Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America (22 page)
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Authors: Giles Milton
BOOK: Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America
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They passed a fitful night in the open air and resumed their search at first light, walking to “the north ende of the island where Master Ralfe Lane had his forte, with sundrie necessarie and decent dwelling houses.” White was still hoping to find “some signes or certaine knowledge of our fifteene men,” but he soon realised that this was wishful thinking. “When we come thither, wee found the forte raised downe”—it appeared to have been demolished—“but all the houses standing unhurt … [which] were overgrowen with melons of divers sortes, and deere within them feeding on those mellons.”
The abandoned and overgrown village made a sorry sight and was deeply disconcerting for White’s settlers. Master Coffin and his men had disappeared and were presumed dead. “We returned to our companie without hope of ever seeing any of the fifteene men living.”
Manteo suggested to White that they visit his own tribe on Croatoan Island, some ten miles from Roanoke, in the hope that they would know what had happened. White agreed and selected twenty of his men, who “passed by water to the island of Croatoan with Manteo, who had his mother and many of his kindred dwelling in that island, of whom we hoped to understande some newes of our fifteene men.”
Their arrival almost ended in disaster. Manteo’s tribe did not recognise their kinsman and assumed that the Englishmen were a hostile force. “At our first landing,” writes White, “they seemed as though they would fight with us: but perceaving us begin to marche with our shot towards them, they turned their backes and fled.” It was only when Manteo “called to them in their owne language”—to their great joy—that they “threwe away their bowes and arrowes and some of them came unto us, embracing and entertaining us friendly, desiring us not to gather or spill any of their corne for that they had but little.”
White asked if they had any news of the mysterious disappearance
of Master Coffin and his men, expecting to be told little more than he already knew. But to his surprise, one of Manteo’s kinsmen was able to tell him every detail of what had happened. He had watched as the Englishmen were “set upon by 30 of the men of Secota, Aquascogoc and Dasamongueponke.”
of Master Coffin and his men, expecting to be told little more than he already knew. But to his surprise, one of Manteo’s kinsmen was able to tell him every detail of what had happened. He had watched as the Englishmen were “set upon by 30 of the men of Secota, Aquascogoc and Dasamongueponke.”
The Indian attack had been well planned and executed, relying on deceit to draw the English from their fort. The attackers had “conveied themselves secretly behind the trees, neere the houses where our men carelesly lived.” Several of the Indians had stepped forward with smiles, “calling to them by friendly signes” and suggesting that “two of their chiefest men should come unarmed to speake with those two savages.”
Master Coffin had suspected nothing, “wherefore, two of the chiefest of our Engtishmen”—probably himself and Chapman—“went gladly to them.” They walked straight into a trap. The leading Indian grabbed one of the men and, “with his sword of wood, which he had secretly hidden under his mantell, stroke him on the head and slewe him.” The other Englishman managed to escape unharmed and rejoin the rest of his men, but before they had a chance to regroup, the “savages” charged out of the woods. The English retreated to the relative safety of their supply house, but even this was not secure for long. “The savages foorthwith set the same on fire, by meanes whereof our men were forced to take up such weapons as come first to hand, and without order to runne foorth among the savages with whome they skirmished above an howre.”
The fighting was fierce. Although the English were at a considerable disadvantage, having lost the initiative and most of their weapons, they fought with courage. One of their number proved skillful with his longbow and gave a triumphant cry when “one of the savages was shot into the side … with a wild-fire arrowe, whereof he died presently.” These arrows were deadly: with a flaming ball of fire on the tip, they caused a lingering and agonising death.
For a long time Coffin’s battalion held its own, with only one
man lost in action. But as the battle intensified, “another of our men was shotte into the mouth with an arrowe whereof he died.” It slowly became apparent to the outnumbered English that the Indians had chosen a field of battle that perfectly suited their tactics. “The place where they fought was of great advantage to the savages,” White later noted in his journal, “by meanes of the thicke trees, behinde which the savages, through their nimblenes, defended themselves and so offended our men with their arrowes that our men being some of them hurt, retired fighting to the waterside where their boate lay.” They now realised that their only hope of survival lay in flight; without further ado, they jumped into the boat and pushed away from the shore.
man lost in action. But as the battle intensified, “another of our men was shotte into the mouth with an arrowe whereof he died.” It slowly became apparent to the outnumbered English that the Indians had chosen a field of battle that perfectly suited their tactics. “The place where they fought was of great advantage to the savages,” White later noted in his journal, “by meanes of the thicke trees, behinde which the savages, through their nimblenes, defended themselves and so offended our men with their arrowes that our men being some of them hurt, retired fighting to the waterside where their boate lay.” They now realised that their only hope of survival lay in flight; without further ado, they jumped into the boat and pushed away from the shore.
Once they were out of the range of the Indian arrows, they counted their losses. Two men were dead, including their leader, and several of them had received severe arrow wounds that needed urgent treatment. They were also concerned for the four men who had been gathering oysters at the time of the attack. If these returned to Roanoke before they could be alerted to the situation, they were certain to be slaughtered by the Indians. But as the soldiers rowed across Pamlico Sound, “they espied their foure fellowes comming from a creeke thereby, where they had bene to fetch oysters: these foure they receaved into their boate … and landed on a little island”—probably on the Outer Banks.
The events that followed remain something of a mystery. These injured and defenceless men were caught in a terrible predicament, pursued by bellicose Indians who saw a very real chance of annihilating the English once and for all. Yet the tribesmen also knew that Coffin’s men were resourceful and ferocious, and must have concluded that another assault was unthinkable until they had repaired their bows and restocked their arrows.
Food was the most pressing concern of the English survivors, for every last pea and bean had been lost in their flight from Roanoke. Their only hope of survival now lay in living off the land—scratching a diet from the shellfish and berries that could be found on the
Outer Banks. White believed their plight to have been so hopeless that he was convinced they had either sailed for England in their pinnace—a huge gamble—or chanced their luck and headed for the Caribbean. “They remained a while [on the Outer Banks],” he recorded, “but afterward departed, whither, as yet, we knowe not.”
Outer Banks. White believed their plight to have been so hopeless that he was convinced they had either sailed for England in their pinnace—a huge gamble—or chanced their luck and headed for the Caribbean. “They remained a while [on the Outer Banks],” he recorded, “but afterward departed, whither, as yet, we knowe not.”
He held out little hope that such a desperate group could have survived on the shores of Pamlico Sound, yet perhaps he underestimated the gritty determination of these men. Unlike his own colonists, Master Coffin’s band were battle-hardened soldiers who were trained to live off their wits and used to surviving in the desolate terrain of Ireland, where the native population was no less hostile than in America. If anyone was able to endure hardship, it was this little band of thirteen men.
White was intrigued to discover more about their fate, but was unable to learn anything else from Manteo’s kinsmen. He concluded that only time would reveal whether these men’s stamina and willpower had enabled them to survive.
Master Coffin relied on heavy weaponry to defend his fort. When the Indians staged an ambush, the English had to flee, losing all their cannon. They were now unarmed and in a terrible predicament
Arise, Lord Manteo
While Master Coffin’s men battled to save their skins on the Outer Banks, Sir Walter Ralegh found himself facing mounting hostility to his intimate relationship with the queen. England’s highborn courtiers were fast tiring of his flirtatious antics and annoyed that their own attempts to parley with Elizabeth were constantly frustrated by her thirst for “Water.” Protocol demanded that they could only address the queen when she herself wished it, but this was something that occurred with less and less frequency. She infinitely preferred the company of Sir Walter to her doting but decrepit elder statesmen.
None of the lords dared to criticise the queen in public, for to do so would earn them at the very least a frosty rebuke. But Tarleton, the court jester, had arisen from a quite different stable from the lordly courtiers, and had no truck with their artificial world of honeyed charm and deceits. His raison d’être was to entertain with cheeky good humour, and now—at a state dinner—he prepared to give the queen’s favourite a comeuppance that he would not forget.
He chose his moment well, waiting for a pause in the music before rising from his bolster and jabbing a finger in Ralegh’s direction. “See,” he roared, “the knave commands the queen.” There was a momentary silence as people awaited her reaction. But Elizabeth
kept her composure—although she was clearly angry—and, according to the chroniclers, “corrected him with a frown.” The cocksure Tarleton took this as a cue for another jibe and added that Ralegh “was of too much and too intolerable a power.” He then sat down, aware that he had probably said enough.
kept her composure—although she was clearly angry—and, according to the chroniclers, “corrected him with a frown.” The cocksure Tarleton took this as a cue for another jibe and added that Ralegh “was of too much and too intolerable a power.” He then sat down, aware that he had probably said enough.
Tarelton’s jest was popular with the revellers, but it was only a half-truth. Ralegh did indeed wield enormous influence, in part due to his wealth, but his power over the queen was emotional, not political. He did not sit on the Privy Council, nor did he hold any of the great offices of state. Although he could argue with the queen, he never forgot that theirs was a precarious relationship that was dependent upon charm and wit on his part. A false step or an indiscretion could quickly bring about his fall.
This did not look likely in 1587, for the queen had just heaped yet another honour upon her favourite. She had made him Captain of her Guard, a position of great prestige that kept him close to her side. He was now in charge of the corps of bodyguards that escorted her to chapel and accompanied her on great state occasions. While his governorship of Virginia had made him a guardian of her Western empire, his new position entrusted him with her very flesh and blood.
The job came with a uniform allowance of “six yards of tawny medley at thirteen shillings and fourpence a yard, with a fur of black budge, rated at £10.” It also obliged him to dress with even greater flamboyance than usual. His orange tunic had stretched and puffed sleeves, while his knee-length skirt was splayed outwards at a daring angle. On his head he wore a splendid plumed hat warped with silk, and his chin was thrust heavenwards by a starch-stiffened lace ruff.
He and the men under his command had a hectic schedule, for as well as accompanying the queen in public, they also served her food, delivered messages, and eavesdropped on the maids of honour who shuttled gossip between the queen and her courtiers. The maids were “like witches,” said Ralegh; “they could do hurt, but they could do no good.”
Shortly after he had been promoted to the position of Captain of the Guard, the queen decided to make one of her “progresses” or royal tours, a shrewd piece of statecraft that enabled her to display herself to her people at the expense of her unfortunate lords. Queen Elizabeth never had any problem loosening other men’s purse strings, and these tours were planned on an epic scale. More than 220 carts were required to carry her baggage, which included everything from her oak-carved bed to portable pavilions, hales, and picnic tents.
As few roads were built to withstand the pounding of such a huge baggage train, the royal entourage made painfully slow progress, never advancing more than twelve miles in a day. Many a lord sighed in despair as the horde approached, aware that he was about to play host to some of the most skillful spongers and welshers in the kingdom. Each time the court visited Lord Burghley’s home, Theobalds, he was forced to spend “two or three thousand pounds” on entertainment, while a brief visit to Canterbury cost the archbishop more than £2,000, the same as a prolonged privateering voyage in the Caribbean. One unwilling nobleman was so horrified by the prospect of hosting a royal pit stop that he kept an itemised account of everything he spent on victuals: £105 on chickens and herons, £28 on sheep’s tongues, cows’ udders, and calves’ feet, and a further £57 on wine.
Food was not the only expense. New ovens had to be built, damasks and Turkish carpets borrowed or begged, and players hired for Her Majesty’s pleasure. Courtly rivalry drove hosts to stage ever more lavish entertainment. One lord tried to impress the queen by digging an artificial lake and staging a sea scene from antiquity. Another, not wishing to be outdone, tried (unsuccessfully) to launch live dogs and cats into the heavens on specially built fireworks.
The queen’s 1587 progress was to be a relatively modest affair—a short stay with the Earl of Warwick, followed by a longer sojourn at Theobalds. The entourage made a magnificent spectacle as it passed
through the mud-splattered villages of Hertfordshire. The queen herself rode sidesaddle or in a coach, and all around her were members of her bodyguard, led from the front by Sir Walter. As this blaze of colour clattered along the highways, country folk would emerge from their wattle dwellings, blinking in amazement at the pageantry of the Elizabethan court.
through the mud-splattered villages of Hertfordshire. The queen herself rode sidesaddle or in a coach, and all around her were members of her bodyguard, led from the front by Sir Walter. As this blaze of colour clattered along the highways, country folk would emerge from their wattle dwellings, blinking in amazement at the pageantry of the Elizabethan court.
A few cynics tried to glimpse the queen’s midriff, for although she was dearly loved by her subjects, there were a good number who were less than convinced by her purity, and said that far from being a Virgin Queen, she only sallied forth into the countryside to hide a pregnancy. But most people cheerfully waved their kerchiefs at a figure who inspired genuine affection. “She was received everywhere with great acclamations and signs of joy,” reads one account, “[and] would order her carriage sometimes to be taken where the crowd seemed thickest, and stood up and thanked the people.”
While the queen herself was feted and adored, her Captain of the Guard was not greeted with quite the same enthusiasm. His highly lucrative monopoly on woollen broadcloth was widely resented as a tax on the poor, while his foppish silks and velvets only served to remind the common folk that much of his wealth had been earned at their expense. Few bothered to disguise their contempt for Ralegh, prompting one courtier to write that “no man is more hated than him; none more cursed daily by the poor, for whom infinite numbers are brought to extreme poverty by the gift of cloth to him.”
Sir Walter reacted to any criticism with disdain, and had such an “awfulness and ascendancy in his aspect over other mortals” that even his fellow courtiers were genuinely shocked. “[He] is the best hated man of the world,” wrote one, while another noted that “he was so far from affecting popularity as he seemed to take a pride in being hated of the people, either for that he thought it a point of policy, or else because he scorned the approbation of the multitude.” But the courtiers who delighted in such assessments were his sworn enemies who would have willingly danced a jig at the merest hint of
his downfall. Sir Walter also had his champions, his West Country brethren, who were inspired by his audacious rise to the top. He commanded a fanatical loyalty that never faltered, even towards the end of his life, and this support was not confined to his kinsmen and friends. The “rough and mutinous” tin miners of Cornwall—who fell under Ralegh’s authority as Lord Warden of the Stanneries—were quickly won over to their new master. “Yours ears and mouth have ever been open to hear and deliver our grievances,” wrote Robert Carew, “not always as a magistrate … but also very often as a suitor and solicitor of others at the highest place.” It was an acknowledgement that Ralegh had frequently used his influence with the queen to further their cause.
his downfall. Sir Walter also had his champions, his West Country brethren, who were inspired by his audacious rise to the top. He commanded a fanatical loyalty that never faltered, even towards the end of his life, and this support was not confined to his kinsmen and friends. The “rough and mutinous” tin miners of Cornwall—who fell under Ralegh’s authority as Lord Warden of the Stanneries—were quickly won over to their new master. “Yours ears and mouth have ever been open to hear and deliver our grievances,” wrote Robert Carew, “not always as a magistrate … but also very often as a suitor and solicitor of others at the highest place.” It was an acknowledgement that Ralegh had frequently used his influence with the queen to further their cause.
The queen’s royal tours were led by Sir Walter Ralegh whose pride and foppish dress made him “the best hated man of the world.”
Few in the court cared to hear Ralegh’s name praised in such a manner, and his enemies were waiting for the moment when his star
would go into decline. Their time seemed suddenly to have arrived in the summer of 1587, for a new and dangerous suitor had recently been introduced to the queen—one who was not content to compete with Ralegh for her affections. Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, was a formidable opponent who was determined to crush his rival. Twenty years old, handsome and quixotic, he was so well versed in the arts of wooing that he could even charm a wizened old lady of fifty-four.
would go into decline. Their time seemed suddenly to have arrived in the summer of 1587, for a new and dangerous suitor had recently been introduced to the queen—one who was not content to compete with Ralegh for her affections. Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, was a formidable opponent who was determined to crush his rival. Twenty years old, handsome and quixotic, he was so well versed in the arts of wooing that he could even charm a wizened old lady of fifty-four.
The queen was immediately smitten with Essex and made him her Master of Horse, a position that kept him at her side from dawn till dusk. Even when the horses were asleep in their stables, Essex remained with the queen. “When she is abroad,” wrote Anthony Bagot in 1587, “nobody [is] near her but my lord of Essex; and at night, my lord is at cards, or one game or another, with her, till the birds sing in the morning.”
Essex was proud, argumentative, and a “great resenter,” and he quickly learned to resent Sir Walter’s cosy dalliance with the queen. He was determined to besmirch Ralegh’s reputation, using his newfound influence to undermine his rival’s position and status. Matters came to a head during the royal progress of 1587 when Essex’s sister, who had been banished from the court for a marital indiscretion, suddenly turned up at North Hall in Hertfordshire. The queen was furious at such disregard for her authority and sent the impertinent lady to her room, a disgrace that Essex believed to have been arranged by Ralegh. He reproached the queen in no uncertain terms, adding that Her Majesty had only acted with such anger “to please that knave Ralegh.” The queen found herself trapped in a tangle of affections, aware that she could not champion both of her suitors at the same time. On this occasion she jumped to Ralegh’s defense, much to the disgust of Essex, who said that “it seemed she could not well endure anything to be spoken against him.” He was now in a fury and, speaking with “grief and choler,” told the queen that he had difficulty serving anyone who “was in awe of such a man.”
While this row was taking place inside the queen’s chamber, Ralegh—as Captain of the Guard—was stationed on the other side of the door and listening to every word. He was delighted when the queen rushed to his defence and even happier when Essex stormed out of the chamber and rode off into the night. But his triumph was not to last for long, for the queen suddenly panicked and begged her courtiers to discover where Essex had gone. When she learned he was heading for the Low Countries, she broke down, for her beloved Sir Philip Sidney had been killed in the Netherlands less than two years previously. She immediately sent a messenger galloping after her Master of Horse, promising to reward him with a loving reconciliation. Essex accepted graciously and rejoined the tour, but he warned the queen that if she tried “to drive me to be friends with Ralegh,” she would not only fail, but would “drive me to many other extremities.”
The heady events of that summer led to much speculation as to the timing and manner of Ralegh’s expected fall from grace. Most in the court felt that he had met his match in the aristocratic Essex, and that it was only a matter of months before he was sent packing. “Sir Walter Ralegh is in wonderful declention,” wrote one, “and [it] is thought he will never rise again.” Ralegh himself was also aware of the precariousness of his position and was momentarily struck by a melancholy that would become more and more pronounced in his later years. He sat down to write a despairing verse that tried to imagine a life bereft of courtly splendour:
My foode shall be of care and sorow made,
My drink nought else but teares falne from mine eies,
And for my light in such obscured shade,
The flames shall serve, which from my hart arise.
My drink nought else but teares falne from mine eies,
And for my light in such obscured shade,
The flames shall serve, which from my hart arise.
He had reached the zenith of his career: now, he could only fall. As yet, no one could predict when and how that fall would occur, but it
was certain to have profound consequences for John White and his 110 settlers on Roanoke.
was certain to have profound consequences for John White and his 110 settlers on Roanoke.
Governor White’s colony faced a summer of extreme peril. His settlers had been horrified to learn that Master Coffin’s battalion had been attacked by an alliance of three tribes that had traditionally fought among themselves. What made it worse was that one of these tribes came from Secotan, a village that White himself had visited two years previously. On that occasion, the English had been accorded the heartiest of welcomes. Now they were an object of hatred.
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