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[Illustration: BATTLE OF ANTIETAM.]
Edition d'Elite
Historical Tales
The Romance of Reality
By
CHARLES MORRIS
_Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors," "Tales from the
Dramatists," etc._
IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES
Volume II
American
2
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
Copyright, 1904, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1908, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
_CONTENTS._
PAGE
PONCE DE LEON AND THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH 7
DE SOTO AND THE FATHER OF WATERS 13
THE LOST COLONY OF ROANOKE 23
THE THRILLING ADVENTURE OF CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH 29
THE INDIAN MASSACRE IN VIRGINIA 40
THE GREAT REBELLION IN THE OLD DOMINION 49
CHEVALIER LA SALLE THE EXPLORER OF THE MISSISSIPPI 62
THE FRENCH OF LOUISIANA AND THE NATCHEZ INDIANS 76
THE KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN HORSESHOE 88
HOW OGLETHORPE SAVED GEORGIA FROM SPAIN 95
A BOY'S WORKING HOLIDAY IN THE WILDWOOD 104
PATRICK HENRY, THE HERALD OF THE REVOLUTION 113
GOVERNOR TRYON AND THE CAROLINA REGULATORS 124
LORD DUNMORE AND THE GUNPOWDER 135
THE FATAL EXPEDITION OF COLONEL ROGERS 145
HOW COLONEL CLARK WON THE NORTHWEST 153
KING'S MOUNTAIN AND THE PATRIOTS OF TENNESSEE 166
GENERAL GREENE'S FAMOUS RETREAT 171
ELI WHITNEY, THE INVENTOR OF THE COTTON-GIN 185
HOW OLD HICKORY FOUGHT THE CREEKS 193
THE PIRATES OF BARATARIA BAY 206
THE HEROES OF THE ALAMO 217
HOW HOUSTON WON FREEDOM FOR TEXAS 225
CAPTAIN ROBERT E. LEE AND THE LAVA-BEDS 231
A CHRISTMAS DAY ON THE PLANTATION 241
CAPTAIN GORDON AND THE RACCOON ROUGHS 252
STUART'S FAMOUS CHAMBERSBURG RAID 261
FORREST'S CHASE OF THE RAIDERS 277
EXPLOITS OF A BLOCKADE-RUNNER 291
FONTAIN, THE SCOUT, AND THE BESIEGERS OF VICKSBURG 302
GORDON AND THE BAYONET CHARGE AT ANTIETAM 311
THE LAST TRIUMPH OF STONEWALL JACKSON 319
JOHN MORGAN'S FAMOUS RAID 331
HOME-COMING OF GENERAL LEE AND HIS VETERANS 347
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
AMERICAN. VOLUME II.
PAGE
BATTLE OF ANTIETAM _Frontispiece._
ALONG THE COAST OF FLORIDA 9
DE SOTO DISCOVERING THE MISSISSIPPI 19
POCAHONTAS 32
JAMESTOWN RUIN 54
COALING A MOVING BOAT ON THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER 73
OLD SPANISH FORT, ST. AUGUSTINE 98
HOME OF MARY WASHINGTON, FREDERICKSBURG, VA 108
HOME OF PATRICK HENRY DURING HIS LAST TWO
TERMS AS GOVERNOR OF VIRGINIA 114
ST. JOHN'S CHURCH 122
OLD MAGAZINE AT WILLIAMSBURG 138
VIEW IN THE NORTHWESTERN MOUNTAINS 155
COTTON-GIN 186
JACKSON'S BIRTHPLACE 198
THE ALAMO 218
COTTON FIELD ON SOUTHERN PLANTATION 242
COLONIAL MANSION 262
GORDON HOUSE 316
TRIUMPH OF STONEWALL JACKSON 323
LEE'S HOUSE AT RICHMOND 348
_PONCE DE LEON AND THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH._
A golden Easter day was that of the far-away year 1513, when a small
fleet of Spanish ships, sailing westward from the green Bahamas, first
came in sight of a flower-lined shore, rising above the blue Atlantic
waves, and seeming to smile a welcome as the mariners gazed with eyes of
joy and hope on the inviting arcades of its verdant forest depths. Never
had the eyes of white men beheld this land of beauty before. English
ships had sailed along the coast to the north, finding much of it bleak
and uninviting. The caravels of Columbus had threaded the glowing line
of tropic isles, and later ships had borne settlers to these lands of
promise. But the rich southlands of the continent had never before been
seen, and well was this unknown realm of beauty named Florida by the
Spanish chief, whether by this name he meant to call it the "land of
flowers" or referred to the Spanish name for Easter, Pascua Florida.
However that be, he was the first of the discoverers to set foot on the
soil of the great coming republic of the United States, and it is of
interest that this was done within the domain of the sunny South.
The weight of half a century of years lay upon the shoulders of Juan
Ponce de Leon, the discoverer, but warm hope burned in his heart, that
of winning renewed boyhood and youthful strength, for it was a magic
vision that drew him to these new shores, in whose depths he felt sure
the realm of enchantment lay. Somewhere amid those green copses or along
those liquid streams, he had been told, a living fountain sprang up
clear and sparkling from the earth, its waters of such a marvellous
quality that whoever should bathe in them would feel new life coursing
through his veins and the vigor of youth bounding along his limbs. It
was the Fountain of Youth he sought, that fabled fountain of which men
had dreamed for centuries, and which was thought to lie somewhere in
eastern Asia. Might not its waters upspring in this new land, whose
discovery was the great marvel of the age, and which men looked upon as
the unknown east of Asia? Such was the new-comer's dream.
Ponce de Leon was a soldier and cavalier of Spain in those days when
Spain stood first among the nations of Europe, first in strength and
enterprise and daring. Brave as the bravest, he had fought with
distinguished courage against the Moors of Granada at the time when
Columbus was setting out on his famous voyage over the unknown seas of
the West. Drawn by the fame of the discovery of the New World, De Leon
sailed with Columbus in his second voyage, and proved himself a gallant
soldier in the wars for the conquest of Hispaniola, of whose eastern
half he was made governor.
To the eastward lay another island, the fair tropic land ever since
known as Porto Rico. De Leon could see from the high hills of Hispaniola
the far green shores of this island, which he invaded and finally
subdued in 1509, making himself its governor. A stern oppressor of the
natives, he won great wealth from his possessions here and in
Hispaniola. But, like many men in his position, his heart was sore from
the loss of the youthful vigor which would have enabled him to enjoy to
the full his new-found wealth.
[Illustration: ALONG THE COAST OF FLORIDA.]
Could he but discover the wondrous fountain of youth and plunge in its
life-giving waters! Was not this the region in which it was said to lie?
He eagerly questioned the Indians about it, and was told by them that
they had often heard of such a fountain somewhere not far to the north.
It is probable enough that the Indians were ready to tell anything,
false or true, that would rid them of the unwelcome Spaniards; but it
may be that among their many fables they believed that such a fountain
existed. However that may be, De Leon gladly heard their story, and lost
no time in going forth like a knight errant in quest of the magic fount.
On March 3, 1513, he sailed with three ships from Porto Rico, and, after
threading the fair Bahama Islands, landing on those of rarest tropic
charm, he came on Easter Sunday, March 27, in sight of the beautiful
land to which he gave the name of Florida.
Bad weather kept him for a time from the shore, and it was not until
April 9 that he was able to land. It was near the mouth of the St. John
River, not far from where St. Augustine now stands, that he set foot on
shore, the first white man's foot to tread the soil of the coming United
States since the days of the Northmen, five centuries before. He called
his place of landing the Bay of the Cross, and took possession of the
land for the king of Spain, setting up a stone cross as a sign of
Spain's jurisdiction.
And now the eager cavalier began the search for that famous fount which
was to give him perpetual youth. It is not likely he was alone in this,
probably most of his followers being as eager as he, for in those days
magic was firmly believed in by half of mankind, and many wild fancies
were current which no one now accepts. Deep into the dense woodland they
plunged, wandering through verdant miles, bathing in every spring and
stream they met, led on and on by the hope that some one of these might
hold the waters of youth. Doubtless they fancied that the fountain
sought would have some special marks, something to distinguish it from
the host of common springs. But this might not be the case. The most
precious things may lie concealed under the plainest aspect, like the
fabled jewel in the toad's forehead, and it was certainly wisest to let
no waters pass untried.
Months passed on. Southward along the coast they sailed, landing here
and there and penetrating inland, still hopeful of finding the enchanted
spring. But wherever it might lie hidden, they found it not, for the
marks of age which nature had brought clung to them still, and a
bitterly disappointed man was Juan Ponce de Leon when he turned the
prows of his ships away from the new-found shores and sailed back to
Porto Rico.
The Will-o'-the-wisp he sought had baffled him, yet something of worth
remained, for he had made a discovery of importance, the "Island of
Florida," as he called it and thought it to be. To Spain he went with
the news of his voyage, and told the story of his discovery to King
Ferdinand, to whom Columbus had told his wonderful tale some twenty
years before. The king at once appointed him governor of Florida, and
gave him full permission to plant a colony in the new land--continent or
island as it might prove to be.
De Leon may still have nourished hopes in his heart of finding the
fabled fountain when, in 1521, he returned to plant the colony granted
by the king. But the natives of Florida had seen enough of the Spaniards
in their former visit, and now met them with arrows instead of flowers
and smiles. Fierce fights ensued, and their efforts to establish
themselves on the new shores proved in vain. In the end their leader
received so severe an arrow wound that he withdrew and left to the
victorious Indians the ownership of their land. The arrow was poisoned,
and his wound proved mortal. In a short time after reaching Cuba he
died, having found death instead of youth in the land of flowers.
We may quote the words of the historian Robertson in support of the
fancy which led De Leon in the path of discovery: "The Spaniards, at
that period, were engaged in a career of activity which gave a romantic
turn to their imagination and daily presented to them strange and
marvellous objects. A new world was opened to their view. They visited
islands and continents of whose existence mankind in former ages had no
conception. In those delightful countries nature seemed to assume
another form; every tree and plant and animal was different from those
of the ancient hemisphere. They seemed to be transported into enchanted
ground; and, after the wonders which they had seen, nothing, in the
warmth and novelty of their imagination, appeared to them so
extraordinary as to be beyond belief. If the rapid succession of new and
striking scenes made such impression on the sound understanding of
Columbus that he boasted of having found the seat of Paradise, it will
not appear strange that Ponce de Leon should dream of discovering the
fountain of youth."
All we need say farther is that the first attempt to colonize the shores
of the great republic of the future years ended in disaster and death.
Yet De Leon's hope was not fully amiss, for in our own day many seek
that flowery land in quest of youthful strength. They do not now hope to
find it by bathing in any magic fountain, but it comes to them by
breathing its health-giving atmosphere and basking in its magic clime.
_DE SOTO AND THE FATHER OF WATERS._
America was to the Spaniards the land of gold. Everywhere they looked
for the yellow metal, more precious in their eyes than anything else the
earth yields. The wonderful adventures of Cortez in Mexico and of
Pizarro in Peru, and the vast wealth in gold found by those sons of
fame, filled their people with hope and avarice, and men of enterprise
began to look elsewhere for great and rich Indian nations to subdue and
plunder.
North of the Gulf of Mexico lay a vast, mysterious region, which in time
to come was to be the seat of a great and mighty nation. To the
Spaniards it was a land of enchantment, the mystic realm of the unknown,
perhaps rich in marvels and wealthy beyond their dreams. It was fabled
to contain the magic fountain of youth, the hope to bathe in whose
pellucid waters lured Ponce de Leon to his death. Another explorer, De
Ayllon, sailed north of Florida, seeking a sacred stream which was said
to possess the same enchanted powers. A third, De Narvaez, went far into
the country, with more men than Cortez led to the conquest of Mexico,
but after months of wandering only a handful of his men returned, and
not a grain of gold was found to pay for their suffering.
But these failures only stirred the cavaliers of Spain to new thirst
for adventure and gain. They had been told of fertile plains, of
splendid tropical forests, of the beauty of the Indian maidens, of
romantic incidents and hair-breadth escapes, of the wonderful influence
exercised by a white man on tribes of dusky warriors, and who knew what
fairy marvels or unimagined wealth might be found in the deep interior
of this land of hope and mystery. Thus when Hernando de Soto, who had
been with Pizarro in Peru and seen its gold-plated temples, called for
volunteers to explore and conquer the unknown northland, hundreds of
aspiring warriors flocked to his standard, burning with love of
adventure and filled with thirst for gold.
On the 30th of May, 1539, De Soto, with nine vessels and six or seven
hundred well-armed followers, sailed into Tampa Bay, on the Gulf coast
of Florida. Here they at once landed and marched inland, greedy to reach
and grasp the spectral image of gold which floated before their eyes. A
daring but a cruel man was this new adventurer. He brought with him
blood-hounds to hunt the Indians and chains to fetter them. A drove of
hogs was brought to supply the soldiers with fresh meat. They were
provided with horses, with fire-arms, with cannon, with steel armor,
with everything to overawe and overcome the woodland savages. Yet two
things they needed; these were judgment and discretion. It would have
been wise to make friends of the Indians. Instead, by their cruelty,
they turned them into bitter and relentless enemies. So wherever they
went they had bold and fierce foes to fight, and wounds and death marked
their pathway across the land.
Let us follow De Soto and his men into the realm of the unknown. They
had not gone far before a strange thing happened. Out of a crowd of
dusky Indians a white man rode on horseback to join them, making
gestures of delight. He was a Spaniard, Juan Ortiz by name, one of the
Narvaez band, who had been held in captivity among the Indians for ten
years. He knew the Indian language well and offered himself as an
interpreter and guide. Heaven seemed to have sent him, for he was worth
a regiment to the Spaniards.
Juan Ortiz had a strange story to tell. Once his captors had sought to
burn him alive by a slow fire as a sacrifice to the evil spirit. Bound
hand and foot, he was laid on a wooden stage and a fire kindled under
him. But at this moment of frightful peril the daughter of the chieftain
begged for his life, and her father listened to her prayer. Three years
later the savage captors again decided to burn him, and again the dusky
maiden saved his life. She warned him of his danger and led him to the
camp of another chief. Here he stayed till the Spaniards came. What
became of the warm-hearted maiden we are not told. She did not win the
fame of the Pocahontas of a later day.
Many and strange were the adventures of the Spaniards as they went
deeper and deeper into the new land of promise. Misfortune tracked
their footsteps and there was no glitter of gold to cheer their hearts.
A year passed over their heads and still the land of gold lay far away.
An Indian offered to lead them to a distant country, governed by a
woman, telling them that there they would find abundance of a yellow
metal. Inspired by hope, they now pushed eagerly forward, but the yellow
metal proved to be copper instead of gold, and their high hopes were
followed by the gloom of disappointment and despair. But wherever they
went their trail was marked by blood and pillage, and the story of their
ruthless deeds stirred up the Indians in advance to bitter hostility.
Fear alone made any of the natives meet them with a show of peace, and
this they repaid by brutal deeds. One of their visitors was an Indian
queen--as they called her--the woman chief of a tribe of the South. When
the Spaniards came near her domain she hastened to welcome them, hoping
by this means to make friends of her dreaded visitors. Borne in a litter
by four of her subjects, the dusky princess alighted before De Soto and
came forward with gestures of pleasure, as if delighted to welcome her
guests. Taking from her neck a heavy double string of pearls, she hung
it on that of the Spanish leader. De Soto accepted it with the courtly
grace of a cavalier, and pretended friendship while he questioned his
hostess.
But he no sooner obtained the information he wanted than he made her a
prisoner, and at once began to rob her and her people of all the
valuables they possessed. Chief among these were large numbers of
pearls, most of them found in the graves of the distinguished men of the
tribe. But the plunderers did not gain all they hoped for by their act
of vandalism, for the poor queen managed to escape from her guards, and
in her flight took with her a box of the most valuable of the pearls.
They were those which De Soto had most prized and he was bitterly stung
by their loss.
The adventurers were now near the Atlantic, on ground which had been
trodden by whites before, and they decided to turn inland and explore
the country to the west. After months more of wandering, and the loss of
many men through their battles with the Indians, they found themselves
in the autumn of 1540 at a large village called Mavilla. It stood where
stands to-day the city of Mobile. Here a large force of Indians was
gathered.
The Indian chief or cacique met De Soto with a show of friendship, and
induced him and a few of his men to follow him within the palisades
which surrounded the village. No sooner had they got there than the
chief shouted some words of insult in his own tongue and darted into one
of the houses. A minor chief got into a dispute with a Spanish soldier,
who, in the usual Spanish fashion, carried forward the argument with a
blow from his sword. This served as a signal for hostilities. In an
instant clouds of arrows poured from the houses, and before the
Spaniards could escape nearly the whole of them were slain. Only De
Soto and a few others got out with their lives from the trap into which
they had been beguiled.
Filled with revengeful rage, the Spanish forces now invested and
assailed the town, and a furious conflict began, lasting for nine hours.
In the end the whites, from their superior weapons and organization, won
the victory. But theirs was a costly triumph, for many of them had
fallen and nearly all their property had been destroyed. Mavilla was
burned and hosts of the Indians were killed, but the Spaniards were in a
terrible situation, far from their ships, without medicine or food, and
surrounded by brave and furious enemies.
The soldiers felt that they had had enough adventure of this kind, and
clamored to be led back to their ships. De Soto had been advised that
the ships were then in the Bay of Pensacola, only six days' journey from
Mavilla, but he kept this a secret from his men, for hopes of fame and
wealth still filled his soul. In the end, despite their entreaties, he
led the men to the north, spending the winter in a small village of the
Chickasaw Indians.
When spring opened the adventurers resumed their journey into the
unknown. In his usual forcible fashion De Soto seized on Indians to
carry his baggage, and in this way he brought on a violent battle, in
which the whites met with a serious defeat and were in imminent danger
of annihilation. Not a man of them would have lived to tell the tale if
the savages had not been so scared at their own success that they drew
back just when they had the hated Spaniards in their power.
[Illustration: DE SOTO DISCOVERING THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.]
A strange-looking army was that which the indomitable De Soto led
forward from this place. Many of the uniforms of the men had been
carried off by the enemy, and these were replaced with skins and mats
made of ivy-leaves, so that the adventurers looked more like forest
braves than Christian warriors. But onward still they trudged, sick at
heart many of them, but obeying the orders of their resolute chief, and
in the blossoming month of May they made that famous discovery by which
the name of Hernando de Soto has ever since been known. For they stood
on the banks of one of the mightiest rivers of the earth, the great
Father of Waters, the grand Mississippi. From thousands of miles to the
north had come the waters which now rolled onward in a mighty volume
before their eyes, hastening downward to bury themselves in the still
distant Gulf.
A discovery such as this might have been enough to satisfy the cravings
of any ordinary man, but De Soto, in his insatiable greed for gold, saw
in the glorious stream only an obstacle to his course, "half a league
over." To build boats and cross the stream was the one purpose that
filled his mind, and with much labor they succeeded in getting across
the great stream themselves and the few of their horses that remained.
At once the old story began again. The Indians beyond the Mississippi
had heard of the Spaniards and their methods, and met them with
relentless hostility. They had hardly landed on the opposite shore
before new battles began. As for the Indian empire, with great cities,
civilized inhabitants, and heaps of gold, which Be Soto so ardently
sought, it seemed as far off as ever, and he was a sadly disappointed
man as he led the miserable remnant of his once well-equipped and
hopeful followers up the left bank of the great stream, dreams of wealth
and renown not yet quite driven from his mind.
At length they reached the region of the present State of Missouri. Here
the simple-minded people took the white strangers to be children of the
Sun, the god of their worship, and they brought out their blind, hoping
to have them restored to sight by a touch from the healing hands of
these divine visitors. Leaving after a time these superstitious tribes,
De Soto led his men to the west, lured on still by the phantom of a
wealthy Indian realm, and the next winter was passed near where Little
Rock, Arkansas, is now built.
Spring returned at length, and the weary wanderings of the devoted band
were resumed. Depressed, worn-out, hopeless, they trudged onward, hardly
a man among them looking for aught but death in those forest wilds. Juan
Ortiz, the most useful man in the band, died, and left the enterprise
still more hopeless. But De Soto, worn, sick, emaciated, was indomitable
still and the dream of a brilliant success lingered as ever in his
brain. He tried now to win over the Indians by pretending to be
immortal and to be gifted with supernatural powers, but it was too late
to make them credit any such fantastic notion.
The band encamped in an unhealthy spot near the great river. Here
disease attacked the men; scouts were sent out to seek a better place,
but they found only trackless woods and rumors of Indian bands creeping
stealthily up on all sides to destroy what remained of the little army
of whites.
Almost for the first time De Soto's resolute mind now gave way. Broken
down by his many labors and cares, perhaps assailed by the disease that
was attacking his men, he felt that death was near at hand. Calling
around him the sparse remnant of his once gallant company, he humbly
begged their pardon for the sufferings and evils he had brought upon
them, and named Luis de Alvaredo to succeed him in command. The next
day, May 21, 1542, the unfortunate hero died. Thus passed away one of
the three greatest Spanish explorers of the New World, a man as great in
his way and as indomitable in his efforts as his rivals, Cortez and
Pizarro, though not so fortunate in his results. For three years he had
led his little band through a primitive wilderness, fighting his way
steadily through hosts of savage foes, and never yielding until the hand
of death was laid upon his limbs.
Fearing a fierce attack from the savages if they should learn that the
"immortal" chief of the whites was dead, Alvaredo had him buried
secretly outside the walls of the camp. But the new-made grave was
suspicious. The prowling Indians might dig it up and discover the noted
form it held. To prevent this, Alvaredo had the body of De Soto dug up
in the night, wrapped it in cloths filled with sand, and dropped it into
the Mississippi, to whose bottom it immediately sank. Thus was the great
river he had discovered made the famous explorer's final resting-place.
With the death of De Soto the work of the explorers was practically at
an end. To the Indians who asked what had become of the Child of the
Sun, Alvaredo answered that he had gone to heaven for a visit, but would
soon return. Then, while the Indians waited this return of the chief,
the camp was broken up and the band set out again on a westward course,
hoping to reach the Pacific coast, whose distance they did not dream.
Months more passed by in hopeless wandering, then back to the great
river they came and spent six months more in building boats, as their
last hope of escape.
On the 2d of July, 1543, the scanty remnant of the once powerful band
embarked on the waters of the great river, and for seventeen days
floated downward, while the Indians on the bank poured arrows on them
incessantly as they passed. Fifty days later a few haggard, half-naked
survivors of De Soto's great expedition landed at the Spanish settlement
of Panuco in Mexico. They had long been given up as lost, and were
received as men risen from the grave.
_THE LOST COLONY OF ROANOKE._
In the year 1584 two wandering vessels, like the caravels of Columbus a
century earlier, found themselves in the vicinity of a new land; not, as
in the case of Columbus, by seeing twigs and fruit floating on the
water, but in the more poetical way of being visited, while far at sea,
by a sweet fragrance, as of a delicious garden full of perfumed flowers.
A garden it was, planted not by the hand of man, but by that of nature,
on the North Carolinian shores. For this was the first expedition sent
out by Sir Walter Raleigh, the earliest of Englishmen to attempt to
settle the new-discovered continent, and it was at that season as truly
a land of flowers as the more southern Florida.
The ships soon reached shore at a beautiful island called by the Indians
Wocokon, where the mariners gazed with wonder and delight on the scene
that lay before them. Wild flowers, whose perfume had reached their
senses while still two days' sail from land, thickly carpeted the soil,
and grapes grew so plentifully that the ocean waves, as they broke upon
the strand, dashed their spray upon the thick-growing clusters. "The
forests formed themselves into wonderfully beautiful bowers, frequented
by multitudes of birds. It was like a Garden of Eden, and the gentle,
friendly inhabitants appeared in unison with the scene. On the island
of Roanoke they were received by the wife of the king, and entertained
with Arcadian hospitality."
When these vessels returned to England and the mariners told of what
they had seen, the people were filled with enthusiasm. Queen Elizabeth
was so delighted with what was said of the beauty of the country that
she gave it the name of Virginia, in honor of herself as a virgin queen.
The next year a larger expedition was sent out, carrying one hundred and
fifty colonists, who were to form the vanguard of the British dominion
in the New World.
They found the land all they had been told. Ralph Lane, the governor,
wrote home: "It is the goodliest soil under the cope of heaven; the most
pleasing territory in the world; the continent is of a huge and unknown
greatness, and very well peopled and towned, though savagely. The
climate is so wholesome that we have none sick. If Virginia had but
horses and kine, and were inhabited by Englishmen, no realm in
Christendom were comparable with it."
But they did not find the natives so kindly disposed as in the year
before, and no wonder; for the first thing the English did after landing
on Roanoke Island was to accuse the Indians of stealing a silver cup,
for which they took revenge by burning a village and destroying the
standing corn. Whether this method was copied from the Spaniards or not,
it proved a most unwise one, for at once the colonists found themselves
surrounded by warlike foes, instead of in intercourse with confiding
friends.
The English colonists had the same fault as those of Spain. The stories
of the wonderful wealth of Mexico and Peru had spread far and wide over
Europe, and the thirst for gold was in all hearts. Instead of planting
grain and building homes, the new-comers sought the yellow evil far and
wide, almost as if they expected the soil to be paved with it. The
Indians were eagerly questioned and their wildest stories believed. As
the natives of Porto Rico had invented a magic fountain to rid
themselves of Ponce de Leon and his countrymen, so those of Roanoke told
marvellous fables to lure away the unwelcome English. The Roanoke River,
they said, gushed forth from a rock so near the western ocean that in
storms the salt sea-water was hurled into the fresh-water stream. Far
away on its banks there dwelt a nation rich in gold, and inhabiting a
city the walls of which glittered with precious pearls.
Lane himself, whom we may trust to have been an educated man, accepted
these tales of marvel as readily as the most ignorant of his people. In
truth, he had much warrant for it in the experience of the Spaniards.
Taking a party of the colonists, he ascended the river in search of the
golden region. On and on they went, finding nothing but the unending
forest, hearing nothing but the cries of wild beasts and the Indian
war-cries, but drawn onward still by hope until their food ran out and
bitter famine assailed them. Then, after being forced to kill their
dogs for food, they came back again, much to the disappointment of the
Indians, who fancied they were well rid of their troublesome guests.
As the settlers were not to be disposed of by fairy-stories of cities of
gold, the natives now tried another plan. They resolved to plant no more
corn, so that the English must either go away or starve. Lane made
matters worse by a piece of foolish and useless cruelty. Wisdom should
have taught him to plant corn himself. But what he did was to invite the
Indians to a conference, and then to attack them, sword in hand, and
kill the chief, with many braves of the tribe. He might have expected
what followed. The furious natives at once cut off all supplies from the
colonists, and they would have died of hunger if Sir Francis Drake, in
one of his expeditions, had not just then appeared with a large fleet.
Here ended the first attempt to plant an English colony in America.
Drake, finding the people in a desperate state, took them in his ships
and sailed with them for England. Hardly had they gone before other
ships came and the missing colonists were sought for in vain. Then
fifteen men were left on the island to hold it for England, and the
ships returned.
In 1587 Raleigh's last colony reached Roanoke Island. This time he took
care to send farmers instead of gold-seekers, and sent with them a
supply of farming tools. But it was not encouraging when they looked
for the fifteen men left the year before to find only some of their
bones, while their fort was a ruin and their deserted dwellings
overgrown with vines. The Indians had taken revenge on their oppressors.
One event of interest took place before the ship returned, the birth of
the first English child born in America. In honor of the name which the
queen had given the land, this little waif was called Virginia Dare.
Now we come to the story of the mysterious fate of this second English
colony. When the ships which had borne it to Roanoke went back to
England they found that island in an excited state. The great Spanish
Armada was being prepared to invade and conquer Elizabeth's realm, and
hasty preparations were making to defend the British soil. The fate of
the Armada is well known. England triumphed. But several years passed
before Raleigh, who was now deep laden with debt, was able to send out a
vessel to the relief of his abandoned colonists.
When the people sent by him landed on the island, they looked around
them in dismay. Here were no happy homes, no smiling fields, no bustling
colonists. The island was deserted. What had become of the inhabitants
was not easy to guess. Not even their bones had been left, as in the
case of the hapless fifteen, though many relics of their dwelling-places
were found. The only indication of their fate was the single word
"Croatan" cut into the bark of a tree.
Croatan was the name of an island not far from that on which they were,
but it was the stormy season of the year, and John White, the captain,
made this an excuse for not venturing there. So he sailed again for home
with only the story of a vanished colony.
From that time to this the fate of the colony has been a mystery. No
trace of any of its members was ever found. If they had made their way
to Croatan, they were never seen there. Five times the noble-hearted
Raleigh sent out ships to search for them, but all in vain; they had
gone past finding; the forest land had swallowed them up.
It has been conjectured that they had mingled with a friendly tribe of
Indians and become children of the forest like their hosts. Some
tradition of this kind remained among the Indians, and it has been
fancied that the Hatteras Indians showed traces of English blood. But
all this is conjecture, and the fate of the lost colonists of Roanoke
must remain forever unknown.
_THE THRILLING ADVENTURE OF CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH._
For those who love stories of the Indians, and the strange and perilous
adventures of white men in dealing with the forest tribes, we cannot do
better than give a remarkable anecdote of life in the Virginia woodlands
three centuries ago.
On a day near the opening of the winter of 1608 a small boat, in which
were several men, might have been seen going up the James River under
the shadow of the high trees that bordered its banks.
They came at length to a point where a smaller stream flowed into the
James, wide at its mouth but soon growing narrow. Into this the boat was
turned and rowed briskly onward, under the direction of the leader of
the expedition. They were soon in the heart of the wildwood, whose dense
forest growth clustered thickly on either bank of the stream, which ran
in a narrow silver thread through the green wilderness. The stream they
pursued is that now known as the Chickahominy River, so called from an
Indian tribe of that name, the most daring and warlike of all the
savages of the region.
As they went on the stream grew narrower still, and in time became so
shallow that the boat could go no farther. As they sat there in doubt,
debating what had better be done, the bushes by the waterside were
thrust aside and dusky faces looked out upon them through the leaves.
The leader of the whites beckoned to them and two men stepped out of the
bushy thicket, making signs of great friendliness. They pointed to the
large boat, and indicated by gestures that they had smaller craft near
at hand and would lend one to the whites if they wished to go farther
up. They would go along with them and show them the way.
The leader of the party of whites was named John Smith. This is a very
common name, but he was the one John Smith who has made the name famous
in history. He had met many Indians before and found most of them
friendly, but he had never seen any of the Chickahominies and did not
know that they were enemies to the whites. So he accepted the offer of
the Indians. The boat was taken back down the stream to a sort of wide
bay where he thought it would be safe. Here the Indians brought him one
of their light but strong canoes. Smith wanted to explore the stream
higher up, and, thinking that he could trust these very friendly looking
red men, he got into the canoe, bidding two of his men to come with him.
To the others he said,--
"Do not leave your boat on any account. These fellows seem all right,
but they are never to be trusted too far. There may be more of them in
the woods, so be wide awake and keep your wits about you."
The two Indians now got into the canoe with Smith and his men and began
to paddle it up the stream, keeping on until they were miles from the
starting-point. Undergrowth rose thickly on the banks and vines hung
down in green masses from the trees, so that the boat they had left was
quickly lost to sight. Soon after that the men in the large boat did a
very foolish thing. Heedless of the orders of their leader, they left
the boat and strolled into the woods. They had not gone far before a
party of savages came rushing at them with wild cries, and followed them
fiercely as they turned and ran back to their boat. One of them was
caught by the savages, and as the fugitives sprang into their boat they
were horrified to see the hapless fellow killed by his captors. This
lesson taught them not to leave the boat again.
Ignorant of all this, Smith went on, the boat being paddled here under a
low canopy of vines, there through open spaces, until far up the stream.
At length, as passage grew more difficult, he bade his guides to stop,
and stepped ashore. Taking one of the Indians with him, he set out,
carbine on shoulder, saying that he would provide food for the party. He
cautioned his two followers, as he had done those in the large boat, to
keep a sharp look-out and not let themselves be surprised.
But these men proved to be as foolish and reckless as the others. The
air was cool and they built a fire on the bank. Then, utterly heedless
of danger, they lay down beside it and soon were fast asleep. As they
lay slumbering the Indians, who had started up the stream after killing
their prisoner at the boat, came upon them in this helpless state. They
at once killed the foolish pair, and then started into the woods on the
trail of Smith.
[Illustration: POCAHONTAS.]
Daring and full of resources as Captain John Smith was, he had taken a
dangerous risk in thus venturing alone into those forest depths, peopled
only by prowling and hostile savages. It proved to be the most desperate
crisis of his life, full of adventure as this life had been. As a
youthful soldier he had gone through great perils in the wars with the
Turks, and once had killed three Turkish warriors in single combat
between two armies, but never before had he been in such danger of death
as he was now, alone with a treacherous Indian while a dozen or more of
others, bent on his death, were trailing him through the woods.
He was first made aware of his danger when a flight of arrows came from
the low bushes near by. Then, with fierce war-whoops, the Indian braves
rushed upon him with brandished knives and tomahawks. But desperate as
was his situation, in the heart of the forest, far from help, surrounded
by foes who thirsted for his blood, Smith did not lose his courage or
his coolness. He fired his pistol at the Indians, two of them falling
wounded or dead. As they drew back in dismay, he seized his guide and
tied him to his left arm with his garter as a protection from their
arrows, and then started through the woods in the direction of the
canoe. Walking backward, with his face to his pursuers, and keeping
them off with his weapons, he had not taken many steps before he found
his feet sinking in the soft soil. He was in the edge of the great swamp
still known in that region, and before he was aware of the danger he
sank into it to his waist and his guide with him. The other Indians held
back in fear until he had thrown away his weapons, when they rushed upon
him, drew him out of the mud, and led him captive to the fire where his
two companions lay dead.
Smith's case now seemed truly desperate. He knew enough of the savages
to have very little hope of life. Yet he was not inclined to give up
while a shadowy chance remained. Taking from his pocket a small compass,
which he carried to aid him in his forest journeys, he gave it to the
Indian chief, showing him how the needle always pointed to the north.
But while the chief was looking curiously at this magic toy, as it
seemed to him, the other Indians bound their captive to a tree, and bent
their bows to shoot him. Their deadly purpose was prevented by the
chief, who waved the compass in the air and bade them stop. For the time
the mystery of the compass seemed to have saved the captive's life.
Smith was now taken through the woods, the journey ending at an Indian
village called Orapakes. Here the dusky women and children took the
captive in hand, dancing wildly around him, with fierce cries and
threatening gestures, while the warriors looked grimly on. Yet Smith
bore their insults and threats with impassive face and unflinching
attitude. At length Opechancanough, the chief, pleased to find that he
had a brave man for captive, bade them cease, and food was brought forth
for Smith and his captors.
While they were in this village two interesting examples of the
simplicity of Indian thought took place. Smith wrote a message to
Jamestown, the settlement of the whites, sending it by one of the
Indians, and receiving an answer. On his reading this and speaking of
what he had learned from it, the Indians looked on it as the work of
enchantment. They could not comprehend how "paper could talk." Another
thing was the following: They showed him a bag of gunpowder which they
had somehow obtained, saying that they were going to sow it in the
ground the next spring and gather a crop of this useful substance. After
spending some days in this and other villages, the captive was taken
into the woods, his captors making him understand that they were going
on a long journey.
Whither he was being taken or what was to be his fate Smith was not
aware. The language of gestures, which was his only way of conversing
with the savages, soon reached its limit, and he was quite ignorant of
what they proposed to do with him, though his heart must have sunk as
they went on day after day, northward through the forest. On they walked
in single file, Smith unbound and seemingly free in their midst, but
with a watchful Indian guard close beside him, ready to shoot him if he
made any effort to escape. Village after village was passed, in each of
which the women and children danced and shrieked around him as at
Orapakes. It was evident they knew the value of their prisoner, and
recognized that they had in their hands the great chief of the Pale
Faces.
In fact, the Chickahominy chief felt that his captive was of too much
importance to be dealt with hastily, and was taking him to the village
of the great chief Powhatan, who ruled like an emperor over a powerful
confederation of tribes. In summer his residence was near the Falls of
the James River, but he was in the habit of spending the winter on the
banks of York River, his purpose being to enjoy the fish and oysters of
the neighboring Chesapeake. Wesowocomoca was the name of this winter
residence, and here the captive was at length brought, after the long
woodland journey.
Captain Smith had met the old Indian emperor before, at his summer home
on the James River, near where the city of Richmond now stands. But that
was as a freeman, with his guard around him and his hands unbound. Now
he was brought before him as a captive, subject to his royal will or
caprice.
He found the famous lord of the tribes in his large wigwam, with his
wives around him, and his vigilant guard of warriors grouped on the
greensward outside, where the Indian lodges stretched in a considerable
village along the stream. Powhatan wore a large robe made of raccoon
skins. A rich plume of feathers ornamented his head and a string of
beads depended from his neck. At his head and feet sat two young Indian
girls, his favorite wives, wearing richly adorned dresses of fur, with
plumes in their hair and necklaces of pearls. Other women were in the
room, and a number of the leading warriors who sat around gave the
fierce war-cry of the tribe as the captive was brought in.
The old chieftain looked with keen eyes on his famous prisoner, of whose
capture he had been advised by runners sent before. There was a look of
triumph and malignity in his eyes, but Captain Smith stood before him
unmoved. He had been through too many dangers to be easily dismayed, and
near death's door too often to yield to despair. Powhatan gave an order
to a young Indian woman, who brought him a wooden basin of water that he
might wash his hands. Then she presented him a bunch of feathers to
serve as a towel. This done, meat and corn-bread were placed before him.
As he ate Powhatan talked with his warriors, consulting with them, the
captive feared, upon his fate. But he finished his meal with little loss
of appetite, trusting to the Providence which had saved him more than
once before to come to his aid again.
As he ate, his vigilant eyes looked heedfully around the room. Many who
were there gazed on him with interest, and one of them, a young Indian
girl of twelve or thirteen years of age, with pity and concern. It was
evident that she was of high rank in the tribe, for she was richly
dressed and wore in her hair a plume of feathers like that of Powhatan,
and on her feet moccasins embroidered like his. There was a troubled and
compassionate look in her eyes, as she gazed on the captive white man, a
look which he may perhaps have seen and taken comfort from in his hour
of dread.
No such feeling as this seemed to rest in the heart of the old chief and
his warriors. Their conference quickly ended, and, though its words were
strange to him, the captive could read his fate in their dark and
frowning faces. They had grown to hate the whites, and now that their
leader was a captive before them, they decided to put him to death.
There was no loss of time in preparation for the execution of the fatal
decree. At an order from Powhatan the captive was seized and securely
bound, then he was laid on the floor of the hut, with his head on a
large stone brought in from outside. Beside him stood a stalwart savage
grasping a huge war-club. A word, a signal from Powhatan, was alone
needed and the victim's brains would have been dashed out.
At this critical moment Smith's good angel watched over him. A low cry
of pity was heard, and the young girl who had watched him with such
concern sprang forward and clasped her arms around the poor prisoner,
looking up at the Indian emperor with beseeching eyes. It was
Pocahontas, his favorite daughter. Her looks touched the old man's
heart, and he bade the executioner to stand back, and gave orders that
the captive should be released. Powhatan soon showed that he was in
earnest in his act of mercy. He treated the prisoner in a friendly
fashion, and two days later set him free to return to Jamestown.
All that he asked in return was that the whites should send him two of
their great guns and a grindstone. Smith readily consented, no doubt
with a secret sense of amusement, and set out for the settlement, led by
Indian guides. Rawhunt, a favorite servant of Powhatan, was one of the
guides, and on reaching Jamestown Smith showed him two cannon and a
grindstone, and bade him carry them home to his master. Rawhunt tried,
but when he found that he could not stir one of the weighty presents
from the ground, he was quite content to take back less bulky presents
in their place.
So runs the story of Captain Smith's remarkable adventure. No doubt it
is well to say here that there are writers who doubt the whole story of
Pocahontas and her deed of mercy, simply because Captain Smith did not
speak of it in his first book. But there is no very good reason to doubt
it, and we know that things like this happened in other cases. Thus, in
the story of De Soto we have told how Juan Ortiz, the Spanish captive,
was saved from being burned alive by an Indian maiden in much the same
way.