Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America (30 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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The fresh food had an instant effect. The common kettle was soon bubbling with meat stews. Within three weeks, “the president had reared upp twenty men able to worke.” John Smith seized the moment: appointed chief merchant (or supply officer), he selected a team of the fittest men and led a series of food-collecting expeditions into the unknown interior of the country. His bravado soon reaped dividends—he found himself trading trinkets for venison, oysters, and grain. The cooler weather had also brought unexpected supplies of fresh food, for “the rivers became so covered with swans, geese, duckes and cranes, that we daily feasted with good bread, Virginia pease, pumpions and putchamins, fish, fowle and divers sorts
of wild beasts as fat as we could eat them; so that none but our Tuftaffaty humourists [cranks] desired to goe for England.”
of wild beasts as fat as we could eat them; so that none but our Tuftaffaty humourists [cranks] desired to goe for England.”
As Christmas approached, the colonists gave thanks that they had survived their ordeal. With a new feeling of optimism in Jamestown, they now decided to send John Smith on a mission to meet Powhatan to trade for grain. The famine had made them realise—as it had the settlers on Roanoke—that their fate ultimately lay in the hands of the Indians. They also knew that if anyone was going to give them information about the mysterious fate of White’s lost colonists, it would be the emperor Powhatan.
The King’s Dearest Daughter
John Smith set off to meet Powhatan in early December. He selected nine companions, six of them oarsmen, and borrowed the colony’s small barge, which had a shallow draught and was well suited for exploration.
As the men rowed up the Chickahominy River, whose confluence with the James lay some five miles from Jamestown, the tortuous channel grew narrow and the tree branches hung so low over the water that Smith had to hack them down with his sword. Soon the water became so shallow that even the barge kept scraping the bottom, and Smith was forced to divide his party. He and two others bartered for a canoe and two Indian guides and continued upstream into the “vast and wild wilderness,” while the others rowed the barge back to a little bay with instructions to await Smith’s return. He strictly commanded that “none should goe a shore till his returne.”
Scarcely had he bid the men farewell than one of their number, George Cassen, slipped into the water and waded ashore. It was a foolish mistake, for he was immediately taken hostage by a group of Indians who demanded to know the purpose of their mission. Cassen refused to tell them—another mistake, for the Indians decided to teach their insolent captive a lesson. Cassen was seized, stripped naked, and bound hand and foot with thick ropes. Next, the
Indians prepared a huge fire, which the shivering Englishman knew was not being lit to keep him warm. When the blaze was roaring, Cassen was “tyed to a tree and, with muscle-shells or reedes, the executioner cutteth of his joyntes one after another, ever casting what is cut off into the fier.” He screamed for mercy, but the heedless Indians continued with their clinical torture. They disjointed and removed his fingers and toes and, after scraping off the flesh, kept the little white bones as keepsakes. Next, they moved to his upper body, using “shells and reedes to case the skyn from his head and face, after which they rippe up his belly [and] teare out his bowells.” Poor Cassen was still alive when they scooped up the burning coals, arranged them around their victim, “and so burne him with the tree and all.” He was sacrificed, wrote one of the English, “to the devill.”
Indians prepared a huge fire, which the shivering Englishman knew was not being lit to keep him warm. When the blaze was roaring, Cassen was “tyed to a tree and, with muscle-shells or reedes, the executioner cutteth of his joyntes one after another, ever casting what is cut off into the fier.” He screamed for mercy, but the heedless Indians continued with their clinical torture. They disjointed and removed his fingers and toes and, after scraping off the flesh, kept the little white bones as keepsakes. Next, they moved to his upper body, using “shells and reedes to case the skyn from his head and face, after which they rippe up his belly [and] teare out his bowells.” Poor Cassen was still alive when they scooped up the burning coals, arranged them around their victim, “and so burne him with the tree and all.” He was sacrificed, wrote one of the English, “to the devill.”
Smith knew none of this, for he had made good progress on his journey to meet Powhatan and was soon almost twenty miles from where he had left the barge. The channel here was marshy and clogged with reeds, and the exhausted party decided to rest for a few hours, tying their canoe to the bank and gingerly stepping ashore. Smith immediately set off to explore with one of his Indian guides, leaving his two companions, Jehu Robinson and Thomas Emry, to keep a watchful eye on the boat. He cautioned them to guard their muskets and to “discharge a peece … at the first sight of any Indian.”
Smith had not gone far when he realised that something was seriously wrong. “Within a quarter of an houre, I heard a loud cry and a hollowing of Indians, but no warning peece.” He acted quickly, convinced that he and his companions were caught in an ambush. He seized his Indian guide “and bound his arme fast to my hand in a garter with my pistoll ready bent to be revenged on him.” But the Indians had the advantage of surprise, and by the time that Smith was ready to defend himself, he found that he was already surrounded.
The ensuing attack was fast and furious. “I was struck with an arrow on the right thigh,” he recalled, and although this bounced harmlessly off his buff jerkin, he soon found himself “beset with 200
Indians.” He pulled out his French wheel-lock pistol and began firing at his attackers. “Three or four times I had discharged my pistoll,” he writes, “[but they] invirond me, each drawing their bowe.” He was still using his Indian guide as a human shield, and the poor fellow was so terrified of being killed that he screamed at his attackers, begging them to stop firing. His words had a miraculous effect, for the tribesmen suddenly laid down their weapons and began to negotiate with this wild-looking Englishman. “They demaunded my armes, the rest they saide were slaine, onely me they would reserve.”
Indians.” He pulled out his French wheel-lock pistol and began firing at his attackers. “Three or four times I had discharged my pistoll,” he writes, “[but they] invirond me, each drawing their bowe.” He was still using his Indian guide as a human shield, and the poor fellow was so terrified of being killed that he screamed at his attackers, begging them to stop firing. His words had a miraculous effect, for the tribesmen suddenly laid down their weapons and began to negotiate with this wild-looking Englishman. “They demaunded my armes, the rest they saide were slaine, onely me they would reserve.”
If the situation was looking grim for Smith, it had turned murderous back at the canoe. Robinson and Emry were lounging in the long grass when they were suddenly beset by the Indians. Robinson sat up, only to find himself floored by more than twenty arrows. He slumped back into the grass and bled to death. Thomas Emry, too, was killed, although the manner of his death remains unknown.
Meanwhile, Smith was determined to save himself. He seized his gun, leaped to his feet, and began to run for his life, hoping to reach the canoe before they could kill him. Unfortunately, he “stept fast into the quagmire” and sank to his knees in cold, oozing mud. The more he struggled, the more he sank, and he was soon up to his belly in the icy bog and cursing his bulky frame. It would be only a matter of minutes before he was sucked under, and he knew that his only hope of survival was to be pulled free by the Indians. “I resolved to trie their mercies,” he writes. “My armes I caste from me, till which none durst approch me.” His ploy worked; the forlorn Smith was pulled, wet and weaponless, out of the stinking bog.
The leader of these men, who happened to be the half-brother of Powhatan, was a terrifying warrior who was not accustomed to show mercy. Yet he was unsure what to make of Smith. He was alarmed by his extraordinary hairy features, which gave Smith time to think of a mystifying ploy that came straight from the pages of Thomas Harriot. Remembering that Harriot had bewitched the Indians with his “mathematicall instruments,” Smith reached inside his dripping doublet and plucked out an ivory compass whose needle
pointed in the same direction—towards Smith—whichever way it was turned. “Much they marvelled at the playing of the fly and needle, which they could see so plainely and yet not touch it because of the glasse that covered them.” Smith realised he had hit upon a marvellous trick that held the Indians in awe. He proceeded to lecture them on “the roundnesse of the earthe; and skies, the spheare of the sunne, moone and starres … [and] they all stood amazed with admiration.”
pointed in the same direction—towards Smith—whichever way it was turned. “Much they marvelled at the playing of the fly and needle, which they could see so plainely and yet not touch it because of the glasse that covered them.” Smith realised he had hit upon a marvellous trick that held the Indians in awe. He proceeded to lecture them on “the roundnesse of the earthe; and skies, the spheare of the sunne, moone and starres … [and] they all stood amazed with admiration.”
Smith’s wizardry had saved his life, at least for the moment, and he was marched to a nearby village where the elders prepared him an extravagant supper: “a quarter of venison and some ten pounds of bread.” Scarcely had he finished supper than breakfast arrived: “three great platters of fine bread [and] more venison then ten men could devour.” Although he was concerned that he was being fattened for slaughter, he tucked into this unexpected feast while continuing to enquire about the land and its resources.
The answer to one of his questions made him sit bolt upright in astonishment. Smith had been quizzing the chieftain about the different tribes, only to be told that there was one faraway village—west of the Chowan River—where there were “certaine men cloathed, at a place called Ocanahonan; cloathed like me.” This was exciting news. The Indians used the word
cloathed
of whites or Europeans—people who were not like themselves. Here was evidence, albeit vague, that there were white men living to the south of Chesapeake Bay. There was no certainty that these were John White’s lost colonists, for the chieftain could have been referring to the survivors of a shipwreck, or even to the haggard remnants of the fifteen-strong band left behind by Sir Richard Grenville in 1586. But it was a tantalising addition to the riddle of the lost colonists, and one that was certain to cause excitement in London. Smith begged for more information, but the chief could shed no more light on these men and quickly dropped the subject. It would be some months before Smith could investigate further.
cloathed
of whites or Europeans—people who were not like themselves. Here was evidence, albeit vague, that there were white men living to the south of Chesapeake Bay. There was no certainty that these were John White’s lost colonists, for the chieftain could have been referring to the survivors of a shipwreck, or even to the haggard remnants of the fifteen-strong band left behind by Sir Richard Grenville in 1586. But it was a tantalising addition to the riddle of the lost colonists, and one that was certain to cause excitement in London. Smith begged for more information, but the chief could shed no more light on these men and quickly dropped the subject. It would be some months before Smith could investigate further.
A few days after Christmas, he was marched overland to meet the elusive emperor Powhatan and his royal court. After a wearisome slog, he eventually reached the forest settlement and was escorted with some ceremony into the imperial palace. The building was nothing to write home about; constructed from branches and twigs, it was little more than a large wooden shack. It was dark inside and it took some moments for Smith to grow accustomed to the gloom. But when his eyes finally adjusted, he was confronted by an alarming sight: “more than two hundred of those grim courtiers stood wondering at him as [if] he had beene a monster.” He could have been forgiven for thinking the same about them, for their heads were painted bright red and their hair was decked with feathers. But Smith wisely kept his counsel and tried to work out which one was Powhatan.
Captain Smith valiantly fought off two hundred Indians, and was only captured when he fell into a bog. The Indians were jubilant, for Smith was a valuable hostage
Eventually he spotted the emperor at the far end of the room, “proudly lying uppon a bedstead a foote high, upon tenne or twelve mattes richly hung with manie chaynes of great pearles about his necke.” In his journal, Smith depicted him as the embodiment of oriental splendour, dripping with jewels and attended by a selection of the choicest ladies from his harem. “At his heade sat a woman, at his feete another, on each side sitting uppon a matte uppon the ground were raunged his chiefe men … and behinde them as many young women, each a great chaine of white beades over their shoulders … [He had] such a grave and majesticall countenance, as drove me into admiration to see such state in a naked salvage.”
Powhatan was polite and good-humoured. He handed over “great platters of sundrie victuals” before turning to the subject that was uppermost in his mind—the reason why the troublesome English had settled in his land.
Smith concocted a story on the spot, describing how they had been blown by storms into Chesapeake Bay and been forced to build a temporary settlement. Realising that Powhatan was less than happy with their presence on his shores, he stressed the story of their accidental arrival. He was itching to ask about the lost colonists,
aware that this powerful ruler must surely know whether they had survived all these years in Virginia, but he knew that to raise the subject now would suggest a greater interest in colonisation than he cared to reveal. Instead, he fobbed Powhatan off with a story of how all of the English served under Captain Newport, “whom I intituled the
meworames,
which they call ‘King of the Waters.’” He assured the emperor that they would leave as soon as this “king” returned to take them away.
aware that this powerful ruler must surely know whether they had survived all these years in Virginia, but he knew that to raise the subject now would suggest a greater interest in colonisation than he cared to reveal. Instead, he fobbed Powhatan off with a story of how all of the English served under Captain Newport, “whom I intituled the
meworames,
which they call ‘King of the Waters.’” He assured the emperor that they would leave as soon as this “king” returned to take them away.
Feared and respected, Powhatan looked every inch the emperor. Smith was filled with admiration “to see such a state in a naked salvage.”
Powhatan was “not a little feared” when he was informed of the might of England, and even more concerned by Smith’s apparently supernatural powers. But he was so shaken by the doom-laden prophecies of his elders that he decided that Smith would be safer dead than alive. This, of course, posed another dilemma—choosing the best way to kill the redheaded sorcerer. Powhatan’s favourite methods were to flay alive, “broyle to death,” or “beat out their braynes;” after his elders had “held a long consultation” they finally plumped for the latter. “Two great stones were brought before Powhatan. Then, as many as could, layd hands on him [Smith], dragged him to them, and thereon laid his head, and being ready with their clubs to beate out his braines.”
They were just about to crack open his skull when “Pocahontas, the King’s dearest daughter, when no intreaty could prevaile, got his [Smith’s] head in her armes and laid her owne upon his to save him from death.” It was the first in a series of bravura actions on the part of Pocahontas that were to captivate and delight the readers of Smith’s journal. Within less than a generation, her name had become familiar right across England, not as a real person but as an almost mythical character of fable and legend.
Powhatan could scarcely believe his eyes. Interpreting his daughter’s intervention as a sign from the gods, he immediately ordered that Smith’s life be spared. Instead of being beaten to death, the Englishman found himself adopted by the emperor and made a
weroance
in his own right. The only condition was that he was to “goe to Jamestowne to send him two great gunnes and a gryndstone, for which he would give him the Country of Capahowosick, and for ever esteeme him as his sonne.”
weroance
in his own right. The only condition was that he was to “goe to Jamestowne to send him two great gunnes and a gryndstone, for which he would give him the Country of Capahowosick, and for ever esteeme him as his sonne.”
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