Captain Newport found the friends of the colony eager for news from
Virginia. He had brought over the first mail from America--a small
package of letters which he could easily bestow in one of his pockets.
He represented, in his own person, our entire Foreign Postal Service. The
mail was small, but important. It contained a "Relatyon of the Discovery
up the James River," and letters to Prince Henry, to his Majesty's Prime
Minister, and other persons of authority.
Virginia had few presents to send home, only the clapboards, a barrel
of yellow earth (afterwards irreverently termed "Fool's Gold"), and a
very small sample of real gold, the result of the experiments of John
Martin, who was supposed to possess skill as a mineral expert. Was he not
the son of Sir Richard Martin, Master of the Mint in England? Practical
experience might surely be expected of him. The letters contained the most
enthusiastic praise of the new country--of the grand river, the trees,
fruits, flowers; "such a land as did never the eye of man behold, with
rocks and mountains that promised infinite treasure."
Such representations were in accordance with the policy of the colonists
to encourage immigration. Nothing was said in these early letters of
privation or anxiety for the future; nothing of any scheme for the
conversion of the heathen. Master Hunt doubtless wrote to his bishop,
but a discouraging letter was sure to be suppressed. Sir Walter Cope, a
member of the Council, received Newport's report, and wrote to the Earl
of Salisbury:[24]--
"RIGHT HONOURABLE MY GOOD LORD:
"If we may believe words or letters we are fallen upon a land
that promises more than the land of promise. Instead of milk we
find pearl--and gold instead of honey. There seems a kingdom full
of the ore. You shall be fed by handfuls or hatfuls!...
"To prove there is gold your Lordship's eyes I hope shall
witness. To prove there is pearl the King of Pamont[25] came with
a chain of pearl about his neck, burnt through with great holes
and spoiled for want of the art to bore them and shewed the shells
from whence they were taken. Pohatan, another of their kings, came
stately marching with a great pair of buck's horns fastened to
his forehead, not knowing what esteem we make of men so marked."
It seemed that the poet's dream of "pearle and gold" was already realized,
but unfortunately a few days later Sir Walter was constrained to write
another letter to Cecil:--
"SIR:
"It hath ever been incident to the Secretary's place to receive
with the same hand both the good and the bad news. This other day
we sent you news of gold, and this day we cannot return you so
much as copper. Our new discovery is more like to prove the land
of Canaan than the land of Ophir. This day we seal up under our
seals the golden mineral till you return. We have made four trials
by the experienced about the city. In the end all turned to vapor.
Martin hath cozened the poor Captain" (Newport), "the King and
State, and meant as I hear to cozen his own father" (the Master
of the Mint), "seeking to draw from him supplies which otherwise
he doubted never to obtain"--
by which token we can better understand John Martin's mistakes.
When the Council met, it was seriously discussed whether so unpromising a
venture should not be abandoned. But there was the country, so fruitful
and delightful; and here at court was Zuñiga, the Spanish ambassador,
urging its abandonment. Here, too, was Captain Newport, refusing to
relinquish the enterprise and stoutly adhering to his first opinion, that
gold would finally reward their search.
The fate of the colony hung upon a slender thread, but finally the
president of the Council informed Cecil that they had decided to send
Newport out again with one hundred settlers and "all necessaries to
relieve them that be there," hoping to arrive the next January, and taking
out with his ship a "nymble Pinnace" in which to return quickly and make
report.
The advice of the King could not be had. He was away at Theobald's for the
August shooting, and woe to that man who should interrupt him! Zuñiga's
ears were wide open to the news from Virginia, and he wrote to the King
of Spain: "It is very desirable that your Majesty make an end of the few
who are now in Virginia, as that would be digging up the Root so it could
put out no more. It will be serving God and your Majesty to drive these
villains out from there, hanging them in time which is short enough for
the purpose."
Philip III wrote regularly to his minister, agreeing with him, but doing
nothing. The Spanish Council of State advised the King instantly to
make ready a fleet "and forthwith proceed to drive out all who are in
Virginia," and this, they argued, "will suffice to prevent them from again
coming to the place."
After the resolution of the London Council, Zuñiga again urges Philip: "I
hear that three or four ships will return to Virginia. _Will your Majesty
give orders that measures be taken in time:_ because now it will be very
easy; and very difficult afterwards when they have taken root. If they are
punished in the beginning the result will be that no more will go there."
But Philip was disposed to take his own time--overruled by that Providence
which brought us safely through so many perils. He had his own private
schemes. A princess of England was growing up, and he meant to ask her
hand in marriage.
Finally he agreed that the colonists were to be driven out, but the thing
must be done secretly. Zuñiga continued to be his faithful spy, reporting
every step taken by the London Council. It was Zuñiga, we remember,
who was sent to London a few years afterwards to ask for the Princess
Elizabeth.
Before we return to the little colony, happily unconscious of its
many enemies, we must be allowed one more of the letters incident upon
Newport's return. All of them are extremely interesting as illustrative
of the time, but we must not pause too long in our history--a history so
rich in events that it is difficult to choose the most important.
The letter is dated August 18, 1607, and informs John Chamberlain that--
"Captaine Newport is come from our late adventures to Virginia,
having left them in an Island in the midst of a great river 120
mile into the land. They write much commendation of the aire and
the soile and the commodities of it: but silver and golde have
they none, and they cannot yet be at peace with the inhabitants
of the country. They have fortified themselves and built a small
towne which they call 'Jamestowne,' and so they date their
letters; but the towne methinks hath no gracefull name, and
besides the Spaniards, who think it no small matter of moment how
they stile their new populations, will tell us, I doubt, it comes
too neere 'Villiaco.'
"Master Porie tells me of a name given by a Dutchman who wrote
to him in Latin from the new towne in Virginia, 'Jacobopolis,'
and Master Warner hath a letter from Master George Percie who
names their town, 'Jamesfort,' which we like best of all the rest
because it comes neere to 'Chemes-ford.'
"Yours most assuredly,
"DUDLEY CARLETON."
The "small towne" was a bit of prophetic imagination. Up to the hour of
Newport's sailing the colonists had been employed, with infinite labour
and toil, in felling trees and hewing them into clapboards for freighting
the two returning ships, the _Goodspeed_ and _Susan_ (or _Sarah_)
_Constant_. The _Discovery_, a little pinnace of twenty tons, was left
behind for the use of the colony, in case of flight from the savages. It
is wonderful, in view of ensuing events, that the colonists did not at
once reëmbark in the pinnace and seek some healthier spot for the proposed
town. The river--the "famousest river in Christendom"--seems to have held
them with a strange fascination.
There was absolutely no dwelling of any kind erected during the
summer.[26] Some of the settlers slept in holes in the ground, roofed with
rails. A rough palisade had been made of boards, and rude cabins covered
with sail cloth sheltered the ammunition and stores. The first church
was a log between two trees to serve as a lectern, and a rotten sail was
stretched overhead in case of rain; for in all weathers, rain or shine,
the good Master Hunt ministered to his flock, morning and evening, leading
them in supplication for protection to Almighty God; and from an unhewn
log as an altar, administered to them the holy emblems of the Christian
faith.
Before the men could begin to build comfortable quarters, they were
smitten with illness, which continued until September. More than half of
their number perished. The story is told so well by George Percy that I
will be pardoned for giving it in his own words:--
"Our men were destroyed with cruell diseases, as Swellings, Flixes,
Burning Fevers, and by warres; and some departed suddenly; but for the
most part _they died of meere famine_!
"There were never Englishmen left in a foreigne Country in such miserie as
wee were in this new discovered Virginia. Wee watched every three nights,
lying on the bare, cold ground, what weather soever came; and warded all
the next day; which brought our men to bee most feeble wretches. Our
food was but a small Can of Barlie sodden in water to five men a day.
Our drinke, cold water taken out of the River; which was at a flood verie
salt; at a low tide full of slime and filth; which was the destruction of
many of our men.
"Thus we lived for the space of five months in this miserable distresse,
not having five able men to man our Bulwarkes upon any occasion. If it
had not pleased God to put a terrour in the Savages hearts, we had all
perished by those wild and cruell Pagans, being in that weake estate as
we were; our men night and day groaning in every corner of the Fort most
pitifull to heare. If there were any conscience in men, it would make
their harts to bleed to heare the pitifull murmurings and outcries of
our sicke men without reliefe; every night and day for the space of six
weekes; some departing out of the Worlde, many times three or foure in
a night; in the morning, their bodies trailed out of their Cabines like
Dogges to be buried. In this sort did I see the mortalities of divers of
our people."
Among those who perished was our friend, Thomas Studley, the "Cape
Merchant," and another was Elizabeth's brave mariner, Bartholomew Gosnold,
the projector of the enterprise, and one of the Council. How strange
that he should, after his many voyages, have so eagerly insisted upon
this colonization of Virginia, to find there his own grave--far away
from the England whose honour he loved so ardently! His unhappy comrades
did what they could. Smitten with fever and weakened by starvation,
they bore him to his humble grave, reverently and decently, "having all
ordinance of the fort shot off, with many vollies of small shot." Thus
old Virginia received her first-born into her bosom! She lovingly holds
him there still. We can imagine these scenes, softened by the faithful,
untiring care of Thomas Walton, the surgeon, and the priestly offices and
consolations of good Master Hunt.
It seems unthinkable that England should have so starved her colony. In
Elizabeth's reign the narrow, selfish charter and the meagre outfit would
have been impossible. All things were possible to James that could in
any way contribute to his own self-aggrandizement. Bitter as was the lot
of the unhappy adventurers, they were too manly to complain. "When some
affirm," says a historian of the time,[27] "that it was ill done of the
Council to send forth men so badly provided, this incontradictable reason
will show them plainly they are ill-advised to nourish such ill conceits:
first, the fault of going was our own, what could be thought fitting or
necessary we had; but what we should find or want or where we should be,
we were all ignorant, and supposing to make our passage in two months,
with victuall to live, and the advantage of the spring to work; we were
at sea five months where we both spent our victuall and lost the time
and opportunity to plant by the unskilful presumption of our ignorant
transporters that understood not at all what they undertook. Such actions
have ever since the world's beginning been subject to such accidents
and everything of worth is found full of difficulties; but nothing so
difficult as to establish a commonwealth so far remote from men and means
and where men's minds are so untoward as neither to do well themselves
nor suffer others."
The closing sentence was a very mild commentary indeed upon the state of
things at Jamestown. The miniature republic--for such it rapidly grew to
be in nearly everything except in name--held within its borders just the
elements that distinguish the great republic of to-day: some noble spirits
with high aims and fervent patriotism; some sordid souls intent alone on
gain; some unprincipled, desperate characters; others simply useless,
idle, and ignoble. Of the latter class, the President, Wingfield, was
notably conspicuous. It was evident, from the first, that he was utterly
unfit for his position. One of the earliest efforts of the convalescents
was to get rid of him.
The store held in common, of "oyle, vinegar, sack and aqua vitæ," being
nearly all spent, the Council ordered that the sack should be reserved
for the Communion table, and all the rest sealed up against greater
extremities--if there could be greater. John Smith accused Wingfield of
using the reserved stores for his own benefit and that of his friends.
Wingfield soon appeared in his true character, and added cowardice to
incapacity. He made an effort to seize the pinnace and escape to England,
thus leaving the colony to the mercy of the savages. This baseness
roused the indignation even of the emaciated survivors, and they deposed
him and appointed Captain Ratcliffe in his place. Wingfield's defence,
addressed to his government, now preserved among the manuscripts of
Lambeth Palace Library, is a curious mixture of dignified, not to say
lofty, sentiments--for all the colonial writers used a formula of pious
aspiration--and of fierce invective and very petty unworthy gossip; but
if England has seen fit to preserve it all, we may quote a representative
part of it.
He attributes many of his misfortunes to John Smith, others to Master
Archer. His old enemy, Master Crofts--whom we remember as having thriven
so well upon the precious preserves and conserves prepared for Wingfield's
voyage--comes well to the fore in the long discourse addressed to the
Council in England. "Master Crofts feared not to saie that, if others
would joyne with him, he would pull me out of my seate and out of my
skynne too." He could hardly have threatened more, but this was not all:
"I desired justice for a copper kettle which Master Crofts did deteyne
from me. Hee said I had given it him; I did bid him bring his proofe of
that. He confessed he had no proofe. Then Master President [Ratcliffe] did
aske me if I would be sworne I did not give it to him. I said I knew no
cause whie to sweare for myne owne. He asked Master Crofts if hee would
make oathe I did give it to him which oathe he tooke and wann my kettle
from me, that was in that place and tyme worth half its weight in gold."
He protests against the charge of using the "oyle, vinegar, and aqua
vitæ." "It is further said I did deny the men and much banquet and ryot
myself. I allowed a Bisket to every working man for his breakfast by means
of provision brought by Captain Newport. I never had but one squirrell
roasted whereof I gave part to Master Ratcliffe then sick; yet was that
Squirrell given me. I did never heate a fleshe-pott but when the common
pott was so used likewise," and much more to the same purpose. The matter
resulted in the impeachment of the President and appointment of Ratcliffe
to fill his unfinished term of office. Kendall also, a prime aider and
abettor of the deposed President, was "afterwards committed about hainous
matters which was proved against him."
And so the fifty colonists had their troubles at home and abroad, but they
held on bravely notwithstanding.
For some mysterious reason the Indians ceased to molest them, possibly
because their own great harvesting time was at hand, and also the hunting
season for more profitable game than a few starved Englishmen. However
that may be, they still had their eyes on the intruders, and in order
to enter their fort appeared with a present of "Bread, Corne, Fish and
Flesh in great plentie." Thus the representatives of the proudest nation
on earth suffered the humiliation of becoming pensioners upon the bounty
of savages whose country they had invaded, and whose land they had taken
without purchase or permission.
That there was no true friendship is evident from the fact that John
Smith, going down the river in search of supplies, was received at a
little town with scornful defiance, to which he replied by a volley of
musketry. Following up his advantage, he landed and captured "Okeus," the
god of the Powhatans, and bestowed him, with all his stuffing of moss and
his copper chains, on board the shallop. The terrified Indians, expecting
the sky to fall should Okeus be displeased, immediately ransomed his
Sacredness with a good store of venison, wild fowl, and bread.
Nothing can exceed the plenty in southern Virginia which swarms in sea and
air in the months of October and November. The splendid solan-goose, sora,
wild ducks, and wild turkey were found in 1607 in even greater plenty
than at the present day. No Thanksgiving dinners had thinned their ranks.
The rivers literally swarmed with fish. These were all at the command
of the settlers. Of corn for bread there was always scarcity--but surely
Newport had not forgotten them! They would boil the roots and gather the
persimmons until he came. Then, too, some of the disturbers of the peace
had been silenced. Kendall had been tried by a jury and shot; Ratcliffe
and Archer had attempted to steal the pinnace, and been foiled by Smith's
vigilance and resolution.
The helm of affairs had been intrusted to John Smith as Cape Merchant, and
he now took the lead. His strong hand was soon recognized in the colony.
He set the colonists to work and worked with them, mowing, building, and
thatching log cabins,--he himself always performing the heaviest tasks. In
a short time shelter was provided for all,--now numbering only forty-five
individuals,--and a church was built on the site to which pilgrims now
resort as to a Mecca.[28] It was not an imposing structure, but it was
a regular church. The chronicles describe it as a log building, covered
like the cabins with rafts, sedge, and dirt. Thus the Virginians,--despite
their enemies, barbarian and Spanish,--with all their conflicts, illness,
and death, had made a good beginning. They had felled trees, built houses,
and erected a church, and were saying their prayers in it, like honest
people who were bent on doing their duty in that state of life in which
it had pleased Heaven to place them.