginia. He seems to have possessed a temper resolute, but
magnanimous and patient to an unusual degree, together with a religion
sincere and devoted, yet neither intolerant nor austere. What results
can be accomplished by a combination of qualities at once so rare and so
admirable is shown by the work which William Bradford did at Plymouth,
over which he ruled almost continuously until his death, thirty-seven
years later.
Bradford's success lay first in his courage in doing away with the
pernicious system by which all the property was held in common. In doing
this, he violated the rules of his company, but he saw that utter
failure lay the other way. He divided the colony's land among the
several families, in proportion to their number, and compelled each
family to shift for itself. The communal system had nearly wrecked
Jamestown and would have wrecked Plymouth had not Bradford had the
courage to disregard all precedent and make each family its own
provider. Years afterwards, in commenting on the results of this
revolutionary change, he wrote, "Any general want or suffering hath not
been among them since to this day."
And, indeed, this was true. Under Bradford's guidance, the little colony
increased steadily in wealth and numbers, and became the sure forerunner
of the great Puritan migration of 1630, which founded the colony of
Massachusetts, into which the older colony of Plymouth was finally
absorbed. Of Bradford himself, little more remains to be told. The
establishment of Plymouth Plantation was his life work. He was a far
bigger man than most of his contemporaries, with a broader outlook upon
life and deeper resources within himself. One of these was a literary
culture which fairly sets him apart as the first American man of
letters. He wrote an entertaining history of his colony, as well as a
number of philosophical and theological works, all marked with a style
and finish noteworthy for their day.
* * * * *
The government of the colony of Massachusetts presented, for over half a
century, the most perfect union of church and state ever witnessed in
America. The secular arm was ever ready to support the religious, and to
compel every resident of the colony to walk in the strait and narrow way
of Puritanism. This was a task easy enough at first, but growing more
and more difficult as the character of the settlers became more diverse,
until, finally, it had to be abandoned altogether.
One of the first and most formidable of all those who dared array
themselves against this bulwark of Puritanism was Roger Williams. He was
the son of a merchant tailor of London, had developed into a precocious
boy, had shown a leaning toward Puritan doctrines, and had ended by
out-Puritaning the Puritans. This was principally apparent in an
intolerance of compromise which led him to remarkable extremes. He
refused to conform to the use of the common prayer, and so cut himself
off from all chance of preferment; he renounced a property of some
thousands of pounds rather than take the oath required by law; and at
last was forced to flee the country, reaching Massachusetts in 1631.
He was, of course, soon at war with the constituted authorities over
questions of doctrine, and at last it was decided to get rid of him by
sending him back to England. He was at Salem at the time, and hearing
that a warrant had been despatched from Boston for him, he promptly took
to the woods, and, making his way with a few followers to Narragansett
Bay, broke ground for a settlement which he named Providence. It was the
beginning of the first state in the world which took no cognizance
whatever of religious belief, so long as it did not interfere with civil
peace. He was soon joined by more adherents, and a few years later, he
obtained from the king a charter for the colony of Rhode Island.
Almost from the moment of his landing in America, Williams had
interested himself greatly in the welfare of the Indians. The principal
cause of his expulsion from Massachusetts was his contention that the
land belonged to the Indians and not to the King of England, who
therefore had no right to give it away, so that the colony's charter was
invalid. His town of Providence was built on land which the Indians had
given him, and he soon acquired considerable influence among them. He
learned to speak their language with great facility, translated the
Bible into their tongue, and on more than one occasion saved New England
from the horrors of an Indian war. But, despite his lofty character, it
is impossible at this day, to regard Williams with any degree of
sympathy or liking, or to think of him except as a trouble-maker over
trifles. Intolerance, happily, is fading from the world, and with it
that useless scrupulosity of behavior, which accomplishes no good, but
whose principal result is to make uncomfortable all who come in contact
with it.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, just to the south of Rhode Island, a prosperous little
settlement had been established, which was soon to grow into the most
commercially important on the continent. We have seen how Henry Hudson,
in 1609, in a vessel chartered by the Dutch West India Company, entered
the Hudson river and explored it for some hundred and fifty miles. The
Dutch claimed the region as the result of that voyage, and during the
next few years, Dutch traders visited it regularly and did a lively
business in furs; but no attempt was made at colonization until 1624,
although small trading-posts had existed at various points along the
river for ten years previously.
All of this country was included in the patent granted the Virginia
Company, and it was for the mouth of the Hudson that the Pilgrims had
sailed in the Mayflower. The charge has since been made that their
captain had been bribed by the thrifty Dutch to land them somewhere
else, and at any cost, to keep them away from the neighborhood of the
Dutch trading-posts. From whatever cause, this was certainly done, and
many years were to elapse before there came another English invasion.
In 1626, Peter Minuit, director for the Dutch West India Company,
purchased Manhattan Island from the Indians, giving for it trinkets and
merchandise to the value of $24, and founding New Amsterdam as the
central trading depot. From the first, the settlement was a cosmopolitan
one, just as it is to-day, and in 1643, it was said that eighteen
languages were spoken there.
The most notable figure in this prosperous and growing colony was that
of Peter Stuyvesant, an altogether picturesque and gallant personality.
Born in Holland in 1602, he had entered the army at an early age, and,
as governor of Curaçao, lost a leg in battle. In 1646, he was appointed
director-general of New Netherlands, and reached New Amsterdam in the
spring of the following year. So much powder was burned in firing
salutes to welcome him that there was scarcely any left. His speech of
greeting was brief and to the point.
"I shall govern you," he said, "as a father his children, for the
advantage of the chartered West India Company, and these burghers, and
this land."
And he proceeded to do it, having in mind the old adage that to spare
the rod is to spoil the child. There was never any doubt in Stuyvesant's
mind that the first business of a ruler is to rule, and popular
government seemed to him the merest idiocy. "A valiant, weather-beaten,
mettlesome, obstinate, leathern-sided, lion-hearted, generous-spirited
old governor"--the adjectives describe him well; a sufficiently imposing
figure, with his slashed hose and velvet jacket and tall cane and
silver-banded wooden leg, he ruled the colony for twenty years with a
rod of iron, fortifying it, enlarging it, settling its boundaries,
keeping the Indians over-awed, the veriest dictator this continent ever
saw, until, one August day in 1664, an English fleet sailed up the bay
and summoned the city to surrender.
Stuyvesant set his men to work repairing the fortifications, and was for
holding out, but the town was really defenseless against the frigates,
which had only to sail up the river and bombard it from either side; his
people were disaffected and to some extent not sorry to be delivered
from his rule; the terms offered by the English were favorable, and
though Stuyvesant swore he never would surrender, a white flag was
finally run up over the ramparts of Fort Amsterdam. The city was at once
renamed New York, in honor of the Duke of York, to whom it had been
granted; and the hard-headed old governor spent the remaining years of
his life very comfortably on his great farm, the Bouwerie, just outside
the city limits.
This conquest, bloodless and easy as it was, was fraught with momentous
consequences. It brought New England into closer relations with Maryland
and Virginia by creating a link between them, binding them together; it
gave England command of the spot designed by nature to be the commercial
and military centre of the Atlantic sea-board, and confirmed a
possession of it that was never thereafter seriously disturbed, until
the colonies themselves disputed it. Had New Amsterdam remained Dutch,
dividing, as it did, New England from the South, there would never have
been any question of revolution or independence. The flash of that
little white flag on that September day, decided the fate of the
continent.
* * * * *
The Duke of York, being of a generous disposition and having many claims
upon him, used a portion of the great territory granted him in America
to reward his friends, and thereby laid the foundation for another great
commonwealth with a unique history. New Jersey was given jointly to Sir
George Carteret and Lord Berkeley, and in 1673, Lord Berkeley sold his
share, illy-defined as the "southwestern part," to a Quaker named Edward
Byllinge. Byllinge soon became insolvent, and his property was taken
over by William Penn and two others, as trustees, and the seeds sown for
one of the most interesting experiments in history.
There are few figures on the page of history more admirable,
self-poised, and clear-sighted than this quiet man. He was born in
London in 1644, the son of a distinguished father, and apparently
destined for the usual career at the court of England. But while at
Oxford, young Penn astonished everybody and scandalized his relatives by
joining the Society of Friends, or Quakers, founded by George Fox only a
short time before. His family at once removed him from Oxford and sent
him to Paris, in the hope that amid the gayeties of the French capital
he would forget his Quaker notions, but he was far from doing so. He
returned home after a time, and his father threatened to shut him up in
the Tower of London, but he retorted that for him the Tower was the
worst argument in the world. We get some amusing glimpses of the
contention in his household.
"You may 'thee' and 'thou' other folk as much as you like," his angry
father told him, "but don't you dare to 'thee' and 'thou' the King, or
the Duke of York, or me."
The Quakers insisted upon the use of "thee" and "thou," alleging that
the use of the plural "you" was not only absurd, but a form of flattery,
and this manner of address has been persisted in by them to this day.
Penn, of course, continued to use them, much to his father's
indignation, and even went so far as to wear his hat in the king's
presence, an act of audacity which only amused that merry monarch. The
story goes that the king, seeing young Penn covered, removed his own
hat, remarking jestingly, "Wherever I am, it is customary for only one
to be covered"; a neat reproof, as well as a lesson in manners which
would have made any other young man's ears tingle, but Penn calmly
enough replied, "Keep thy hat on, Friend Charles."
After his father's death, in 1670, Penn found himself heir to a great
estate, and began to devote himself entirely to the defense and
explanation of Quakerism. Again and again, he was thrown into prison and
kept there for months on end, but gradually he began to win for the
Friends a certain degree of respect and consideration, perhaps as much
because of his high social station, gallant bearing and magnetic
personality, as because of any of his arguments. In 1677, he made a sort
of missionary tour of Europe, returning to England to set actively
afloat the project for Quaker colonization in America which he had long
been turning over in his mind.
Three years, however, passed before he could secure from the Duke of
York a release of all his powers of sovereignty over West Jersey, but
this was finally accomplished, and soon afterwards he secured from the
crown a charter for a great strip of country in that region. Penn named
this region "Sylvania," or "Woodland," but when the King came to approve
the charter, he wrote the name "Penn" before "Sylvania," and when Penn
protested, assured him laughingly that the name was given the country
not in his honor but in that of his father, and so it stood.
Penn had been allowed a free hand in shaping the policy of his colony,
and forthwith proclaimed such a government as existed nowhere else on
earth. Absolute freedom of conscience was guaranteed to everyone; it was
declared that governments exist for the sake of the governed, that to
reform a criminal is more important than to punish him, that the death
penalty should be inflicted only for murder or high treason, and that
every man had a right to vote and to hold office. All of which are such
matters of course to-day that we can scarcely realize how revolutionary
they were two centuries ago.
To all who should come to his colony, Penn offered land at the rate of
forty shillings for a hundred acres, and the experiment, denounced at
first as visionary and certain of failure, was so successful that within
a year, more than three thousand persons had sailed to settle along the
Delaware. In the summer of 1682, Penn himself sailed for the New World,
and late in the following autumn, at a spot just above the junction of
the Schuylkill and Delaware, laid out a city as square and level as a
checker-board, and named it Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love.
Before taking possession of the land, he concluded a treaty with the
Delaware Indians, to whom it belonged, "the only treaty," as Voltaire
says, "between savages and Christians that was never sworn to and never
broken." Penn's stately and distinguished bearing, his affability and
kindness of heart, made a deep impression upon the Indians; they always
remembered him with trust and affection; and seventy years elapsed
before Pennsylvania tasted the horrors of Indian warfare.
The growth of the new city was phenomenal. Settlers came so fast that
cabins could not be built for them, and many of them lived for a time in
caves along the river. The remainder of Penn's life was spent for the
most part in England, where his interests demanded his presence, but he
built a handsome residence in the city which he had founded and lived
there at intervals until his death.
No consideration, however brief, of his life and work can be complete
without some reference to the remarkable effect the establishment of his
colony had on emigration to America. Pennsylvania gave a refuge and home
to the most intelligent and progressive peoples of Europe, chafing under
the religious restrictions which, at home, they could not escape. The
Mennonites, the Dunkers, and the Palatines were among these, but by far
the most important were the so-called Scotch-Irish--Scotchmen who, a
century before, had been sent to Ireland by the English government, in
the hope of establishing there a Protestant population which would, in
time, come to outnumber and control the native Irish. The Scotch were
Presbyterians, of course, and finding the Irish environment distasteful,
began, about 1720, to come to America in such numbers that, fifty years
later, they formed a sixth part of our entire population. Nearly all of
them settled in Western Pennsylvania, from which a steady stream flowed
ever southward and westward, furnishing the hardy pioneers of Kentucky
and Tennessee, and forming the main strength of American democracy. We
shall see, in the chapters which follow, how many of the men eminent in
the country's history, traced their descent from this stock.
* * * * *
One more interesting experiment in colonization, conceived and carried
out by a man of unusual personality, remains to be recorded. James
Oglethorpe, born in 1689, for forty years led the usual life of the
wealthy English gentleman--first the army, then a period of quiet
country life, and finally parliament. There, however, he took a place
apart, almost at once, by his interest in prison reform. The condition
of the English prisons of the day was indescribably foul and loathsome,
and as horror after horror was unearthed by his investigations, a great
project began to take shape in his mind. This was nothing less than the
founding in America of a colony where prisoners for debt should be
encouraged to settle, and where they should be given means to make a new
start in life. For in those days, a man who could not pay his debts was
cast into prison and kept there, frequently in the greatest misery, as
though that helped matters any.
In 1732, Oglethorpe succeeded in securing a charter for such a colony,
which he named Georgia, in honor of the King. Trustees were appointed,
the support of influential men secured, and on November 16, 1732, the
first shipload of emigrants left England. Oglethorpe himself accompanied
them. He had undertaken to establish the colony on the condition that he
receive no recompense, and was authorized to act as colonial governor.
Charleston, South Carolina, was reached about the middle of January,
and, after some exploration, Oglethorpe selected as the site of the
first settlement a bluff on the rich delta lands of the Savannah.
Thither the emigrants proceeded, and at once began to build the town,
which was named Savannah after the river flowing at its feet. Oglethorpe
himself was indefatigable. He concluded a treaty with the Indians,
provided for the defense of the colony against the Spaniards, who held
Florida, and, most important of all, welcomed a colony of Jews, who had
come from London at their own expense, and who soon became as valuable
as any of Savannah's citizens. Probably never before in history had a
Christian community welcomed a party of this unfortunate race, which had
been despised and persecuted from one end of Europe to the other, which
could call no country home, nor invoke the protection of any government.
A year later, another strange band of pilgrims was welcomed--Protestants
driven out of the Tyrolese valleys of Austria. A ship had been sent for
them, and Oglethorpe gave them permission to select a home in any part
of the province, and sent his carpenters to assist them in building
their houses. Georgia owes much of her greatness to these sturdy people,
whose love of independence was to find another vent in the Revolution.
As soon as these new arrivals were comfortably settled and provided for,
Oglethorpe proceeded to London, where he secured the passage of laws
prohibiting slavery and the importation of liquor into the colony, and
not until his connection with it ended were slaves brought in. When he
returned to Georgia, it was with two vessels, and over three hundred
colonists--Scotchmen, Salzburgers and Moravians, the sturdiest people of
the Old World. Oglethorpe welcomed them all, and it was this mixture of
races which served to give Georgia her curious cosmopolitan population.
Another important arrival was Charles Wesley, who came out as a
missionary, and who acted for a time as the Governor's secretary. He was
succeeded by the famous George Whitfield, who labored there until his
death in 1770.
Oglethorpe's public career ended in 1754, when, having returned to
England, he failed of election to parliament. His remaining years were
spent in retirement. That he was an extraordinary man cannot be
gainsaid, and the plan, so far in advance of his age, which he conceived
and carried through to success, forms one of the most interesting
experiments in colonization ever attempted anywhere.
* * * * *
This, then, is the story in briefest outline of the men who discovered
America and who fought for a foothold on her borders. Most of them, it
will be noted, undertook the struggle not for commercial ends nor from
the love of adventure, but in order to establish for themselves a home
where they would be free in matters of the spirit. The traces of that
purpose may be found on almost every page of American history and do
much to render it the inspiring thing it is. We shall see how many of
the great men who loom large in these pages traced their descent from
those hardy pioneers for whom no sacrifice seemed too great provided it
secured for them
"Freedom to worship God."
SUMMARY
COLUMBUS, CHRISTOPHER. Born at Genoa, Italy, probably in 1446; removed
to Portugal about 1473; laid plan to reach the Indies before John II.
of Portugal, 1484; appeared at court of Ferdinand and Isabella, 1485;
Spanish monarchs agreed to his demands, April 17, 1492; sailed from
Palos, August 3, 1492; discovered West Indies, October 12, 1492;
returned to Palos, March 15, 1493; embarked on second voyage with 17
vessels and 1,500 men, September 25, 1493; discovered Dominica, Porto
Rico, Jamaica, and returned to Spain, March, 1496; started on third
voyage, May 30, 1498; discovered Trinidad and the mouth of the Orinoco;
recalled to Santo Domingo by disorders and finally arrested and sent
back to Spain in chains, October, 1500; released and started on fourth
voyage in March, 1502; discovered Honduras, but was wrecked on Jamaica,
and reached Spain again after terrible sufferings, November 7, 1504;
passed his remaining days in poverty and died at Valladolid, May 20,
1506.
CABOT, JOHN. Born at Genoa, date unknown; became citizen of Venice,
1476; removed to Bristol, England, and in 1495 secured from Henry VII. a
patent for the discovery, at his own expense, of unknown lands in the
eastern, western, or northern seas; sailed from Bristol, May, 1497;
discovered coast of Newfoundland and returned to England in August,
1497; date of death unknown.
CABOT, SEBASTIAN. Son of John Cabot, born probably at Venice, 1477;
accompanied his father's expedition, 1497; commanded an English
expedition in search of a northwest passage, 1517; removed to Spain and
made grand pilot of Castile, 1518; sailed in command of a Spanish
expedition, April 3, 1526; skirted coast of South America, discovered
the Uruguay and Parana, and reached Spain again in 1530; returned to
England, 1546; died at London, 1557.
VESPUCCI, AMERIGO. Born at Florence, Italy, March 9, 1451; removed to
Spain, 1495; claimed to have accompanied four expeditions as astronomer
in 1497, 1499, 1501 and 1503, during which some explorations were made
of the coasts of both North and South America; died at Seville, February
22, 1512.
PONCE DE LEON, JUAN. Born in Aragon about 1460; accompanied the second
voyage of Columbus, 1493; conquered Porto Rico and appointed governor,
1510; heard story from Indians of an island to the north named Bimini,
on which was a fountain giving eternal youth to all who drank of its
waters, and sailed in search of it, March, 1513; discovered the mainland
and landed on April 8, Pascua Florida, or Easter Sunday, taking
possession of the country for the King of Spain and calling it Florida,
in honor of the day; returned to Porto Rico, September, 1513; sailed
with a large number of colonists to settle Florida, March, 1521;
attacked by Indians and forced to retreat, he himself being wounded by
an Indian arrow and dying from the effects of the wound a short time
later.
MAGALHÃES, FERNÃO DE; generally known as Ferdinand Magellan. Born in
Portugal about 1480; sailed from Spain to find a western passage to the
Moluccas, September 20, 1519; reached the Brazilian coast, explored Rio
de la Plata, wintered on Patagonian coast, passed through Strait of
Magellan and reached the Pacific, November 28, 1520; crossed the Pacific
and discovered the Philippines, March 16, 1521; killed in a fight with
the natives, April 27, 1521.
DRAKE, SIR FRANCIS. Born in Devonshire, England, about 1540; fitted out
a freebooting expedition and attacked the Spanish settlements in the
West Indies, 1572, capturing Porto Bello, Cartagena, and other towns and
taking an immense treasure; sailed again from England, December, 1577,
circumnavigating the globe and reaching home again September, 1580,
where he was met by Queen Elizabeth and knighted on his ship; ravaged
the West Indies and Spanish Main, 1585, and the coast of Spain, 1587;
commanded a division of the fleet defeating the Spanish Armada, July,
1588; died off Porto Bello, 1596.
SOTO, HERNANDO DE. Born in Spain, 1500; took prominent part in conquest
of Peru, 1532-1536; appointed governor of Porto Rico and Florida, 1537;
landed at Tampa Bay, May 25, 1539; discovered the Mississippi, May,
1541; died of malarial fever and buried in the Mississippi, June, 1542.
CORONADO, FRANCISCO VASQUEZ DE. Born at Salamanca about 1500; reached
Mexico in 1539, and in 1540, headed an expedition in search of Cibola
and the Seven Cities supposed to have been founded seven centuries
before by some Spanish bishops fleeing from the Moors; penetrated to
what is now New Mexico and perhaps to Kansas, reaching Mexico again with
only a remnant of his force; date of death unknown.
CARTIER, JACQUES. Born at St. Malo, France, December 31, 1494; made
three voyages to Canada, 1534-1542; exploring the Gulf of St. Lawrence,
and sailing up the St. Lawrence as far as Montreal; died after 1552.
HUDSON, HENRY. Date and place of birth unknown; sailed in service of
Dutch East India Company to find a northwest passage, March 25, 1609;
sighted Nova Scotia and explored coast as far south as Chesapeake Bay;
explored Hudson river, September, 1609; sailed again to find a northwest
passage, 1610; entered Hudson Bay and Hudson Strait, where he wintered;
set adrift in open boat, with eight companions, by mutinous crew, June
23, 1611; never seen again.
SMITH, CAPTAIN JOHN. Born in Lincolnshire, England, in January, 1579;
served in Netherlands and against Turks, sailed for Virginia with
Christopher Newport, December 19, 1606; chosen president of colony,
September 10, 1608; returned to London in autumn of 1609; explored New
England coast, 1614; created admiral of New England, 1617; spent
remainder of life in vain endeavor to secure financial support for a
colony in New England; died at London, June 21, 1632.
CHAMPLAIN, SAMUEL DE. Born at Brouage, France, 1567; explored Canada and
New England, 1603-1607; founded Quebec, 1608; discovered Lake Champlain,
1609; died at Quebec, December 25, 1635.
NICOLET, JEAN. Place and date of both birth and death unknown.
LA SALLE, ROBERT CAVALIER, SIEUR DE. Born at Rouen, November 22, 1643;
came to Canada, 1666; set out on tour of western exploration,
discovering Ohio river, 1669; descended the Mississippi to its mouth,
1681; led a band of colonists from France, 1685; missed mouth of river,
and murdered by his own men while seeking it, March 20, 1687.
JOLIET, LOUIS. Born at Quebec, September 21, 1645; commissioned to
explore Mississippi river, by Frontenac, governor of New France, 1672;
explored Fox, Wisconsin, Mississippi and Illinois rivers, 1673; died
May, 1700.
MARQUETTE, JACQUES. Born at Laon, France, 1637; accompanied Joliet in
1673; died near Lake Michigan, May 18, 1675.
BRADFORD, WILLIAM. Born at Austerfield, Yorkshire, England, 1590;
governor of Plymouth colony, 1621-1657 (except in 1633-1634, 1636, 1638,
1644); died at Plymouth, Massachusetts, May 9, 1657.
WILLIAMS, ROGER. Born in Wales about 1600; reached Massachusetts, 1631;
pastor at Plymouth and Salem, 1631-1635; ordered to leave colony and
fled from Salem, January, 1636; founded Providence, June, 1636; went to
England and obtained charter for Rhode Island colony, 1644; president of
colony until death, April, 1684.
STUYVESANT, PETER. Born in Holland, 1602; served in West Indies, for a
time governor of Curaçao, and returned to Holland in 1644; appointed
director-general of New Netherlands, 1646; reached New Amsterdam, 1647;
surrendered colony to the English, September, 1664; died at New York,
August, 1682.
PENN, WILLIAM. Born at London, October 14, 1644; became preacher of
Friends, 1668; part proprietor of West Jersey, 1675; received grant of
Pennsylvania, 1681; founded Philadelphia, 1682; returned to England,
1684; deprived of government of colony on charge of treason, 1692, but
restored to it in 1694; visited Pennsylvania, 1699-1701; died at
Ruscombe, Berks, England, July 30, 1718.
OGLETHORPE, JAMES EDWARD. Born at London, December 21, 1696; projected
colony of Georgia for insolvent debtors and persecuted Protestants, and
conducted expedition for its settlement, 1733; returned to England,
1743; died at Cranham Hall, Essex, England, 1785.
* * * * *