Gloucester County, Virginia, 1670; led an independent force
against hostile Indians in 1675-76 in spite of Governor
Berkeley's opposition; as the head of the republican movement
he came into open conflict with Berkeley and the royalists; he
captured and burned Jamestown in September, 1676; died the
following October; known as a rebel, but the principles for
which he fought were in the main those of independence and
patriotism.
She sat down in the midst of the Assembly, listening eagerly to the
arguments for the suppression and, if need be, the extinction of her
race. And she remembered Totopotomoi bleeding for these people who would
not recognize her rights. She arose and made a speech in her own tongue,
eloquent with gesticulation; the refrain of it was a mad wail:
"Totopotomoi chepiak!" (_i.e._, Totopotomoi dead).
Colonel Hill, the younger, touched a fellow-member on the shoulder, and
whispered: "What she says is true. Totopotomoi fought with my father,
and fell with his warriors."
But the Assembly would not listen to the poor suffering Queen. They
wanted to fight more battles, and the Queen of the Pamunkeys must
furnish her quota.
"How many men will you furnish?" asked Nathaniel Bacon. "How many will
you give to fight and subdue the treacherous tribes which threaten our
peace?"
The Queen was silent. She remembered her husband and his slain braves.
She had fears for her son, and she would not speak.
"How many?" asked Bacon.
The poor Queen had her head turned away and bowed.
"How many?" demanded the famous rebel again.
Then she slowly turned her lovely face, and softly whispered, "Six."
Her answer infuriated Bacon, who considered the number contemptible.
"How many more?" he asked.
The Queen gave him a glance of indignant hate, and haughtily answered,
"Twelve." Then she gathered her robes about her, and majestically left
the room.
Once more we see the Queen of the Pamunkeys, and now in fear and
adversity. Bacon in his campaign destroyed the Pamunkey settlement--the
same tribe which had so nobly assisted the English.
The poor Queen, terrified, fled far into the forest, accompanied by
"onely a little Indian boy." Her old nurse followed her, but was
captured. Bacon ordered the old woman to guide him to a certain point,
but she, full of revenge, led him in an opposite direction, whereupon
the rebel ordered her to be knocked in the head.
The Queen wandered about almost crazy, and at last determined to return
and throw herself upon Bacon's mercy; but as she was rushing towards her
desolated wigwam she came upon the body of her murdered nurse, which so
affrighted her that she ran back into the wilderness, where she remained
"fourteen daies without food, and would have perished but that she
gnawed on the legg of a terrapin which the little Indian boy brought
her."
So only a few vivid sketches of this Queen are preserved to us in
history but they have gained for her a place as a martyr. In recognition
of her own and her husband's deeds, Charles II. bestowed upon her a
silver crown, with the lion of England, the lilies of France, and the
harp of Ireland engraved thereon.
Savages are not averse to the baubles of civilization, and the crown
which their Queen wore was a blessed treasure to her tribe for a hundred
years after the Queen was dead.
The Pamunkey tribe, or a pitiful remnant of them, still dwell in
Virginia, on the river which bears their name. They have a chief, and
their own government. Annually they send tribute of fish and game and
Indian handiwork to the Governor of Virginia. They are weakening
physically, and pray for new blood from the Western reservation.
Once the tribe started for the West, carrying their best treasure, the
silver crown. They came to the plantation of Mr. Morson, at Falmouth,
and there bad weather and sickness made them halt. Mr. Morson attended
to their physical wants, and allowed them to pitch their tents upon his
land until their distress abated.
"What do we owe you?" asked the chief, when they had decided to return
to their former Virginia reservation.
"Nothing," said Mr. Morson. Perhaps he remembered Totopotomoi and his
sorrowing Queen.
"Then we will give you what we value most," and the chief presented to
Mr. Morson the crown of the Queen of the Pamunkeys. For three
generations it remained in the Morson family, and then it was purchased
by the Association for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities.
The crown is really a frontlet, and the Queen of the Pamunkeys wore it
upon her brow, surmounted by a red velvet cap, long since destroyed by
moths, and bound to her head by two silver chains.
VI
HOW A BLACKSMITH'S BOY BECAME A KNIGHT
The Treasure-hunt of William Phipps in the late Seventeenth Century
Sir William Phipps, Baronet; Captain in the Royal Navy; Captain-General
and Commander-in-Chief of Massachusetts Bay; Governor of Massachusetts.
What do you think of all these titles for one man to wear? Surely, you
say, he must naturally have been a great man to deserve so much
distinction; and again you say that the conditions of his life must
account for such honors; that he must have been of gentle birth, reared
in luxury, his education carefully attended by excellent masters, and
great influence brought to bear upon his King to advance him so far on
the high-road of fame. Well, let us see if facts will sustain this
thought.
William Phipps was born February 2, 1650, in a wretched log house on the
banks of the Kennebec River. His father, an honest but ignorant
blacksmith, was more dependent upon his rifle and fishing-line to supply
his family with food than upon the occasional shilling that found its
way into the smoke-begrimed interior of his rude workshop.
Without education himself, the father was unable to instruct his
children beyond the simplest rules of arithmetic and the plainest
spelling and reading, but these he drilled them in as perseveringly as
he did in the terrifying religious catechism of that day. In the course
of years, when William developed into a robust, courageous lad, he
shared with his parents the duties of providing for his sisters and
brothers by either shouldering the heavy fire-arm and plunging into the
dark Maine forests in quest of game, or in taking his father's place and
beating out the iron sparks, while the sturdy smith dropped a
temptingly baited hook into the swiftly flowing stream.
In the year 1676, in his twenty-seventh year, the hero of our story
received his parents' blessing, and left home for the purpose of seeking
his fortune. With a hopeful heart and an exceedingly light pocket, he
made his way to Boston, and found employment in the blacksmith-shop of
one Roger Spencer, whose pretty daughter Charity soon won the heart of
her father's handsome, stalwart helper.
So far we fail to find very much in the way of gentle birth, luxury,
education, and influence. But then, you may ask, how, under such
circumstances, could he ever have risen so high? Let us follow his
career.
His lack of worldly goods was made the excuse for refusing the offer of
his heart and hand that he made to the fair Puritan, and in the hope of
improving his fortunes he forsook the forge and shipped on board of a
merchant vessel to follow the adventurous life of a sailor. When saying
farewell, he gave his promise to return in a few years with money enough
to build a fair brick house for his lady-love in one of the green lanes
of Boston.
The ship in which Phipps sailed carried a cargo to the island of
Jamaica, then cruised between that port and England for several voyages.
Owing to his industry and ability as a seaman, Phipps was after a time
advanced to the position of mate. A voyage or two following his
promotion he fell in with an old seaman who claimed to be the only
survivor of a Spanish vessel containing immense treasure that had been
wrecked on one of the coral islands in the West Indies some years
before. It appears that this treasure-ship had sailed from the coast of
South America, freighted with a cargo of silver which had been dug out
of the mines and cast into bricks to be conveyed to Spain. The sailor
assured Mr. Phipps that the exact location of the wreck was known to
him, and agreed, for a certain share of the profits, to conduct an
expedition to the place where the vessel had gone down. Believing the
story to be true, the mate bound the seaman to secrecy, and gave him a
berth on board his vessel.
Upon arriving in London, application was made by him to the King for
permission and aid to fit out a ship for the purpose of recovering a
great treasure that had been lost by the sinking of a Spanish galleon in
the West Indies, claiming that he had accidentally learned the location
of the vessel, and that he would guarantee to secure the precious cargo.
After considerable delay a ship called the _Algier Rose_ was placed
under his command, and with a crew of ninety men he set sail. Upon
reaching the West Indies a mutiny broke out among the forecastle hands,
and Captain Phipps found it necessary to put into Jamaica, discharge all
hands, and ship a new company. He now started for the scene of the
wreck, but a day or two following the carpenter informed him that he had
overheard the sailors plot to capture the vessel as soon as the treasure
was recovered, and use the craft thereafter as a pirate. The Captain
immediately decided to return to England, where he arrived after a
stormy passage. Under the patronage of the Duke of Albemarle the ship
was refitted, and a trustworthy crew put on board.
The second voyage across the Atlantic was pleasant and speedy, but just
after entering the Caribbean Sea a new danger threatened the
adventurers, for early one morning they encountered a large Spanish
frigate, which at once started in chase of them. Captain Phipps
addressed his crew, telling them that if they permitted their ship to be
captured they would be sent into the interior of the country as slaves,
to drag out their lives in the silver-mines. He bade them fight bravely
if they wished to enjoy home and freedom ever again. The superior speed
of the Spaniard soon enabled that vessel to open fire on the _Algier
Rose_, which so heartily returned the compliment that some of the
foreigner's spars were shot away, making her fall astern of her saucy
enemy, who now succeeded in escaping. Without further trouble the
treasure-hunters reached the island on whose treacherous coral reefs the
silver-ship had been wrecked. Here the _Algier Rose_ was safely moored,
and search commenced for the sunken wealth.
The small boats were used to explore the reefs, and served as platforms
from which the best swimmers in the crew would dive into the channels
between the walls of coral on the lee side of the island, endeavoring to
locate the spot where the galleon had been carried before she struck. As
the water in these places seldom exceeded twenty feet in depth, the
bottom would have been plainly visible from the boat had it not been for
the continuous rippling and foaming of the surface water. Several weeks
were passed in a vain pursuit, and at last, worn out and discouraged,
the men positively refused to continue the work. By agreeing to abandon
the enterprise and set sail for England at the end of another week,
unless some success was met with, the Captain prevailed upon several of
his seamen to aid him for that length of time.
Day after day went by, and the seventh and last day specified in the
agreement arrived. Two of the divers had broken down under the strain,
and now when the final trial was to be made the Captain called for two
men to go in their stead, but no one responded. He then appealed to
their manhood, asked them if he had not shared all their labors, and
asked them to give him but one day more. The dispirited sailors made no
response to the appeal, but the cook volunteered to go if some one would
take his place in the galley. This man was a negro about thirty years of
age, and had been shipped in England to act as a cabin servant on the
_Algier Rose_, but the ship's cook having died on the passage out, he
had been sent into the caboose to take the former's place. Possessing a
powerful physique and being an excellent swimmer, he stood by his
Captain that day, the sole remaining hope, and seemed tireless in his
efforts to find for the disheartened commander some evidence of the
treasure, which the seamen swore existed only in the capsized brain of
the man whom they could see out yonder under the broiling sun guiding
the boat in and out of the channels, while the laughing, leaping waters
tinkled against the bows and ran in gurgling, mocking glee along the
side. The negro would dive into the sea, and a few moments later
reappear; then, as he swam towards the boat, he would shake his head in
answer to the anxious, questioning look in the Captain's eyes. The boat
would move on again a short distance, and while the rowers held it
stationary a dark form would part the water and sink down and down among
the startled fishes, that flashed away in affright from the strange
creature whose darting arms seemed to grasp at them as they shot for
safety among the branches of coral underbush.
The morning has passed gloomily away, and the negro plunges over the
side for the last time before the men row back to the ship for dinner.
Suddenly a black face in which is set two wildly rolling eyes bobs up
alongside the boat, and a voice choking for breath and broken with
excitement manages to gasp, "Him down thar, Massa Cap'n; him down thar!"
The great treasure is discovered!
No more despondency now. No more aching limbs. Splash, splash, splash!
The rowers have torn off their scanty clothing, and jumped over the
side to prove with their own eyes the story brought up to them from the
bottom of the sea. One by one men reappear, and their recovered breath
is used to send such a glad shout across the reefs that their shipmates
hear it over a mile away, tumble into the boats alongside, and pull
madly out to them; then learning the joyful news, they break into
cheers, kick off their garments, and overboard they also go to see the
ingots of silver scattered over the white sand amid the torn and broken
remnants of the wreck.
During the two weeks that followed the crew of the _Algier Rose_ worked
zealously at recovering the wealth that the Spaniards had taken such
pains to garner from the mountain range just back of the coast. A
shallow net-work bag was hitched together by the seamen for the purpose
of holding the bars of silver that the divers would throw into it. Those
manning the float that had been constructed would lower the rope cradle
until it rested on the bottom; then the diver would thrust his feet
into a pair of heavy lead slippers and drop through the hole in the
centre of the raft which was anchored above the wreck. An instant later,
when the bed of sand was reached, the diver would quickly select and
throw a brick of metal into the basket, drop his clumsy foot-gear into
the same receptacle, and then, relieved of the weight which had held him
down, he would shoot up to the surface of the water. Accepting his
reappearance as a signal, the men on the float would haul up the net,
lift out the treasure, and pass it into the small boats to be carried to
the ship. At the end of a fortnight, when the divers reported that the
last bar had been gathered, the Captain calculated that he had recovered
fully thirty tons of pure silver.
The stone in the lower hold was thrown overboard to make room for the
noble ballast, which was carefully stowed and wedged in its mean and
gloomy quarters under the decks. The _Algier Rose_ now sailed for
England, where she arrived safely five weeks from the day that her
anchor had been hove up from its resting-place on the white coral bed
off the treasure island.
Captain Phipps's share of the profits was very large, but the exact
amount is unknown. In addition to a princely revenue, the King was so
much pleased with him for bringing such wealth into the country that he
conferred on him the honor of knighthood, and to reward him still
further for having beaten off the Spanish man-of-war, his Majesty was
pleased to grant him a commission as Captain in the Royal Navy.
Sir William soon sailed for Boston in command of a fine frigate, and a
reunion with the now-envied Charity was speedily followed by the tying
of a true-lover's knot before the altar of the old meeting-house near
the fort. A few months later the former blacksmith's boy redeemed his
promise by presenting to my lady "a fair brick house in one of the green
lanes of Boston." This residence, which was erected on Salem Street,
stood until a few years ago, being last used as an orphan asylum for
boys. In 1690 Sir William was named by the King, Captain-General and
Commander-in-Chief of Massachusetts Bay, and several years later
received a royal patent as Governor of Massachusetts.
VII
THE GIRL CAPTAIN OF CASTLE DANGEROUS
How Three Children Fought the Iroquois in 1692
Among all the incidents of endurance and pluck set forth in the annals
of the history of North America, few can be found more remarkable than
that which is contained in some very dusty pages to be read in quaint
French in a Paris library, or in the transcription of them by one of our
own historical authors--the "Statement of Mademoiselle Magdeleine de
Vercheres, aged Fourteen Years," daughter of the commander of a lonely
French fort, called after her father, which stood on the St. Lawrence
River a score of miles below Montreal.
It was October 22, 1692. The strong fort enclosure, stockade and
block-house, were open, and the residents were at work in their fields
at some distance. M. de Vercheres was at Quebec on military business.
His wife (who was the heroine of another famous incident of those
perilous days) had gone to Quebec. In the stockade were actually only
two soldiers, a couple of lads who were the young girl's brothers, one
very aged man, and a few women and children. Magdeleine--or, as we
should now spell it, Madeleine--was standing at a considerable distance
from the open gate of the fort with a servant, little suspecting any
danger.
All at once a rattle of arms from the direction where some of the
agriculturists were busy startled her. It was repeated. She began to see
men running in terror in the far-away fields. At the same moment the
serving-man beside her, equally astonished, exclaimed, "Run,
Mademoiselle, run; the Iroquois are upon us!" The young girl looked
where he pointed, and lo! a troop of some forty or fifty of the wily
savages, thinking to surprise the stockade while their main band
attacked those who were outside, were running towards the gates,
scarcely a hundred yards from where she stood trembling. There was not
an instant to lose. It was life or death for her and all. She fled for
the fort. The rest of her story can largely be quoted from Mademoiselle
Madeleine's own recitation, published at the time.
"The Iroquois who chased me, seeing that they could not catch me alive
before I reached the gate, stopped and fired at me. The bullets whistled
about my ears, and [as she says, dryly] made the time seem very long. As
soon as I was near enough to be heard, I cried out, 'To arms! to arms!'
hoping that somebody would come out and help me, but it was no use. The
two soldiers in the fort were so terrified that they had hidden within
the block-house.
"At the gate I found two women crying for their husbands, who had just
been killed. I forced them to go in and shut the gate. I next thought
what I could do to save myself and the few people with me. I went to
inspect the fort, and found that several palisades had fallen down and
left openings by which the enemy could easily get in. I ordered them to
be set up again, and helped to carry them myself."
It may be asked how there was sufficient time for this necessary work.
But it must be remembered that the Indians seldom came directly to the
stockade in daylight, dreading concealed defenders greatly, and in the
present instance they were ignorant of the singularly unprotected state
of this fort. So the brave little girl was able to prepare for the worst
with all her wonderful presence of mind and courage. She continues:
"When all the breaches were stopped, I went to the block-house, where
the ammunition is kept, and here I found the two soldiers, one hiding in
a corner, and the other with a lighted match in his hand. 'What are you
going to do with that match?' I asked. He answered, 'Set off the powder
and blow us all up!' 'You are a miserable coward,' said I. 'Go out of
this place!' I spoke so resolutely that he obeyed. I then threw off my
bonnet, and after putting on a hat and taking a gun I said to my
brothers: 'Let us fight to the death. We are fighting for our country
and our religion. Remember that our father has taught you that gentlemen
are born to shed their blood for the service of God and the King.'"
Getting her little company together in the stockade, and discovering the
Iroquois moving about the fields, and either pursuing the unfortunate
men and women in them, or else discussing the best means of advancing,
Madeleine began firing at them from various loop-holes, and directed a
cannon to be discharged to deter them from coming nearer, and at the
same time to spread the alarm over the vicinity. The women and children
shrieked and clamored. She made them be silent, for fear of letting the
redskins suspect the situation. The foe drew back and remained quiet for
a time, and as they did this a canoe with several persons in it was seen
out upon the river coming swiftly to the dock near the fort. It was
evident that those in it did not suspect the danger that was so near,
whatever else they had heard. It was possible to save them from
slaughter, and at the same time add the settler she recognized in the
canoe, with his family, to the little garrison. Madeleine went out
alone--none other dared--from the stockade to the dock, and received
them.
The Indians, seeing only a little girl meet the new arrivals, feared a
grand sortie if they dashed out of their ambush, and allowed Madeleine
to escort the new-comers--a settler named Fontaine and his party--into
the fort gates unhurt. She had hoped for this, and was overjoyed at her
success. Her garrison now numbered six. She goes on:
"Strengthened by this reinforcement, I ordered that the enemy should be
fired on whenever they showed themselves. After sunset a violent
northeast wind began to blow, accompanied by snow and hail, which told
us we should have a terrible night. The Iroquois were all this time
lurking about us, and I judged by their movements that, instead of being
deterred by the storm, they would climb into the fort under cover of the
darkness. I assembled all my troop (that is to say, six persons), and
spoke to them thus: 'God has saved us to-day from the hands of our
foes, but we must take care not to fall into their snares to-night. As
for me, I want you to see that I am not afraid. I will take charge of
the fort, with the old man [she adds that he was eighty, and had never
fired a gun, but he could probably carry an alarm]; and you, Pierre
Fontaine, with La Bonte and Gachet, go to the block-house with the women
and children, because that is the strongest place; and if I am taken,
don't surrender, even if I am cut to pieces and burned before your eyes.
The enemy cannot hurt you in the block-house, if you make the least show
of fight.'
"I placed my young brothers on two of the bastions, the old man on the
third, and I took the fourth; and all night, in spite of wind, snow, and
hail, the cries of 'All's well!' were kept up from the block-house to
the fort, and from the fort to the block-house. One would have thought
that the place was full of soldiers. The Iroquois believed so, and were
completely deceived, as they confessed afterwards to M. de Callieres, to
whom they told that they had held a council to make a plan for
capturing the fort in the night, but had done nothing because such a
constant watch was kept.