on the island. They reached Virginia without farther accident, but found
the colony in great distress for provisions. The account they gave of
the abundance that reigned in the Bermudas, and especially of the herds
of swine that roamed the island, determined Lord Delaware, the governor
of Virginia, to send thither for supplies. Sir George Somers, with his
wonted promptness and generosity, offered to undertake what was still
considered a dangerous voyage. Accordingly, on the nineteenth of June,
he set sail, in his own cedar vessel of thirty tons, accompanied by
another small vessel, commanded by Captain Argall.
The gallant Somers was doomed again to be tempest-tossed. His companion
vessel was soon driven back to port, but he kept the sea; and, as usual,
remained at his post on deck, in all weathers. His voyage was long and
boisterous, and the fatigues and exposures which he underwent, were too
much for a frame impaired by age, and by previous hardships. He arrived
at Bermudas completely exhausted and broken down.
His nephew, Captain Mathew Somers, attended him in his illness with
affectionate assiduity. Finding his end approaching, the veteran called
his men together, and exhorted them to be true to the interests of
Virginia; to procure provisions with all possible despatch, and hasten
back to the relief of the colony.
With this dying charge, he gave up the ghost, leaving us nephew and crew
overwhelmed with grief and consternation. Their first thought was to
pay honor to his remains. Opening the body, they took out the heart and
entrails, and buried them, erecting a cross over the grave. They then
embalmed the body, and set sail with it for England; thus, while paying
empty honors to their deceased commander, neglecting his earnest wish
and dying injunction, that they should return with relief to Virginia.
The little bark arrived safely at Whitechurch, in Dorsetshire, with its
melancholy freight. The body of the worthy Somers was interred with the
military honors due to a brave soldier, and many volleys were fired
over his grave. The Bermudas have since received the name of the Somer
Islands, as a tribute to his memory.
The accounts given by Captain Mathew Somers and his crew of the
delightful climate, and the great beauty, fertility, and abundance of
these islands, excited the zeal of enthusiasts, and the cupidity of
speculators, and a plan was set on foot to colonize them. The Virginia
company sold their right to the islands to one hundred and twenty of
their own members, who erected themselves into a distinct corporation,
under the name of the "Somer Island Society;" and Mr. Richard More was
sent out, in 1612, as governor, with sixty men, to found a colony: and
this leads me to the second branch of this research.
* * * * *
_THE THREE KINGS OF BERMUDA_.
AND THEIR TREASURE OF AMBERGRIS.
At the time that Sir George Somers was preparing to launch his
cedar-built bark, and sail for Virginia, there were three culprits among
his men, who had been guilty of capital offences. One of them was shot;
the others, named Christopher Carter and Edward Waters, escaped. Waters,
indeed, made a very narrow escape, for he had actually been tied to a
tree to be executed, but cut the rope with a knife, which he had
concealed about his person, and fled to the woods, where he was joined by
Carter. These two worthies kept themselves concealed in the secret parts
of the island, until the departure of the two vessels. When Sir George
Somers revisited the island, in quest of supplies for the Virginia
colony, these culprits hovered about the landing-place, and succeeded in
persuading another seaman, named Edward Chard, to join them, giving him
the most seductive pictures of the ease and abundance in which they
revelled.
When the bark that bore Sir George's body to England had faded from the
watery horizon, these three vagabonds walked forth in their majesty and
might, the lords and sole inhabitants of these islands. For a time their
little commonwealth went on prosperously and happily. They built a
house, sowed corn, and the seeds of various fruits; and having plenty
of hogs, wild fowl, and fish of all kinds, with turtle in abundance,
carried on their tripartite sovereignty with great harmony and much
feasting. All kingdoms, however, are doomed to revolution, convulsion,
or decay; and so it fared with the empire of the three kings of Bermuda,
albeit they were monarchs without subjects. In an evil hour, in their
search after turtle, among the fissures of the rocks, they came upon a
great treasure of ambergris, which had been cast on shore by the ocean.
Beside a number of pieces of smaller dimensions, there was one great
mass, the largest that had ever been known, weighing eighty pounds, and
which of itself, according to the market value of ambergris in those
days, was worth about nine or ten thousand pounds!
From that moment, the happiness and harmony of the three kings of
Bermuda were gone for ever. While poor devils, with nothing to share
but the common blessings of the island, which administered to present
enjoyment, but had nothing of convertible value, they were loving and
united: but here was actual wealth, which would make them rich men,
whenever they could transport it to a market.
Adieu the delights of the island! They now became flat and insipid. Each
pictured to himself the consequence he might now aspire to, in civilized
life, could he once get there with this mass of ambergris. No longer a
poor Jack Tar, frolicking in the low taveriis of Wapping, he might roll
through London in his coach, and perchance arrive, like Whittington, at
the dignity of Lord Mayor.
With riches came envy and covetousness. Each was now for assuming the
supreme power, and getting the monopoly of the ambergris. A civil war at
length broke out: Chard and Waters defied each other to mortal combat,
and the kingdom of the Bermudas was on the point of being deluged with
royal blood. Fortunately, Carter took no part in the bloody feud.
Ambition might have made him view it with secret exultation; for if
either or both of his brother potentates were slain in the conflict,
he would be a gainer in purse and ambergris. But he dreaded to be left
alone in this uninhabited island, and to find himself the monarch of
a solitude: so he secretly purloined and hid the weapons of the
belligerent rivals, who, having no means of carrying on the war,
gradually cooled down into a sullen armistice.
The arrival of Governor More, with an overpowering force of sixty men,
put an end to the empire. He took possession of the kingdom, in the
name of the Somer Island Company, and forthwith proceeded to make a
settlement. The three kings tacitly relinquished their sway, but stood
up stoutly for their treasure. It was determined, however, that they
had been fitted out at the expense, and employed in the service, of the
Virginia Company; that they had found the ambergis while in the service
of that company, and on that company's land; that the ambergis,
therefore, belonged to that company, or rather to the Somer Island
Company, in consequence of their recent purchase of the island, and all
their appurtenances. Having thus legally established their right, and
being moreover able to back it by might, the company laid the lion's paw
upon the spoil; and nothing more remains on historic record of the Three
Kings of Bermuda, and their treasure of ambergris.
* * * * *
The reader will now determine whether I am more extravagant than most
of the commentators on Shakspeare, in my surmise that the story of Sir
George Somers' shipwreck, and the subsequent occurrences that took place
on the uninhabited island, may have furnished the bard with some of the
elements of his drama of the Tempest. The tidings of the shipwreck, and
of the incidents connected with it, reached England not long before the
production of this drama, and made a great sensation there. A narrative
of the whole matter, from which most of the foregoing particulars are
extracted, was published at the time in London, in a pamphlet form, and
could not fail to be eagerly perused by Shakspeare, and to make a vivid
impression on his fancy. His expression, in the Tempest, of "the still
vext Bermoothes," accords exactly with the storm-beaten character of
those islands. The enchantments, too, with which he has clothed the
island of Prospero, may they not be traced to the wild and superstitious
notions entertained about the Bermudas? I have already cited two
passages from a pamphlet published at the time, showing that they
were esteemed "a most _prodigious_ and _inchanted_ place," and the
"habitation of divells;" and another pamphlet, published shortly
afterward, observes: "And whereas it is reported that this land of the
Barmudas, with the islands about, (which are many, at least a hundred,)
are inchanted and kept with evil and wicked spirits, it is a most idle
and false report." [Footnote: "Newes from the Barmudas;" 1612.]
The description, too, given in the same pamphlets, of the real beauty
and fertility of the Bermudas, and of their serene and happy climate, so
opposite to the dangerous and inhospitable character with which they had
been stigmatized, accords with the eulogium of Sebastian on the island
of Prospero:
"Though this island seem to be desert, uninhabitable, and almost
inaccessible, it must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate
temperance. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. Here is every
thing advantageous to life. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how
green!"
I think too, in the exulting consciousness of ease, security, and
abundance felt by the late tempest-tossed mariners, while revelling in
the plenteousness of the island, and their inclination to remain there,
released from the labors, the cares, and the artificial restraints of
civilized life, I can see something of the golden commonwealth of honest
Gonzalo:
"Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,
And were the king of it, what would I do?
I' the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things: for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none:
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil:
No occupation; all men idle, all.
All things in common, nature should produce,
Without sweat or endeavor: Treason, felony,
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
Of its own kind, all foizon, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people."
But above all, in the three fugitive vagabonds who remained in
possession of the island of Bermuda, on the departure of their comrades,
and in their squabbles about supremacy, on the finding of their
treasure, I see typified Sebastian, Trinculo, and their worthy companion
Caliban:
"Trinculo, the king and all our company being drowned,
we will inherit here."
"Monster, I will kill this man; his daughter and I will be king and
queen, (save our graces!) and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys."
I do not mean to hold up the incidents and characters in the narrative
and in the play as parallel, or as being strikingly similar: neither
would I insinuate that the narrative suggested the play; I would only
suppose that Shakspeare, being occupied about that time on the drama of
the Tempest, the main story of which, I believe, is of Italian origin,
had many of the fanciful ideas of it suggested to his mind by the
shipwreck of Sir George Somers on the "still vext Bermothes," and by the
popular superstitions connected with these islands, and suddenly put in
circulation by that event.
* * * * *
PELAYO AND THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER.
BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK.
It is the common lamentation of Spanish historiographers, that, for an
obscure and melancholy space of time immediately succeeding the conquest
of their country by the Moslems, its history is a mere wilderness of
dubious facts, groundless fables, and rash exaggerations. Learned men,
in cells and cloisters, have worn out their lives in vainly endeavoring
to connect incongruous events, and to account for startling
improbabilities, recorded of this period. The worthy Jesuit, Padre
Abarca, declares that, for more than forty years during which he had
been employed in theological controversies, he had never found any so
obscure and inexplicable as those which rise out of this portion of
Spanish history, and that the only fruit of an indefatigable, prolix,
and even prodigious study of the subject, was a melancholy and
mortifying state of indecision. [Footnote: PADRE PEDRO ABARCA. Anales
de Aragon, Anti Regno, F2.] During this apocryphal period, flourished
PELAYO, the deliverer of Spain, whose name, like that of William
Wallace, will ever be linked with the glory of his country, but linked,
in like manner, by a bond in which fact and fiction are inextricably
interwoven.
The quaint old chronicle of the Moor Rasis, which, though wild and
fanciful in the extreme, is frequently drawn upon for early facts by
Spanish historians, professes to give the birth, parentage, and whole
course of fortune of Pelayo, without the least doubt or hesitation. It
makes him a son of the Duke of Cantabria, and descended, both by father
and mother's side, from the Gothic kings of Spain. I shall pass over the
romantic story of his childhood, and shall content myself with a scene
of his youth, which was spent in a castle among the Pyrenees, under
the eye of his widowed and noble-minded mother, who caused him to be
instructed in everything befitting a cavalier of gentle birth. While the
sons of the nobility were revelling amid the pleasures of a licentious
court, and sunk in that vicious and effeminate indulgence which led
to the perdition of unhappy Spain, the youthful Pelayo, in his rugged
mountain school, was steeled to all kinds of hardy exercise. A great
part of his time was spent in hunting the bears, the wild boars, and the
wolves, with which the Pyrenees abounded; and so purely and chastely was
he brought up, by his good lady mother, that, if the ancient chronicle
from which I draw my facts may be relied on, he had attained his
one-and-twentieth year, without having once sighed for woman!
Nor were his hardy contests confined to the wild beasts of the forest.
Occasionally he had to contend with adversaries of a more formidable
character. The skirts and defiles of these border mountains were often
infested by marauders from the Gallic plains of Gascony. The Gascons,
says an old chronicler, were a people who used smooth words when
expedient, but force when they had power, and were ready to lay their
hands on every thing they met. Though poor, they were proud; for there
was not one who did not pride himself on being a hijo-dalgo, or the son
of somebody.
At the head of a band of these needy hijodalgos of Gascony, was one
Arnaud, a broken-down cavalier. He and four of his followers were well
armed and mounted; the rest were a set of scamper-grounds on foot,
furnished with darts and javelins. They were the terror of the border;
here to-day and gone to-morrow; sometimes in one pass, sometimes in
another. They would make sudden inroads into Spain, scour the roads,
plunder the country, and were over the mountains and far away before a
force could be collected to pursue them.
Now it happened one day, that a wealthy burgher of Bordeaux, who was a
merchant, trading with Biscay, set out on a journey for that province.
As he intended to sojourn there for a season, he took with him his
wife, who was a goodly dame, and his daughter, a gentle damsel, of
marriageable age, and exceeding fair to look upon. He was attended by a
trusty clerk from his comptoir, and a man servant; while another servant
led a hackney, laden with bags of money, with which he intended to
purchase merchandise.
When the Gascons heard of this wealthy merchant and his convoy passing
through the mountains, they thanked their stars, for they considered
all peaceful men of traffic as lawful spoil, sent by providence for the
benefit of hidalgos like themselves, of valor and gentle blood, who
lived by the sword. Placing themselves in ambush, in a lonely defile, by
which the travellers had to pass, they silently awaited their coming. In
a little while they beheld them approaching. The merchant was a fair,
portly man, in a buff surcoat and velvet cap. His looks bespoke the good
cheer of his native city, and he was mounted on a stately, well-fed
steed, while his wife and daughter paced gently on palfreys by his side.
The travellers had advanced some distance in the defile, when the
Bandoleros rushed forth and assailed them. The merchant, though but
little used to the exercise of arms, and unwieldy in his form, yet made
valiant defence, having his wife and daughter and money-bags at hazard.
He was wounded in two places, and overpowered; one of his servants was
slain, the other took to flight.
The freebooters then began to ransack for spoil, but were disappointed
at not finding the wealth they had expected. Putting their swords to the
breast of the trembling merchant, they demanded where he had concealed
his treasure, and learned from him of the hackney that was following,
laden with, money. Overjoyed at this intelligence, they bound their
captives to trees, and awaited the arrival of the golden spoil.
On this same day, Pelayo was out with his huntsmen among the mountains,
and had taken his stand on a rock, at a narrow pass, to await the
sallying forth of a wild boar. Close by him was a page, conducting a
horse, and at the saddle-bow hung his armor, for he was always prepared
for fight among these border mountains. While thus posted, the servant
of the merchant came flying from the robbers. On beholding Pelayo, he
fell on his knees, and implored his life, for he supposed him to be
one of the band. It was some time before he could be relieved from his
terror, and made to tell his story. When Pelayo heard of the robbers,
he concluded they were the crew of Gascon hidalgos, upon the scamper.
Taking his armor from the page, he put on his helmet, slung his buckler
round his neck, took lance in hand, and mounting his steed, compelled
the trembling servant to guide him to the scene of action. At the same
time he ordered the page to seek his huntsmen, and summon them to his
assistance.
When the robbers saw Pelayo advancing through the forest, with a single
attendant on foot, and beheld his rich armor sparkling in the sun, they
thought a new prize had fallen into their hands, and Arnaud and two of
his companions, mounting their horses, advanced to meet him. As they
approached, Pelayo stationed himself in a narrow pass between two rocks,
where he could only be assailed in front, and bracing his buckler, and
lowering his lance, awaited their coming.
"Who and what are ye," cried he, "and what seek ye in this land?"
"We are huntsmen," replied Arnaud, "and lo! our game runs into our
toils!"
"By my faith," replied Pelayo, "thou wilt find the game more readily
roused than taken: have at thee for a villain!"
So saying, he put spurs to his horse, and ran full speed upon him. The
Gascon, not expecting so sudden an attack from a single horseman, was
taken by surprise. He hastily couched his lance, but it merely glanced
on the shield of Pelayo, who sent his own through the middle of his
breast, and threw him out of his saddle to the earth. One of the other
robbers made at Pelayo, and wounded him slightly in the side, but
received a blow from the sword of the latter, which cleft his skull-cap,
and sank into his brain. His companion, seeing him fall, put spurs to
his steed, and galloped off through the forest.
Beholding several other robbers on foot coming up, Pelayo returned to
his station between the rocks, where he was assailed by them all at
once. He received two of their darts on his buckler, a javelin razed his
cuirass, and glancing down, wounded his horse. Pelayo then rushed forth,
and struck one of the robbers dead: the others, beholding several
huntsmen advancing, took to flight, but were pursued, and several of
them taken.
The good merchant of Bordeaux and his family beheld this scene with
trembling and amazement, for never had they looked upon such feats of
arms. They considered Don Pelayo as a leader of some rival band of
robbers; and when the bonds were loosed by which they were tied to
the trees, they fell at his feet and implored mercy. The females were
soonest undeceived, especially the daughter; for the damsel was struck
with the noble countenance and gentle demeanor of Pelayo, and said to
herself: "Surely nothing evil can dwell in so goodly and gracious a
form."
Pelayo now sounded his horn, which echoed from rock to rock, and was
answered by shouts and horns from various parts of the mountains. The
merchant's heart misgave him at these signals, and especially when he
beheld more than forty men gathering from glen and thicket. They were
clad in hunters' dresses, and armed with boar-spears, darts, and
hunting-swords, and many of them led hounds in long leashes. All this
was a new and wild scene to the astonished merchant; nor were his fears
abated, when he saw his servant approaching with the hackney, laden with
money-bags; "for of a certainty," said he to himself, "this will be too
tempting a spoil for these wild hunters of the mountains."
Pelayo, however, took no more notice of the gold than if it had been
so much dross; at which the honest burgher marvelled exceedingly. He
ordered that the wounds of the merchant should be dressed, and his own
examined. On taking off his cuirass, his wound was found to be but
slight; but his men were so exasperated at seeing his blood, that
they would have put the captive robbers to instant death, had he not
forbidden them to do them any harm.
The huntsmen now made a great fire at the foot of a tree, and bringing
a boar which they had killed, cut off portions and roasted them, or
broiled them on the coals. Then drawing forth loaves of bread from their
wallets, they devoured their food half raw, with the hungry relish of
huntsmen and mountaineers. The merchant, his wife, and daughter, looked
at all this, and wondered, for they had never beheld so savage a repast.
Pelayo then inquired of them if they did not desire to eat; they were
too much in awe of him to decline, though they felt a loathing at the
thought of partaking of this hunter's fare; but he ordered a linen cloth
to be spread under the shade of a great oak, on the grassy margin of a
clear running stream; and to their astonishment, they were served, not
with the flesh of the boar, but with dainty cheer, such as the merchant
had scarcely hoped to find out of the walls of his native city of
Bordeaux.
The good burgher was of a community renowned for gastronomic prowess:
his fears having subsided, his appetite was now awakened, and he
addressed himself manfully to the viands that were set before him. His
daughter, however, could not eat: her eyes were ever and anon stealing
to gaze on Pelayo, whom she regarded with gratitude for his protection,
and admiration for his valor; and now that he had laid aside his helmet,
and she beheld his lofty countenance, glowing with manly beauty,
she thought him something more than mortal. The heart of the gentle
donzella, says the ancient chronicler, was kind and yielding; and had
Pelayo thought fit to ask the greatest boon that love and beauty could
bestow--doubtless meaning her fair hand--she could not have had the
cruelty to say him nay. Pelayo, however, had no such thoughts: the love
of woman had never yet entered his heart; and though he regarded the
damsel as the fairest maiden he had ever beheld, her beauty caused no
perturbation in his breast.
When the repast was over, Pelayo offered to conduct the merchant and
his family through the defiles of the mountains, lest they should be
molested by any of the scattered band of robbers. The bodies of the
slain marauders were buried, and the corpse of the servant was laid upon
one of the horses captured in the battle. Having formed their cavalcade,
they pursued their way slowly up one of the steep and winding passes of
the Pyrenees.