The Birth of the Nation (Illustrated Edition): Jamestown, 1607

Sara Agnes Rice Pryor

The Birth of the Nation (Illustrated Edition)

Jamestown, 1607

Illustrator: William de Leftwich Dodge

Madison & Adams Press, 2018

Contact [email protected]

ISBN 978-80-268-9954-9

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Table of Contents

CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII LEGENDS OF THE OLD STONE HOUSE

The First English Church in America.

'Tis just three hundred years ago

We sailed through unknown Narrows

And landed on an unknown coast

Amid a flight of arrows.

We planted England's standard there,

And taught the Western savage.

In its defence we lightly held

His tomahawk and ravage.

And there, between two forest trees,

We raised our first rude altar;

Roofed by a storm-rent sail we read

Old England's Prayers and Psalter,

An echo in the strange, new land

Awoke to slumber never:

It caught old England's battle-word —

God and my Right forever!

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY

Table of Contents

We are about to commemorate the settlement of the English at Jamestown three hundred years ago. Under God's blessing, we are not only at peace with all the world, but are bound by ties of close friendship to the great kingdoms and republics on earth. Therefore, we may confidently expect to welcome numbers of their representatives to our three hundredth birthday celebration. Many will be the banners unfurled in waters which ebbed and flowed in awful silence but three hundred years ago, or were stirred only by the paddle of the Indian canoe; and loud the thunders of welcome and greeting from shores which echoed then with the scream of the eagle and the war-whoop of the savage.

The story of a world emerging from the darkness in which it had been hidden for countless ages will always thrill the imagination. Phantom ships loom dimly out of the mists of a far-off time. Strange names are whispered in vague traditions, which are found in no written record — names of mighty mariners, who were blown by tempests upon a strange coast, — Arthur; Malgro; Brandon; a Fryer of Lynn, who by reason of his black art reached the North Pole in 1360; Madock, sonne of Quinneth, Prince of Wales, a man of peace, who sought refuge in a wilderness because of strife among his brethren; Leif, the Norwegian; Nicolo Zeno, the Venetian; Hanno, the Carthaginian! Colossal figures tremble for a moment on the horizon, and are lost in fog and doubt.

At last the great Genoese sails forth, and becomes a tangible figure in history. Often as his story may be told, familiar as it is to every schoolboy in the land, we can never hear it without a keen realization of its personal relations to ourselves. It would be impossible, said Daniel Webster, for us to read the discovery of our continent without being reminded how much it has affected our own fortunes and our own existence. It would be unnatural for us to contemplate with unaffected minds that most touching and pathetic scene when the great discoverer of America stood on the deck of his shattered bark, the shades of night falling on the sea, yet no man sleeping; tossed on the billows of an unknown ocean, yet the stronger billows of alternate hope and despair tossing his own troubled thoughts; extending forward his harassed frame, straining westward his anxious and eager eyes, till Heaven at last granted him a moment of rapture and ecstasy, in blessing his vision with the sight of an unknown world.

Intensely interesting are the narratives of the daring adventurers who followed Columbus — of the Cabots who landed and claimed the country for the English crown; of the Spaniards and Portuguese upon whom Pope Alexander the Sixth generously bestowed the world, giving to the Spaniards the western, and to the Portuguese the eastern part of it,¹ for in those days it was but necessary for any pirate or sea adventurer from either nation to land and erect a stone or stick on the coast, to constitute a valid claim to possession in the name of Spain or Portugal and a right to drive out or exterminate the ancient inhabitants and owners of the land.

But of all the early adventurers none is so interesting to us as Amerigo Vespucci, whose name we bear. He won for himself this honour simply and solely because of his literary ability, which enabled him to write an interesting narrative of his adventures. The historian is fortunate who has no one to contradict him. He may draw his pictures from imagination and make them as gorgeous as he pleases. There is no reason to believe that Vespucci failed to make liberal use of this privilege; but that did not in the least retard the success of his book. It has been repeatedly asserted that it was not through his fault that the name of this continent was given to him, rather than to the man who deserved that honour; that his German translator, Martin Waldsemüller, suggested it; that the idea was comical enough to catch the fancy of the Portuguese, who at once adopted it. The Spaniards, on the other hand, resented it, and complained bitterly that the honour was stolen from the rightful possessor. On the death of Columbus, Vespucci entered the service of Spain, and was stationed at Seville, with the title of pilot-major. Part of his duty was to mark out on charts the tracks to be followed by Spanish navigators, and he always distinguished the new world, first, by the words Amerigo's Land, and presently, America! This settles his responsibility for a fraud which never did and never will deceive anybody. He was a skilful navigator, — a great man in his day and generation, — but no renown to him has gone with the name he strove to make immortal. Vespucci has ever been deemed a very inconsiderable person in comparison with Columbus, although it has come to pass that half the world bears his name.

The Spaniard, with fire and sword, swiftly followed Vespucci. He took possession of Florida, overthrew the temples and idols in Mexico, conquered Peru! The French were already here, — that did not signify, — the power of Spain was speedily established. Before the English flag floated over so much as a log fort, Spain was mistress of Central America. Her ships crept along the coast, peered into Chesapeake Bay, and explored harbours and inlets with reference to future possession.

It was quite time for England to remember and confirm her claim. Spain was her enemy. Spain was growing rich from American gold, and powerful by reason of American possessions. Already four hundred vessels came annually from the harbours of Portugal and Spain (and some from France and England), to the shores of Newfoundland. Queen Elizabeth granted a liberal patent² to one of her bravest soldiers, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, with the right to establish a colony. With Sir Walter Raleigh's aid, he equipped a squadron of three ships, but misfortunes befell his little vessels, and he attempted to return to England with two ships, the Hind and the Squirrel. A great storm arose; the oldest mariner had never seen a more outrageous sea, and in it the Squirrel perished. The Hind returned to tell the story of Sir Humphrey's devotion and courage; how out of the darkness a brave voice rang out — the voice of the good old knight to whom the Queen had given with her blessing a golden anchor set with pearls — Be of good cheer, my friends! We are as near to Heaven by sea as by land, and how his ship went down in the night!

Such was the spirit of the few Englishmen who came hither before 1600 on fruitless voyages — sighting our shores only — like sea-birds which hover on restless wing near the coast for a moment, then wheel and return to their nests in some far-away island.

¹ Hume's James I, p. 83

² Hakluyt, III, 174-176.

CHAPTER II

Table of Contents

With Sir Walter Raleigh the history of the English colonies in America begins. He was a prime favourite with Queen Elizabeth, and she knew how to exalt and abase, to create and destroy. To Raleigh she gave viceregal powers over any and all of England's prospective colonies, with no limit to his control over territories, of which he could bestow grants according to his pleasure. He sent out an exploring expedition to the islands near North Carolina. The adventurers returned with glowing accounts of the country. The season was summer — seas were tranquil, skies clear; no storms ever gathered on those peaceful shores; all was repose. The gentle inhabitants were in harmony with the scene; flowers and fruit abounded, grapes were clustered close to the coast and cooled by the spray of a quiet sea; there was no winter, no cold. A hundred islands clustered along the shores, inhabited by people the most gentle, loving, and faithful, void of all guile and treason, and such as lived after the manner of the golden age. No wonder a new expedition of one hundred and eight colonists was soon organized. Seven vessels were equipped, and sailed under the happiest auspices. But, alas! the gentle people living after the manner of the golden age proved thievish and deceitful; disasters, many and varied, followed; the adventurers forsook the paradise of the world, and the enterprise came to naught.

Queen Elizabeth.

From an engraving after the painting by Zucchero.

History has preserved no stranger, more mysterious story than the next experiment of Sir Walter Raleigh. To insure the permanence of his second colony, he decided to send families, women and children, to the fruitful Islands of Roanoke, to make a permanent home, and found the City of Raleigh. A fleet of transport ships carried eighty-nine men, seventeen women, and eleven little children, with every appliance for comfort, and ample provision of implements of husbandry. The colony arrived in August, after a five months' voyage, and were dismayed to find the island strewn with human bones. They had expected sundry decent dwelling-houses; they found the ruins of the houses and forts their predecessors had erected. The men who had been left behind by the first governor had been murdered by the loving, gentle, and faithful people.

There was nothing to do but make the best of it. But the charm was broken. The colonists were alarmed and disheartened. The Indians were not friends — that became evident at once. Realizing their danger, weakness, and utter dependence upon England, the heartsick immigrants looked with dismay upon the departure of the ships, and they implored their Governor to return and represent their true condition to Elizabeth, the Godmother of Virginia, and to the powerful Raleigh, her servant.

On the 18th of August, according to the ancient author's report, Ellinor, the Governour's daughter, and wife to Ananias Dare, was delivered of a daughter in Roanoke, which being the first Christian there borne, was called 'Virginia.' The Governor was loth to leave his colony, his daughter, and grandchild, but they thought none would so truly procure theire supplyes as he, which though he did what he could to excuse it, yet their importunitie would not cease till he undertooke it; and had it under all their hands how unwilling he was but that necessity and reason did doubly constraine him.

Of course, the Governor promised to hasten his return. The story is a strange one — of feeble effort, cupidity, indifference.

The Governor did not reach England until November. Raleigh at once fitted out two small vessels which sailed the following April, but the crew,¹ being more intent on a gainful voyage than the relief of a colony, ran in chase of prizes, were themselves overcome and rifled. In this maimed, ransacked, and ragged condition, they returned to England, and, the writer adds, their patron was greatly displeased. After this, for a whole year no relief was sent. Raleigh had now spent forty thousand pounds on his colonies with no return, and he turned them over to Sir Thomas Smith. When White sailed again with three ships, history was repeated. He buccaneered among the Spaniards, until three years elapsed before he actually arrived at Roanoke.

Nothing was to be seen of the settlers there! The Governor seems to have taken things with admirable coolness! His own account is an amazing bit of narrative, when we remember the one hundred and fifteen men, women, and little children, his own Ellinor, and Virginia Dare! He tells first of his troublesome voyage. The sea was rough and his provisions were much wet; the boat when they attempted to land tossed up and down, and some of his sailors were drowned, so it was late when he arrived. The Governor was romantic. He and his company sang old familiar English songs, but no chorus came in response from the silent shore. Seeing a fire through the woods we then sounded a trumpet, but no answer could we heare. The next morning we went to it, but could see nothing but the grasse and some rotten trees burning. We went up and downe the Ile and at last found three faire Romane Letters carved: C. R. O., which presently we knew to signifie the place where I should find them, according to a secret note betweene them and me: which was to write the name of the place they would be upon some tree, dore, or post: and if they had beene in any distresse, to signifie it by making a crosse above it. But we found no sign of distress (doubtless the writer had been tomahawked before he finished his signal), then we went to a place where there were sundry houses, and on one of the chief posts, carved in fayre capitall Letters, C. R. O. A. T. A. N., without any signe of distresse. Lead and iron and shot were scattered about overgrown with weeds, and some chists were found which had been hidden and digged up againe, which when I saw I knew three to be my owne, but books, pictures, and all things els were spoyled. Though it much grieved me, yet it did comfort me to know they were at Croatan.

But the Governor never went in search of them at the Indian village indicated! He weighed anchor to that end, but cables broke, etc. Considering they had but one anchor and their provision neare spent, they determined to go to Trinidad or some other island to refresh ourselves and seeke for purchase that winter, and the next spring come againe to seeke our countrymen. But they met in the meantime with many of the Queene's ships and divers others, and left seeking our colony, that was never any of them found nor seene to this day 1622. And this was the conclusion of this plantation after so much time, labour, and charge consumed. Whereby we see, continues the Governor, who was poetic as well as romantic: —

"Not all at once nor all alike, nor ever hath it been,

That God doth offer and confer his blessings upon men."

A most philosophic Governor, truly! Even to this day we feel more emotion at the possible fate of these hapless Englishmen. Had they perished from famine? Had they fallen before the Indian tomahawk? Had the women and children been spared and given to the chiefs according to savage custom? Alas for Virginia Dare! Three years they had looked for succour, and been basely forsaken by their countrymen. They were not forgotten altogether. Part of the errand of every ship thereafter, and part of every order sent out to the colony, was to seek for Raleigh's men. But they had disappeared utterly — as silently and surely as the morning dew before the sun. Twenty years later friendly Indians told a story of doubtful value to William Strachey and others; but the secret is still a secret, and this disappearance of more than a hundred human beings is one of the strangest events in history.

¹ Stith's History, p. 25.

CHAPTER III

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When Lord Bacon was informed that his great Queen Elizabeth had died just before daybreak, he exclaimed, A fine morning before sun-rising, — the rising of King James the First. Far more appropriate would have been the words, The sun has set before the night.

James the First shambles across the pages of history a grotesque figure enough, — tottering on weak legs which seem incapable of supporting his padded dirk-proof doublet, with pockets further distended by the unread petitions (sifflications as he termed them) of his unhappy subjects. From his mother, so conspicuous for grace and beauty, he seems to have inherited nothing, unless we may credit the painters, who have given him beautiful hands. His broad Scotch was