Grenville’s task was to ferry Ralegh’s colonists across the Atlantic. Once they were safely ashore, his orders were to bring the rest of the ships safely back to England, leaving the fledgling settlement under the command of Master Ralph Lane, a battle-hardened soldier who was serving in Ireland when he found himself unexpectedly recalled by the queen.
Lane was an expert on fortification and had worked hard to defend Ireland’s coastline from a possible Spanish invasion. His gritty determination to succeed had clearly impressed Ralegh, for he won the coveted position of governor of England’s first colony in America. He was tough as old jerkins and only truly happy when his food supplies had run out and he was forced to live off his wits. He later boasted that he far preferred a life of hardship and endurance “to ye greateste plenty yt ye courte coolde give me.” He felt most at home in the company of his two trusty mastiffs, which he decided to take to America. They might not have showed such loyalty to their master had they seen him pack a cooking pot that almost exactly matched their size.
All the key posts were soon filled by Sir Walter’s men. Philip Amadas, commander of the 1584 reconnaissance mission, was named as “admiral” in charge of the colony’s boats and pinnaces, while the important job of expedition pilot fell to Simon Fernandez, a renegade Portuguese mariner whom Ralegh had known for years. He liked to boast of being “at war with the king of Spain,” which endeared him to Sir Walter, but he soon found himself at war with Grenville as well, creating a damaging rift at the highest level.
Hakluyt had urged Ralegh to hire “a skifull painter … to bring the descriptions of all beasts, birds, fishes, trees, townes.” This he duly did, appointing a brilliant draughtsman by the name of John White to work in tandem with Thomas Harriot. Harriot, of course, was the lynchpin of the entire expedition. As the only member who could communicate with Manteo—who was returning to America to establish liaison with the Indian tribes—his role was critical. He was “specially imploied” to deal with the native inhabitants, as well as being responsible for producing an account of the early days of the colony. He was also charged with mapping the new territories, studying natural curiosities, and recording all materials and resources that could prove useful to the colony.
The assembling of the fleet was conducted rapidly and efficiently, in striking contrast to Sir Humfrey’s expedition two years previously. The flagship was the
Tiger
, the queen’s vessel, commanded by Sir Richard Grenville, while the
Lion
was captained by George Raymond. The
Roebuck
was under the command of John Clarke, a good friend of Ralegh; the
Dorothy’s
captain was probably Arthur Barlowe. Thomas Cavendish, who would later emulate Sir Francis Drake’s feat of circumnavigating the globe, was in charge of the fifth vessel, the
Elizabeth.
None of the ships was large—even the
Tiger
, a “great ship,” was just 200 tons—and much of the available deck space was cluttered with the heavy weaponry necessary to deter a Spanish attack as they passed through the Caribbean.
The smaller ships were made ready in Plymouth, but the
Tiger
, the pride of the fleet, was fitted out in the Thames shipyards. She was to carry virtually all the perishables, a strange decision, for although it enabled Grenville to keep an eye on the supplies, it also meant that the entire mission would be placed in jeopardy if disaster struck the flagship.
By the end of March, the London quaysides were stacked high with casks and barrels, crates, tubs, chests, and trunks. Hakluyt’s list gives a dockside perspective of the kind of equipment needed by the
colonists. Supplies were divided into “dead victuall” and “victuall by rootes and herbes.” The dead victuall was the most susceptible to putrification and was packed with great care. There was “hoggs fleshe barrelled and salted in greate quantitie” and “befe barrelled in lesse quantitie.” “Stockfishe” and “oatmeale” were also barrelled, as were butter, honey, and olives. There were butts and hogsheads for ale, firkins for oil, and cumbersome puncheons containing canary sack. Hessian bags were filled with seed, grain, currants, and prunes; dried and salt fish were loaded into wicker creels.
Great attention was given to the alcohol being stowed on board. There were “syders” from France, Spain, and England; wines, sacks, and hollocks—a clear red wine—and pitchers of aqua vitae for the higher ranks. The beer was “brewed specially in speciall tyme” to ensure it did not turn sour. All of these provisions were expected to last not only for the duration of the voyage but also for the first few months on Roanoke.
The most important of the stores—the seeds—were packed in dry-lined chests, and some, mainly the beans and peas, were “dryed on the kiln” to enhance their preservation. These were the lifeblood of the colony and would prove critical to the success or failure of the entire mission. Little was known about the soil on Roanoke, and no one could be sure which plants would flourish. Hakluyt advised taking a large selection of seeds in the hope that some would germinate soon after arrival. There was “turnep seede and passeneape seede”—good winter vegetables—and quick-growing radishes and “cariotts.” Garlic and onions could be relied upon to thrive in most soils, while “cowcombers” and “cabage cole” were heavy croppers. Hakluyt also recommended taking a large selection of herbs, including “parseley, orege, tyme, rosemary, mustard seede [and] fennell.” Many of these were considered to have medicinal properties and could be turned into pomanders and elixirs by the colony’s apothecary.
Although the quantity of supplies impressed the common mariners, the
Tiger
could carry only a fraction of what was required to sustain the colony. It was soon realised that Grenville would have to stop en route to stock up on salt, fruit, and, most importantly, livestock. There was simply not enough space on deck to carry cattle and swine, and the only opportunity of supplying the colony with farm animals would be to acquire them from settlements in the Caribbean. This was not going to be easy, since every port and harbour was controlled by the Spanish, who were under strict orders not to sell anything to the English. Grenville would have to use his considerable charm—or his ten cannon—to persuade the Spanish to change their minds.
Sir Richard Grenville had a violent temperament. After drinking bouts, he would “take the glasses betweene his teeth and crash them in peeces and swallow them.”
Spain had been keeping a close eye on Ralegh’s preparations, but her attempts to monitor the assembling of his fleet had been dealt a serious blow when her ambassador, Bernadino de Mendoza, was expelled from England after being informed “that Her Majesty was much displeased with me on account of the efforts I had made to disturb her country.” He was told that “it was the queen’s will that I should leave the country without fail in fifteen days.” This was unwelcome news to the Spanish: Mendoza had built up an efficient network of spies in England—several of whom had infiltrated Ralegh’s project—and had hoped to keep a close eye on developments. Now, it seemed, his spy ring would be leaderless.
The ex-ambassador realised his predicament and gave full vent to his Castilian temper, informing the queen’s council that “I was not fond of staying in another person’s house as an unwelcome guest.” He made a secret vow to work against the queen, recording that “as I have apparently failed to please the queen as a minister of peace, she would in future force me to try to satisfy her in war.” He meant every word, and from now on he became one of Elizabeth’s bitterest enemies, directing his network of spies and informers from his new base in France.
The information he received was not always accurate, but by February he was able to scribble a coded letter to King Philip informing him that the queen had given Ralegh the
Tiger
“with five guns on each side of the ship and two demi-culverins in the bows.” Six weeks
later, he scored a notable success when one of his secret agents, Pedro de Cubiaur, managed to smuggle a man into Plymouth harbour and infiltrate the dock workers and suppliers. He produced a detailed report on “the number of the ships and men, and quantity of stores,” and the information he sent to Mendoza caused sufficient alarm for a Spanish frigate to be dispatched to America—the first of many—to determine whether or not an advance party had already established a base.
Mendoza overestimated the strength of Ralegh’s fleet, but almost certainly underestimated the number of men. Sir Walter probably intended the total complement to be about 600, of whom perhaps half would settle in America. But when he began recruiting in the West Country ports, he suddenly found himself up against an intractable problem that had been more than eighteen years in the making. For at the very time he was trying to persuade men to settle in America, the haggard survivors of Sir John Hawkins’s 1567 expedition—colleagues of Davy Ingrams—finally returned to England, bringing with them stories of such unspeakable brutality that even the hardiest of mariners began to think twice about setting sail for a land still claimed by Spain.
One of these survivors was Miles Philips, who had foolishly chosen to throw himself on the mercy of the Spanish rather than join Ingrams on his year-long walk across America. He soon regretted his decision, for it began a sixteen-year ordeal in which he and his companions suffered terrible atrocities. Their reception at a Spanish settlement in Mexico had been ominous enough: they were locked in “a hogstie” and given pigswill to eat. When they asked for a surgeon to dress their wounds, they were thrown in prison and told “that we should have none other surgeon but the hangman, which should sufficiently heale us of all our griefes.”
In 1571, they learned some disturbing news that was to haunt English mariners for years to come. King Philip II had become increasingly concerned that the purity of the Catholic faith was under threat in his New World empire and ordered the dreaded
henchmen of the Inquisition to begin their grisly work in the Americas, rooting out heretics and torturing them to death. “We were a very good booty and pray to the Inquisitors,” Philips later recalled, “[and were] committed to prison in sundry darke dungeons where we could not see but by candle-light.”
The unfortunate English mariners soon learned that they were to become the first victims of an auto-da-fé, or act of faith, a hideous yet compelling public torture ceremony that combined medieval barbarism with the theatricality of a real-life Day of Judgement. Philips and his men were dressed in yellow cloaks and, after being given cups of bitter wine, were marched to the marketplace where the local inhabitants had gathered to “heare the sentence of the Holy Inquisition against the English heretikes.”
“Every man [was] alone in his yellow coat,” recalled Philips, “and a rope about his necke, and a great greene waxe candle in his hand unlighted, having a Spaniard appointed to goe upon either side of every one of us.” They were taken to the scaffold where “we found a great assembly of people” who had gathered to hear them receive their sentence for being heretics. Three of the men “had their judgement to be burnt to ashes,” while others were tortured and flogged. After many hours of whippings and beatings, the battered survivors were led away “with their backes all gore blood, and swollen with great bumps.”
Philips eventually escaped from captivity and arrived back in the West Country more than sixteen years after leaving England. Other survivors trickled home slowly, “carrying still about them (and shal to their graves) the marks and tokens of those inhumane and more then barbarous cruell dealings.” Their horrific tales of suffering captivated both commoners and courtiers, and even the pious Richard Hakluyt could not stop himself from publishing them, with a cautionary note condemning “these superstitious Spaniards … that they thinke that they have done God good service when they have brought a Lutheran heretike to the fire to be burnt.”
The West Country mariners that Ralegh hoped to employ on his
ships were horrified when they heard such tales. They had never trusted the Spanish, but the auto-da-fé was an extremely sinister development. They knew that anyone who had the misfortune to be captured during their passage through the Caribbean could expect much the same fate as Miles Philips and his men. Their terror was so great that many refused to sign up for Ralegh’s adventure, leaving him with a severe shortage of deckhands. His original patent had allowed him to take with him such men as gave their “assent and good-wylle,” but such was the reluctance of mariners to join the expedition that in January 1585 Ralegh asked to be given sweeping new powers by the queen. Her draft commission now allowed her “trusty and welbilovid servant” to impress mariners into service “in any [of] our portz, havons, crekes or other places within our countries of Devon, Cornewall and at Bristowe.” This was not all; he was also given full authority to impress “such shipping, maisters of ships, maryners, souldyours and all other provisions and munition whatsoever as he shall see to be mete and requisite for this service.” How much Ralegh used these powers is unclear, but several members of the expedition claimed to have been forced to go against their will. Such unwilling participants were to prove a dangerous liability, and Ralegh later regretted having used impressed seamen, claiming that they were “so ignorant in sea-service as that they know not the name of a rope and [are] therefore insufficient for such labour.”