New World, Inc.

by John Butman

  Raleigh Gilbert no doubt weighed his options. Although Gorges doubted Gilbert’s skills as a leader, the colony had fared reasonably well under his command. The colonists had endured the cold and harsh conditions with only one casualty—George Popham. Despite some quarrels and divisions, there had been no outright conflict, no serious threats of mutiny, no resistance of the kind that Humphrey Gilbert had faced from his Newfoundland crew. In the New World, Raleigh Gilbert had a great deal of freedom as well as unlimited, if uncertain, opportunity. He could perhaps pursue his claim, based on his father’s patent of 1578, to a huge portion of America, and establish the commonwealth his father had imagined. He might one day open the route to China that Sir Humphrey had dreamed of and that George Popham had believed was not far away. Alternatively, he could return home and take his place as lord of the manor at Compton Castle, the family’s darkly forbidding fortified residence in Devon. He would have land, resources, a network of the best and brightest, and all the luxuries and amenities of a courtier’s life.

  In the end, the lure of England was too great. Gilbert chose the safer, more conventional path. His choice made the decision for the entire community. No new leader stepped forward. The settlers did not try to persuade Gilbert to continue. They boarded the Mary and John and departed for England, taking with them the pinnace Virginia, which was the most distinctive memento of the Sagadahoc Colony.25

  The return of the settlers and the abandonment of the colony was a bitter blow for Gorges. “The arrival of these people here in England was a wonderful discouragement to all the first undertakers,” he wrote, “in so much as there was no more speech of settling any other plantation in those parts for a long time after.”26

  17

  FIRST COLONY

  RALEIGH GILBERT’S RETREAT from Sagadahoc was a heartbreaking setback for the merchants and courtiers of the Plymouth Company, but Ferdinando Gorges exaggerated the wider significance of the failure on England’s efforts to establish a colony in the New World. This is because the London Company had already embarked on a rival colonial project, 750 miles farther south along the coast.

  It was better resourced, better managed—by Sir Thomas Smythe—and better staffed than the Plymouth Company. The captain of the fleet was Christopher Newport, one of England’s most experienced Atlantic sailors. He had been a prominent privateer during England’s long sea war with Spain. In one escapade, he had engaged in a fierce battle with Spanish treasure ships and his right arm was “strooken off.” This did not slow him down, however. In 1592, the one-armed captain commanded one of the ships that seized the Madre de Dios, and took charge of sailing the prized vessel into port.1 His second-in-command was Bartholomew Gosnold, who left his mark on the landscape of North America when he named Cape Cod and Martha’s Vineyard during his only other voyage across the Atlantic four years earlier.2

  Richard Hakluyt had expected to make the journey to the new colony, where he was to serve as chaplain, and James I gave him express permission to do so.3 The preacher-writer had come close to joining Humphrey Gilbert on his ultimately disastrous voyage to Newfoundland in the 1580s. In the end, however, he did not step on board Gilbert’s ship—and nor did he go this time. By now in his mid-fifties, he was married, well-to-do, and well-established. Perhaps he felt he had more to lose than to gain by joining a risky venture. He did, nevertheless, throw himself into the preparations for the voyage and almost certainly took a leading role in drafting some of the company’s instructions to Newport and his fellow leaders.4

  Newport’s fleet of three ships—the Susan Constant, the Godspeed, and the Discovery, a twelve-ton pinnace—set sail from Blackwall on Saturday, December 20, 1606, with a contingent of 144 men and boys.5 They followed the southerly route, but avoided the Spanish and the fate that had befallen Henry Challons in late 1606, and on April 26, 1607, reached the coastal headland at the entrance to what is now Chesapeake Bay, in present-day Virginia. Newport and thirty of the colonists stepped ashore and named the place Cape Henry, after James I’s eldest son and heir to the throne.

  The “certain orders and directions” for the settlers created by the London Company’s leaders had some striking new features. Newport was put in “sole charge” of everyone on board—even the aristocrats and gentlemen—from the moment of departure to “such time as they shall fortune to land upon the coast of Virginia.” Then, once the ships reached their destination, his exclusive authority was to cease and power was to be transferred to a governing body, the Council of Virginia (not to be confused with the King’s Council). Thomas Smythe and the rest of the King’s Council had already chosen the members of the council that would run the colony in Virginia. But their names were kept secret and placed in a sealed package that was not to be opened until the colonists reached their destination. This strategy had been developed by Smythe and the other managers of the Muscovy and East India Company ventures, who had found it helped prevent the kind of corrosive conflicts that might otherwise lead to mutiny.6

  Once they reached Cape Henry, Newport opened the sealed package as instructed and read the list of council members. Newport himself was named, as were Gosnold and Edward Maria Wingfield, who had experience as a colonizer in Ireland. They were joined by John Martin (whose father, Richard, had served as Lord Mayor of London and governor of the Company of Mineral and Battery Works) and George Kendall, a soldier and sometime government spy. Also, the supremely self-confident John Smith, an experienced adventurer and military man, was named to the Council. Surprisingly, Gabriel Archer, who had accompanied Gosnold on his previous visit to America, was excluded. So, too, was George Percy, an aristocrat with impressive connections. His elder brother, the Earl of Northumberland, was a friend of Walter Ralegh and patron of Thomas Harriot.

  The councillors now chose Wingfield as their president. His election showed a certain deference to age and status. By then in his mid-fifties, he had royal connections: his grandfather had served as lord deputy of Calais and his father was the godson of Henry VIII’s sister Mary, hence his middle name “Maria.” In his youth, he attended Lincoln’s Inn, but thereafter pursued a military career, serving not only in Ireland but also in the Low Countries.7

  Under his leadership, the councillors turned to the pressing matter of choosing a suitable place for the plantation. The instructions advised them to take their time, so that they could be certain that their preferred location was “the strongest, most wholesome and fertile place.” Ideally, the site would be “a hundred miles from the river’s mouth, and the further up the better” so as to be out of reach of enemy attack, either by sea or by land. Also, the colonists were directed to set up a lookout station at the entrance to the river, so that ample warning of an attack could be given to the settlement farther upstream.

  Following these instructions, the colonists departed Cape Henry and entered the wide estuary of a river that they named the James, after the king. They then proceeded upriver, searching for a good location, and finally reached an island close to shore that was deemed to be “a very fit place for the erecting of a great city.”8 The colonists named the site James Towne.

  Having done this, they divided themselves into three groups of workers—again, as instructed. The first group set about constructing a series of buildings: a fort, a storehouse for victuals, and other facilities for “public and necessary use.” The second group began to farm the land, sowing seeds and planting “corn and roots.” The third group was tasked with searching for minerals and a passage to the East, which the King’s Council believed might run straight through the middle of the American landmass and empty into the Pacific.9 Led by Newport, these explorers ventured deep into Indian territory, a land known as Tsenacommacah. They had several peaceful encounters with Indians, and heard encouraging stories about mineral mines. But when they returned, they found to their horror that Indians had attacked the newly built fort at Jamestown. Eleven colonists had been wounded, one mortally, and one boy was killed outright.10

  It was
an ominous start to the life of the colony.

  AT THE END of July 1607, having spent less than two months in Jamestown, Christopher Newport returned to England to deliver a progress report to the King’s Council. (There was no news yet from the Popham group in New England.) Newport had been warned not to “write any letter of any thing that may discourage others.”11 It was one of the lessons Thomas Smythe and the other leaders had learned from the original Roanoke Colony, whose members returned home with tales of woe and undermined efforts to attract new investors.

  Newport presented the King’s Council with a letter from Wingfield and his fellow councillors that glowed with enthusiasm. The colonists had settled on the bank of an exceptional river sixty miles inland, where they were “fortified well against the Indians.” They enjoyed a “good store of wheat,” plenty of fish, and they were convinced that Virginia “would flow with milk and honey” if—and only if—the council sent a resupply mission. This, they warned, needed to be done quickly, because the “all devouring Spaniard” was still interested in Virginia.12

  Newport brought evidence of commercial opportunity: two tons of sassafras, which continued to be a sought-after commodity, and some clapboard—long thin planks of wood cut from oak, pine, and spruce trees and used for the walls and roofs of buildings. Also, he presented samples of an ore that he believed might contain traces of gold. But this mineral caused no great euphoria. Ever since the days of Frobisher’s failed expeditions, investors had greeted claims of gold with a measure of skepticism. This time Sir Walter Cope wrote to Cecil, explaining that if they were to believe what the colonists told them, then “we are fallen upon a land that promises more than the land of promise.” Instead of milk, Cope wrote, “we find pearl,” and instead of honey, gold. He cautioned, however, that they should learn from experience—“the wisest schoolmistress”—and be “of Slow belief.” Cope’s circumspection soon proved well-founded when, the very next day, the council received the results of an assay on the ore. As Cope suspected, there were no traces of copper, never mind gold.13

  Even so, Cecil was sufficiently encouraged to sanction a resupply mission, and he did not wish to waste time. He was rightly concerned that the Spanish were preparing to destroy Jamestown, occupy the land, and seize the riches that it had to offer. In September 1607, Pedro de Zúñiga, the Spanish ambassador, wrote to Philip III, suggesting that “it would be very advisable for Your Majesty to root out this noxious plant while it is so easy.” Wait much longer, he warned, and “it will be more difficult to get them out.”14

  Smythe took charge of organizing the resupply mission. He had no intention of repeating Ralegh’s administrative failures, which had undermined the Roanoke Colony. He exerted his influence with some fifty London merchants of the East India Company to raise capital for the effort, and by October—just two months after Newport’s arrival in England—two ships, led once again by Newport, were ready to sail for Virginia with 120 men and supplies for the fledgling colony. Smythe’s masterful management so impressed his fellow councillors that Cope suggested that Cecil should offer “a word of thanks” for the merchant’s “care & diligence.”15

  NEWPORT REACHED VIRGINIA on January 2, 1608—while the Challons crew was still being held in Spain and the Popham Colony was enduring a bitterly cold winter. But if he expected to find a vibrant colony full of festive cheer, he was sorely disappointed by what he found. The colony was on the brink of collapse. The previous summer, while he was sailing back to England with promising news of Jamestown, the colonists had suffered an onslaught of “the bloody flux”—dysentery. So many fell sick and died that those who lived “were scarce able to bury the dead.”16 Bartholomew Gosnold was one of the victims of that dreadful time.

  As the sickness swept the colony, the leaders bickered and the government disintegrated. “After Captain Gosnold’s death,” wrote George Percy, “the Council could hardly agree,” and they started to divide into factions.17 Three councillors—Kendall, Martin, and Ratcliffe—accused Wingfield of hoarding oatmeal, beef, eggs, and aqua vitae for his personal consumption and forced him from office.18 Ratcliffe became president and then moved to strengthen his position, arresting Kendall, whom he accused of being a Spanish spy, and eventually having him executed before a firing squad.19

  With the colonists in distress and their leaders in disarray, the controversial John Smith stepped into the breach. At twenty-seven years old, he was the youngest of the councillors, but his youth belied his vast experience. Humbly born, he left England to make his fortune. Not long after turning twenty, he was fighting as a mercenary in the Christian forces warring against the Ottoman Turks in Eastern Europe. It was during this campaign that he came of age, displaying such bravery that he was granted a coat of arms—and, with it, the status of a gentleman.

  Newport disliked the cocksure Smith. On the first voyage to Jamestown, Smith’s abrasive self-assurance had so enraged his fellow councillors that he was charged with mutinous activities, chained in the ship’s hold, and narrowly escaped hanging. But as the colony fell into crisis, Smith, demonstrating his natural leadership, started venturing out of the fort and travelling up the James River to trade for corn with Indians. There were about thirty tribes of the Powhatan group in the eastern Virginia region, a total of some 14,000 Indians. They spoke various dialects of the Algonquian language, controlled a land known as Tsenacommacah that encompassed some eight thousand square miles, and lived in a kind of confederacy under the authority of Wahunsonacock, a great chief, whom the English knew as Powhatan.20

  It was on one such upriver foray that Smith had the encounter that has entered into American legend. After paddling up the James River with a party of colonists, he split off with two men, in order to explore the nearby woods on foot. Within a few minutes, they were ambushed, Smith’s companions were slaughtered—one had “20 or 30 arrows in him”—and he was captured. He was marched to meet the brother of Wahunsonacock, who greeted him with surprising cordiality. Smith was served “great platters of fine bread” and “more venison than ten men could devour.”21 Then he was taken to meet Wahunsonacock, who resided at Werowocomoco, the capital of the Powhatan people north of Jamestown. There, some Indians forced Smith’s head onto “two great stones,” and he assumed that they were about “to beat out his brains.” Smith begged for his life, and just when it looked as if “no entreaty could prevail,” an Indian girl, perhaps ten years old, rushed forward. She took “his head in her arms, and laid her own upon his to save him from death.” The girl’s name was Matoaka. But Smith would know her as Pocahontas, a pet name for a cheeky, playful child. Smith was set free and returned to Jamestown in January 1608, arriving just a few hours before Newport’s ships hove into view.22

  Newport’s new settlers and fresh supplies bolstered the resolve of the survivors. With a population of around 160 people, the colony had never been so strong. To make it stronger still, Newport went in search of gold mines and a fast passage to the Pacific. He took Smith with him, despite his personal dislike of the young captain. He knew Smith had greater knowledge of the locality than anyone else.

  This search proved fruitless. But the expedition did mark a new chapter in the relationship between the English and the Powhatans. Until then, the English had typically captured or cajoled Indians, transporting them back across the Atlantic in order to display them as proof of discovery and to better understand their land, their language, and their culture. Now, with Smith’s help, Newport cut a deal with Wahunsonacock: Thomas Savage, a thirteen-year-old English boy, was handed over to the Powhatans in exchange for the chief’s loyal servant, Namontack. The teenaged “go-between,” the first of many who would be swapped, was to live with the Indian leader, learn the Algonquian language and, ultimately, become an interpreter. It was a remarkable gesture that was meant to engender trust and goodwill.23

  In April 1608, Newport departed for England once again, accompanied by Namontack and Edward Wingfield, the deposed president. Five months later, with Ne
wport and Wingfield gone, Smith was formally installed as president. He took a tough line with the gentlemen colonists who, he wrote, “would rather starve and rot with idleness” than do their fair share of the work.24 He warned them, “He that will not work shall not eat.” He did not want the “labour of 30 or 40 honest and industrious men” to be eaten up by “150 idle varlets.”25

  Back in London, Christopher Newport delivered to the leaders of the Virginia Company a report that Smith, a prolific writer, had prepared about the Jamestown Colony. The land was “not only exceeding pleasant for habitation,” he wrote, “but also very profitable for commerce in general.” This vast, rich territory was ruled by an impressive Indian “emperor” who was “richly hung with many chains of great pearls about his neck” and who wore “a great covering of Rahaughcums”: a cloak of raccoon skins. Land, precious commodities, furs, and accommodating Indian traders—so encouraging was this testimony that the London Company arranged for Smith’s pamphlet to be rushed into print under the title A True Relation of such occurrence and accidents of noate as hath happened in Virginia since the first planting of that Colony.26

  To this sparkling account, Smith had appended a rough sketch map which was not published. It particularly intrigued Smythe and his associates, providing them with their first view of the James River and its tributaries. Together with the scattering of Indian villages that surrounded the triangular settlement at Jamestown, it offered tantalizing evidence of a passage to the East: Smith reported that salt water, which he surmised came from the “south sea”—the Pacific Ocean—“beateth into the river,” upstream from Jamestown. Perhaps, at last, the London Company was poised to discover a new route to Cathay.