Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America (25 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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After a few days of disappointment, there was a sudden flurry of excitement. Gonzalez managed to coax a few Indians on board his vessel and quiz them about the possible site of an English colony. It was not the easiest of conversations, for neither side understood the other, but Gonzalez felt sure that he had caught the gist of their meaning. “The English colony,” he wrote, “according to what the Indians have said, is established … northwards on a river.” He added that the river “passed through to the other sea [the Pacific].” Since dozens of rivers poured their waters into Chesapeake Bay, and the Indians could tell him no more, Gonzalez reluctantly conceded that such vague information would make it almost impossible to locate the colony. Disappointed and annoyed, he abandoned all hopes of slaughtering Ralegh’s colonists and turned his ship southwards, heading back to Florida.
As he steered his course along the white sand dunes of the Outer Banks, the breeze suddenly stiffened and “they were forced to dismast the ship and to bring her to the shore by means of oars.” Gonzalez was unsure of his exact location, but his description of the
shoreline and the shallowness of the water indicate that he had arrived at Port Ferdinando, one of the inlets into Pamlico Sound that had been named by Simon Fernandez in honour of himself. “The view towards the north gave on to a great part of the bay and revealed a large arm in the north-west curve which was heavily wooded.” Unbeknown to Gonzalez and his men, they were less than ten miles from Roanoke, and almost within sight of Ralph Lane’s fort.
shoreline and the shallowness of the water indicate that he had arrived at Port Ferdinando, one of the inlets into Pamlico Sound that had been named by Simon Fernandez in honour of himself. “The view towards the north gave on to a great part of the bay and revealed a large arm in the north-west curve which was heavily wooded.” Unbeknown to Gonzalez and his men, they were less than ten miles from Roanoke, and almost within sight of Ralph Lane’s fort.
It was the accidental discovery of a slipway on the Outer Banks that awakened the Spaniard’s suspicions. He landed a party on the sand dunes, where the men soon found “a number of wells made with English casks, and other debris.” Gonzalez was intrigued and noted that “a considerable number of people had been here,” yet there were no obvious signs of life and his men showed no desire to row across to Roanoke. With high tide fast approaching, he edged his vessel over the sandy bar and set sail for St. Augustine. He had no idea that he was two miles from the “Citee of Ralegh,” and therefore just missed discovering whether White’s colonists were still living on the island.
The information provided by Gonzalez—such as it was—caused serious alarm in Spain. The Council of the Indies ordered the preparation of a major expedition, including four warships and a battalion of soldiers, which was to “attempt the destruction of the enemy’s fort and settlement.” It was then to establish “a fort capable of holding 300 infantrymen as a garrison, under a governor, with orders that, when an opportunity arose, he or his lieutenant should penetrate into the interior.” This would have proved a formidable challenge to any future attempts by the English to settle a colony. But an unexpected crisis meant that the fleet never set sail. White’s men and women—if they were still alive—had escaped at least one of the many threats to their existence.
John White finally set sail for Roanoke at the end of March 1590, by which time an alarming two years, six months, and twenty-four days
had passed since he had last seen his daughter and granddaughter. There had been no news in all that time, and White had no idea whether the settlers were still on the island.
had passed since he had last seen his daughter and granddaughter. There had been no news in all that time, and White had no idea whether the settlers were still on the island.
Although shipping was still subject to “a restraint and stay,” Ralegh talked the queen into allowing his ships to sail. White himself was to travel in the
Hopewell,
while the supplies were to be carried in the
Moonlight.
When Captain Cocke saw the quantity of possessions that White hoped to take to America, he could scarcely believe his eyes. He refused to carry more than the absolute minimum, and even forbade him from taking “a boy to attend upon me, although I made great sute and earnest intreatie.” White threatened to complain to Ralegh, but with the ships “being then all in readinesse to goe to the sea, [they] would have bene departed before I could have made my retorne.” Faced with a choice between seeing his daughter and losing his possessions, White nobly plumped for the former.
Hopewell,
while the supplies were to be carried in the
Moonlight.
When Captain Cocke saw the quantity of possessions that White hoped to take to America, he could scarcely believe his eyes. He refused to carry more than the absolute minimum, and even forbade him from taking “a boy to attend upon me, although I made great sute and earnest intreatie.” White threatened to complain to Ralegh, but with the ships “being then all in readinesse to goe to the sea, [they] would have bene departed before I could have made my retorne.” Faced with a choice between seeing his daughter and losing his possessions, White nobly plumped for the former.
The tedium of the sea voyage was frequently enlivened by piratical skirmishes and, on one occasion, a full-scale battle. After a lengthy bout of privateering in the Caribbean—and more than five months after leaving England—Cocke at last led his fleet northwards towards the Outer Banks. Progress was slow, for the weather seemed determined to frustrate their efforts. “The wind scanted,” wrote an impatient White, “and from thence forward we had very fowle weather with much raine, thundering and great spouts, which fell round about us nigh unto our ships.” On August 3, the sun broke through the clouds just long enough for Cocke to take a quadrant reading and deduce that they were nearing the Outer Banks. The lookout claimed he could see “low sandie ilands, … but the weather continued so exceeding foule that we could not come to an anker bye the coast.”
For five days the seas raged, and it was not until the second week of August that “the storme ceased and we had very great likelihood of faire weather.” The ships paused briefly to replenish their water supplies, then inched northwards along the wooded shores of the
Outer Banks until they at last reached Port Ferdinando. White was now in familiar territory. He excitedly clambered up the mainmast for a better view of the coast, and was overjoyed by what he saw: “At our first comming to anker on this shore, we saw a great smoke rise in the Ile of Roanoke, neere the place where I left our colony in the yeere 1587.” This was a sight that he had long dreamed about, for smoke was the normal means of signalling to a ship, and it “put us in good hope that some of the colony were there expecting my returne out of England.”
Outer Banks until they at last reached Port Ferdinando. White was now in familiar territory. He excitedly clambered up the mainmast for a better view of the coast, and was overjoyed by what he saw: “At our first comming to anker on this shore, we saw a great smoke rise in the Ile of Roanoke, neere the place where I left our colony in the yeere 1587.” This was a sight that he had long dreamed about, for smoke was the normal means of signalling to a ship, and it “put us in good hope that some of the colony were there expecting my returne out of England.”
He was by now itching to get ashore, but it was already growing dark and Cocke wisely cautioned that it was too late to man the ship’s rowing boats. White spent the night in fretful excitement. At the crack of dawn he helped to organise the landing party—two boats led by Captains Cocke and Spicer. He was so anxious to inform the settlers of his arrival that he “commanded our master gunner to make readie two minions and a falkon well loden, and to shoot them off with reasonable space betweene every shot.” This was to announce their impending arrival to the colonists on Roanoke.
The ships lay several miles offshore, and rowing across to the Outer Banks was backbreaking work. When they had covered more than a mile “[and] were halfe-way betweene our ships and the shore,” the men noticed a second plume of smoke rising from a nearby chain of sand dunes on the Outer Banks. Both White and Cocke assumed that they were being signalled by Roanoke lookouts, and possibly warned of danger; “we therefore thought good to goe to that second smoke first.” This involved considerably more exertion, for the surf that washed the sandbanks carried a powerful undertow, and it was only as the men reached the shore that they realised the current had pulled them off course. The smoke signal was some distance away—“much further from the harbour where we landed then we supposed,” wrote White, “so that we were very sore tired before wee came to the smoke.”
The weary sailors trudged along the foreshore until they at last
reached the fire. To their intense disappointment, “we found no man nor signe that any had been there lately.” The fire had not been lit as a signal after all, but seemed to have been started by a lightning strike. White had dragged the men here for nothing.
reached the fire. To their intense disappointment, “we found no man nor signe that any had been there lately.” The fire had not been lit as a signal after all, but seemed to have been started by a lightning strike. White had dragged the men here for nothing.
Only now did the mariners realise how exhausted they were. The August sun had been beating down on them for hours and the men were hot and parched. To their dismay, they discovered there was “no fresh water in all this way to drinke,” and they had to stagger back to their boats without quenching their thirst. It was now too late in the day to head for Roanoke, “so we deferred our going to Roanoke until the next morning, and caused some of those saylers to digge in those sandie hilles for fresh water whereof we found very sufficient.” After a brief rest, “wee returned aboord with our boates and our whole company in safety.” It was dark by the time all the men were back on board the ships.
White woke at dawn in the hope of making an early start, only to discover that Captain Spicer had already been up for some hours and “had sent his boat ashore for fresh water.” This caused an unfortunate delay, and “it was ten of the clocke aforenoone before we put from our ships.” The journey from ship to shore was always dangerous, but the risks had increased considerably with the arrival of a stiff northwesterly. Powerful currents at the entrance to Pamlico Sound created choppy water and threatened to capsize even quite stable craft. The men decided to head first to the Outer Banks and, after regrouping, continue across the lagoon towards Roanoke.
Spicer had accompanied the first trip to the shore that morning and must have cautioned White about the dangers, but the governor was not to be dissuaded. He insisted on heading for land in the capable company of Captain Cocke and a party of thirteen men. Spicer reluctantly agreed to follow once the water casks had been unloaded.
The sailors quickly realised that the boat was not built for such conditions. “[We] passed the breach,” wrote White, “but not without
some danger of sinking, for we had a sea brake into our boat which filled us halfe full of water.” White furiously bailed out the flood and, “by the will of God and carefull styrage [steerage] of Captaine Cocke, we came safe ashore, saving onely that our furniture, victuals, match and powder were much wet and spoyled.” The men had been extremely lucky, for the wind was blowing “direct into the harbour—so great a gale that the sea brake extremely on the barre and the tide went very forcibly at the entrance.”
some danger of sinking, for we had a sea brake into our boat which filled us halfe full of water.” White furiously bailed out the flood and, “by the will of God and carefull styrage [steerage] of Captaine Cocke, we came safe ashore, saving onely that our furniture, victuals, match and powder were much wet and spoyled.” The men had been extremely lucky, for the wind was blowing “direct into the harbour—so great a gale that the sea brake extremely on the barre and the tide went very forcibly at the entrance.”
As they unloaded their sodden possessions onto the Outer Banks, they caught sight of Captain Spicer and his crew nearing the shore, weaving an erratic course through increasingly treacherous waters. The fearless steersman seemed barely in control, and was constantly exposing the boat to the breaking waves. Even to White, who was not a sailor, this bordered on the foolhardy. “Captaine Spicer came to the entrance of the breach with his mast standing up,” he wrote, “and was halfe passed over but, by the rash and undiscreet styrage of Ralph Skinner, his master’s mate, a very dangerous sea brake into their boate and overset them quite.” The waves had flipped the little craft upside down, trapping several of the men underwater.
White and Cocke could scarcely bring themselves to watch the unfolding tragedy, for they knew that it would take superhuman strength to right the boat. “The men kept the boat,” he wrote, “some in it and some hanging on it, but the next sea set the boat on ground”—a shoal—“where it beat so that some of them were forced to let goe their hold.” The half-drowned men tried to wade ashore, “but the sea still beat them downe so that they could neither stand nor swimme, and the boat twise or thrise was turned the keele upward.” A few of the men held on, including Captain Spicer and Master Skinner, who “hung until they sunke and [were] seene no more.”
It was now, at this moment of tragedy, that Captain Cocke showed his true colours. Without a thought for his own safety, he
pushed his boat back out into the water and tried to rescue the few survivors flailing around in the surf. “Four [men] that could swimme a little kept themselves in deeper water and were saved by Captain Cocke’s meanes, who so soone as he saw their oversetting, stripped himselfe, and foure other that could swimme very well, and with all haste possible, rowed unto them.” But it was too late to save many of the crew. “Seven of the chiefest were drowned,” wrote White, “whose names were Edward Spicer, Ralph Skinner, Edward Kelly, Thomas Bevis, Hance the Surgion, Edward Kelbourne, Robert Coleman.”
pushed his boat back out into the water and tried to rescue the few survivors flailing around in the surf. “Four [men] that could swimme a little kept themselves in deeper water and were saved by Captain Cocke’s meanes, who so soone as he saw their oversetting, stripped himselfe, and foure other that could swimme very well, and with all haste possible, rowed unto them.” But it was too late to save many of the crew. “Seven of the chiefest were drowned,” wrote White, “whose names were Edward Spicer, Ralph Skinner, Edward Kelly, Thomas Bevis, Hance the Surgion, Edward Kelbourne, Robert Coleman.”
The accident struck the fear of God into the sailors who had seen the men drown, and “did so much discomfort the saylers that they were all of one mind not to goe any further to seeke the planters [on Roanoke].” White begged them to continue and, after several hours of persuasion, they reluctantly agreed.
The tragedy having used up precious hours of daylight, it was soon dark: “before we could get to the place where our planters were left,” wrote White, “it was so exceeding darke that we overshot the place a quarter of a mile.” But he did not despair, for he was at last nearing his goal, and was further encouraged when he made out signs of life on the shoreline. “We espied towards the north end of the iland, ye light of a great fire thorow the woods, to the which we presently rowed.” Night had fallen quickly, but White urged the men to row on through the blackness, straining his eyes to make out the settlement. He was anxious to land, even at such a late hour, but wiser counsel prevailed. Cocke warned that the men would be defenceless against an Indian ambush. As they were still some distance from the village, they decided to overnight in the boat.
“We let fall our grapnel neere the shore,” just beyond the range of Indian arrows. After the men had eaten the food salvaged from the watery bottom of the craft, they attempted to alert the colonists to their presence. “[We] sounded with a trumpet a call,” wrote White, “and afterwardes many familiar English tunes of songs, and called to
them friendly, but we had no answere.” They were still too far from the settlement, and the wind was carrying their greetings away from the island.
them friendly, but we had no answere.” They were still too far from the settlement, and the wind was carrying their greetings away from the island.
The men passed a fitful night on the boat, reliving the terrible events of the day. As soon as dawn lightened the sky, they raised the grapnel and rowed ashore. “We therefore landed at day-breake,” wrote White, “and, comming to the fire, we found the grasse and sundry rotten trees burning about the place.” It rapidly dawned on him that all was not right. The previous night’s fire—like the smoke signal on the Outer Banks—had not been lit by the colonists.
White was now seriously concerned. Although he and his men were still two miles from the settlement, there was no sign of life, nor was there any reason to believe that the colonists were still living on Roanoke. “From hence we went thorow the woods,” wrote White, “and from thence we returned by the water side, round about the north point of the iland, untill we came to the place where I left our colony in the yeere 1586.”
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