Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America (3 page)

BOOK: Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America
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The bad news about the wild animals was tempered by a glowing report of the land’s rocks and minerals. Ingrams assured Sir Humfrey that America’s Indians were exceedingly rich in treasure, and that he saw with his own eyes buckets made of “massie silver,” lumps of gold “as bigge as his fyst,” and “great rockes of chrystal.” Women that were not stark naked tended to wear “plates of gold over there body.” That was not the only good news. The countryside, he said, was more fertile than England: “good and most delycate [and] havinge greate playnes as large and as fayer in many places as maye be sene.”
Impressed with Ingrams’s observant eye, Gilbert noted every detail of the interrogation. Now, in the company of Browne and Smythe, he relayed all that he had been told, and soon realised that his words were making a deep impression. When he had finished, Browne declared that he wished to accompany Gilbert to America. “Whereuppon Sir Humfry presently wrote unto my master requestinge my master’s lawfull favore if he thought me sufficient to such a matter.” Browne’s master wrote back giving his consent and, without further ado, Browne began equipping himself for the biggest adventure of his life. Smythe was more hesitant; although he spoke enthusiastically about the expedition, he expressed his regret at being unable to accompany the voyage.
Gilbert launched himself into planning his voyage with his customary gusto. He was pleased to learn that his half-brother, Walter Ralegh, had decided to accompany him. Young Walter had been making something of a name for himself at court. Finding himself
with cash to spare, he decided to invest it in Gilbert’s expedition. “[He] hath at his owne cost and charges bought a newe ship … she is of bourden twelfe-score tones, redy furnyshed of all thinges belonginge to her and victuled for 60 men.” This was extremely good news, for Gilbert’s biggest problems were financial. His disastrous 1578 expedition had swallowed his fortune and left him with so many debts that three years later he was still a virtual bankrupt. In a begging letter to Walsingham, he described himself as being “subjecte to daylye arestes, executions and owtlawreis; yea, and forside to gadge and sell my wyffes clothes from her back.” He was well aware that it was not ideal for the man spearheading American colonisation to be bankrupt, but he had rich and influential friends. With land in England at a premium, he hit upon the rather brilliant idea—permitted under the terms of his charter—of selling estates in America. These would be of a size and scale that were guaranteed to excite even the most miserly of courtiers. They would cover limitless tracts of wilderness, millions of acres, and would be sold to the highest bidder, complete with semifeudal powers.
 
Castaway Davy Ingrams spent a year with America’s savages and brought back stories of their cannibalistic rituals. “When any of them is sicke, they cutt his throte and drinke up his bloude.”
It was only when Gilbert began publicising his scheme that he realised he had produced a winning formula. Lords and merchants alike beat a path to Red Crosse Street and begged him to sell them land. Gilbert was in his element; he distributed huge estates to his investors, carving up America with a few strokes of his quill. Philip Sidney was granted three million acres, others took a million or more, while Sir Thomas Gerard stood to gain “two fifte partes of all the gold, sylver, perle and precyous stones there found.” Between June 1582 and February 1583 he managed to dispose of a staggering 8,500,000 acres.
Excitement spread through the capital as courtiers began planning how they would manage their estates. One adventurer, Sir George Peckham, was quite bowled over by his new responsibilities and vowed to treat his tenants—the native Americans—with great generosity. He promised to present each and every one with “looking glasses, bells, beades, braceletts [and] chaines,” explaining that “though to us of small value, yet [they are] accounted by them of high price and estimation.” He even intended to kit them out in fashionable clothing “[such] as a shirt, a blewe, yellow, redde or greene cotton cassocke [and] a cappe or such like.” They were to be the smartest Indians on the far side of the Atlantic.
Gilbert himself had given little thought to the native population. He intended to govern his own men “as nere as convenyently may be agreable to the forme of the lawes and pollicie of England” and granted himself full “power and aucthority to correcte, punyshe, pardone, governe and rule.” But he also promised to show “good discretions” when it came to capital punishment.
There was to be one law for the English and quite another for the
natives, and the Indians would have been quaking in their moccasins had they known of Gilbert’s track record in Ireland, where he had quashed riot and rebellion with a savagery that approached barbarism. He had learned to treat the native population with ruthless contempt, severing the heads of his enemies and using them to line the path to his tent. So contemptuous was he of the Irish that he was heard to say that “he thought his dogges ears too good to heare the speeche of the greateste noble manne emongst them.” He had concluded that colonisation was certain to lead to conflict, and that “no conquered nation will ever yield willingly obedience for love, but rather for fear.”
Since clashes with the natives were likely to lead to deaths on both sides, he deemed it pointless to send men of quality with the first wave of settlers. Rather, he proposed dispatching “such needie people of our countrie which now trouble the commonwelth.” As a first step, thieves, murderers, and wastrels could be transported across the Atlantic, the jetsam of society that had committed “outragious offences whereby they are dayly consumed with the gallowes.”
Gilbert was on the point of setting sail when Queen Elizabeth unexpectedly withdrew her permission, fearing that Gilbert would die at sea. It was only after numerous petitions that she unexpectedly changed her mind and “used Sir Humfrey with very great favore,” promising him that “he shall not want anythinge that may be for his assistaunce.” On the eve of his departure, she sent as a token of her favour a “very excellent jewell.” It was a priceless piece of craftmanship; “an anchor of gold set with 29 diamondes with the portracture of a queene holding the ringe of the ancor in one hand.”
Sir Humfrey Gilbert’s little fleet of five ships, led by the
Delight
, eventually slipped out of Causand Bay near Plymouth on June 11, 1583. It was a quiet departure for such an historic voyage: Gilbert had said his farewells on leaving Southampton some two weeks previously, and he now left England with not so much as a fanfare to send him on his way.
There were already murmurings among the mariners and colonists
about the meagre quantity of victuals on board. There were 260 men in total—“shipwrights, masons, carpenters and smithes”—but scarcely food for half that number. The fleet had departed in haste, for Gilbert had “resolved to put unto the sea [before] our store yet remaining … were too far spent.” He placed his trust in the Almighty, hoping that the winds would blow him swiftly across the Atlantic.
After a few days at sea, Gilbert and his subordinates suddenly realised that they had neglected to plan a route across the ocean. “It seemed first very doubtfull by what way to shape our course and to begin our intended discovery,” writes Edward Hayes, the on-board chronicler, “either from the south, northward; or from the north, southward.” There was a hastily convened conference in Gilbert’s cabin at which various captains gave suggestions and advice. Those favouring a southerly route soon won the day, arguing that they did not wish “to be surprised with timely winter.” But no sooner had this route been chosen than others renewed their call for the northern route, claiming that if they reached the waters of Newfoundland before the onset of winter, they would find “a multitude of ships repairing thither for fish, [and] we should be relieved abundantly with many necessaries.” Sir Humfrey agreed and, although fearful of “continuall fogge and thicke mists, tempest and rage of weather,” he set his course for Newfoundland.
Life on board ship turned out to be more comfortable than anyone had dared imagine. Gilbert had hired a troupe of entertainers to amuse the “savages” they would meet on their arrival, and these kept the sailors occupied during the long Atlantic crossing. “For the solace of our men,” writes Hayes, “and allurement of the savages, we were provided of musicke in good variety: not omitting the least toyes, as morris dancers, hobby horsse, and maylike conceits to delight the savage people, whom we intended to winne by all faire meanes possible.”
There was the occasional setback. Ralegh’s ship was forced to return to England when her crew was “infected with a contagious
sickness,” probably dysentery, a reversal that sent Gilbert into a brief rage. There was also bad weather, with so much mist and fog that the ships almost crashed into “mountaines of yce driven upon the sea.” At one point the
Swallow
disappeared from view and was not seen for some weeks, but as the fleet neared the American coastline, they caught sight of her on the horizon and hurriedly gave chase. As they neared the vessel, Sir Humfrey’s men were amazed to see the crew dressed in fancy waistcoats and hear them singing at the tops of their voices. “For joy and congratulation of our meeting they spared not to cast up into the aire and overboord their caps and hats in good plenty.” They soon learned why. The
Swallow
’s captain, who was none other than the “vertuous, honest and discrete” Maurice Browne, had been indulging in a spot of piracy. He had captured two French vessels—one of which was laden with wine and garments—after which the voyage resumed with the utmost merriment.
Seven weeks after leaving England, Gilbert at last caught a glimpse of the land he had spent the greater part of his life dreaming about. It was not quite the paradise that he had come to expect—it was nothing but “hideous rockes and mountaines, bare of trees and voide of any greene herbe”—but Gilbert put a brave face on his disappointment and turned his ship south towards Newfoundland, where he expected to find a few English fishing vessels. To his surprise, he arrived at St. John’s to find “boats of all nations, to the number of thirty-six salles.” Anxious to make an impressive entrance, he sent messages to inform the various captains that he was here to claim the land for Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth of England. He then prepared to sail into the natural harbour with as much pomp and ceremony as he could muster. It was unfortunate that he “fell upon a rocke” at the mouth of the bay—much to the amusement of the foreign captains—and suffered the ignominy of being towed off by a flotilla of small boats.
Once Gilbert had recovered his composure, he ordered the English fisherfolk to his vessel and grandiloquently announced “his purpose
to take possession of those lands to the behalfe of the crowne of England, and the advancement of Christian religion in those paganish regions.” The fishermen seemed delighted and celebrated the occasion by firing their biggest guns, but the Spanish and Portuguese anchored in the harbour had watched Gilbert’s arrival with considerable alarm. Outnumbered and outgunned, they realised that they had no option but to join in the festivities. On learning that Sir Humfrey was preparing a great feast, “they did most willingly and liberally contribute,” bringing “wines, marmalads, most fine ruske or bisket, sweet oyles and sundry delicacies.” Afraid that this might not satisfy Gilbert, they hurriedly returned to their ships and prepared vast platters of “fresh salmons, trouts, lobsters and other fresh fish.” When all the food was assembled, Sir Humfrey prepared to step ashore.
“On Munday, being the fift of August, the Generall caused his tent to be set upon the side of an hill, in the viewe of all the flete of Englishmen and straungers.” Accompanied by his captains, officers, and soldiers, he marched with great solemnity towards his tent and invited the Spanish and Portuguese to join him. When all were assembled, he brushed down his doublet and, after pinning the queen’s brooch to his jerkin, formally “tooke possession of the sayde land in the right of the crowne of England by digging of a turfe and receiving the same … delivered unto him after the manner of the lawe and custome of England.” He decreed that the country’s religion should be in accordance with the Church of England and that high treason would be punishable by death, and added that “if any person should utter words to the dishonour of her majestic, he should lose his eares.” His speech was enthusiastically received by the fishermen, who promised to obey his command. Satisfied, Sir Humfrey granted plots of land to the various fisherfolk and erected “the armes of England ingraven in lead and infixed upon a pillar of wood.”
Gilbert had never intended to settle his colony in Newfoundland,
and his brief survey of the land had done nothing to alter his opinion. There was “extreme cold”—far colder, even, than an English summer—and he was informed by fishermen that in winter the land was covered with a thick blanket of snow. Although the skies were filled with partridges and “beastes of sundry kindes” roamed the forests, this was no country to choose as a new homeland.

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