Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America (19 page)

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Authors: Giles Milton

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Not everyone was smitten with the new fad. There were those who claimed that Ralegh was trying to poison the queen with his pipe—he certainly persuaded her to try it—while his critics said that his love of tobacco, turning substance into smoke, epitomised his insubstantiality. With characteristic flair, Ralegh turned such jibes to his own advantage, boasting to the queen that he would weigh his pipe smoke—an impossible feat—if the reward was suitably large. When the queen challenged him to do just that, Ralegh weighed his tobacco, smoked it, then weighed the ash. The difference, he jested, was the weight of the smoke. The queen chortled with delight and said that she had heard of men who turned gold into smoke, but had never before met anyone who could turn smoke into gold.
Harriot’s report on America mentioned few other commodities that offered the same potential as tobacco. Sassafras was said to cure syphilis, and was supposed to be particularly effective on those whose private parts were covered in “knobbes and moister of matter.” But
prices were already low, and there were a good many syphilitic men who could testify to the fact that it did not work. There were skins and furs, and walnut oil was plentiful, while the ubiquitous cedarwood was much sought after for “bedsteads, tables, deskes, lutes, virginalles, and many things else.” But these were small crumbs of comfort for Ralegh. As he studied the draft of Harriot’s book, it remained unclear whether he would abandon the entire project. Richard Hakluyt urged him not to give up, pleading that “if you persevere only a little longer in your constancy, your bride will slowly bring forth new and most abundant offspring, such as will delight you and yours, and cover with disgrace and shame those who have so often dared rashly and impudently to charge her with barrenness.” He added that “no-one had yet probed the depth of her hidden resources and wealth” and, pandering directly to Ralegh’s ego, begged him to “leave to posterity an imperishable monument of your name and fame, such as age will never obliterate.”
 
Thomas Harriot believed he had stumbled across a plant that would save Ralegh’s colony. “There is an herbe called
uppowac
,” he wrote. “The Spaniardes generally call it tobacco.”
 
Ralegh introduced smoking to the court and even persuaded the queen to have a puff. Tobacco was particularly recommended for pregnant women and children
It was a challenge that Sir Walter couldn’t resist.
 
 
Some three or four days after Ralph Lane’s departure from Roanoke, Ralegh’s first supply ship had belatedly dropped anchor just off the Outer Banks. She was “fraighted with all maner of things in most plentiful maner for the supplie and relief of his colonie”—everything that had been so desperately needed by the colonists. The only drawback was her late arrival.
Sir Walter had always intended his supply ship to arrive in America
shortly after the first colonists, but it was delayed by a series of complications and it was not until the spring of 1586, more than nine months behind schedule, that it was ready to leave England. This vessel might have reached Lane in time if it had left port immediately, but once again there were unexpected delays and “before they set saile from England it was after Easter.” This was not Ralegh’s fault. The English Channel was notoriously unpredictable in winter and spring and bad weather often prevented ships from setting sail.
The vessel did not leave port until the first week of April, and by the time it arrived at Roanoke, “the paradise of the worlde,” Lane’s men had already been evacuated. The sailors were truly shocked by what they found. The wooden shacks and shelters had been ripped apart by the hurricane; broken trunks lay scattered over a wide area. It was immediately apparent that the colonists had left—although the supply party had no idea why—and “after some time spent in seeking our colonie up in the countrie, and not finding them, [the ship] returned with all the aforesayd provision into England.”
This was not the only ship to narrowly miss the colonists. Ralegh had long intended to settle a second batch of colonists on Roanoke. At the same time as organising the supply vessel, he was overseeing the preparation of a major new fleet, once again under the command of Sir Richard Grenville.
Grenville was never one to do things by halves, and the flotilla he assembled was a sizeable one: “six ships, one of 150 tons, and the rest from 100 down to 60 tons … with 400 soldiers and sailors and provisions for a year.” It was to sail in a wolf pack, so as to increase its effectiveness in the event of sighting any Spanish vessels.
When Sir Richard arrived at Roanoke in the first week of July, he was stunned by what he found. He had expected to be welcomed by a flourishing colony as well as Ralegh’s supply ship, and although he cannot have been overly excited at the prospect of seeing Ralph Lane, he did at least hope the governor would have the place in order. Instead of happy colonists and a flourishing settlement, he
found Pamlico Sound empty, the island colony deserted, and many of the buildings destroyed. All around him lay evidence of destruction, not least “the bodies of one Englishman and one Indian hanged.” Neither he nor his crew could identify the flyblown corpse of the Englishman, but he was almost certainly a mutinous crew member from the supply ship.
Grenville split his soldiers into small groups. With himself taking command, he led them “up into divers places of the contrey, as well to see if he could here any newes of the colony left there by him the yere before.” For two weeks the groups scoured the landscape, but when they returned they each had a similar story to tell. There was no trace of Lane and his men.
“After some time spent therein, not hearing any newes of them, and finding the place which they inhabited desolate,” Grenville prepared to depart. It was only as the men were returning to the fleet that he had a stroke of good fortune. He captured three Indians. Two of them escaped, but the third spoke enough broken English to explain to Sir Richard that there had been some sort of trouble between the settlers and the Indians and that “Francis Drake had brought away the people who had been on that island.”
This news put Grenville in a quandry. It was clear to him that blood had been spilt, and he also deduced that Lane must have been near starvation to have agreed to the evacuation of Roanoke. But he was “unwilling to loose the possession of the countrie, which Englishmen had so long helde,” and began toying with the idea of leaving behind a small garrison of soldiers.
“After good deliberation, he determined to leave some men behinde to retaine possession of the country.” He landed fifteen soldiers under the leadership of the unfortunately named Master Coffin, a Barnstable man, and “furnished [them] plentifully with all maner of provision for two yeeres.” He also provided them with four pieces of heavy artillery.
He had chosen the very worst option. Such a small group of men
were at great risk of attack and would find it difficult to fend off a concerted assault, even with small arms and artillery. But the bullish Master Coffin was confident of success and ordered his men to begin transferring their possessions to the ruined settlement. These troops watched Grenville’s departure with heavy hearts. They had no idea when the next English vessel might enter these waters, and were uncertain as to which of the Indian tribes they could trust. Anxious and scared, they built rough shelters from the wreckage on Roanoke and repaired the fort, preparing themselves for attack. Many of them wondered if they would ever see their homeland again.
The Indian captive aboard Grenville’s flagship was also deeply unhappy about his predicament. He soon discovered that Grenville had no intention of allowing him to go free, and that he was being taken across the Atlantic to England. His life was destined to be short and almost certainly miserable. He was landed in Bideford, where church records reveal that he was baptised Ralegh on March 27, 1588. Just over a year later, the same Ralegh was buried.
When Sir Walter learned that Grenville had landed a new batch of men on Roanoke, he was unsure how to react. The terms of his American charter meant that he was officially responsible for these men, but he was so deeply involved in his Irish colonial projects, attempting to settle men and women on his vast estates, that he simply did not have time to organise another voyage to America. Nor did he wish to pour any more money into what was likely to be a costly, ill-conceived, and profitless venture. But in the spring of 1587 his financial situation was transformed by the capture of Anthony Babington, the fabulously wealthy Catholic whose treasonable plot to murder the queen ended in his being mutilated to death. When Elizabeth came to dispose of his estates, which sprawled across Lincolnshire, Derbyshire, and Nottinghamshire, there was only one name on her lips. Sir Walter Ralegh, guardian of Virginia, was to receive the lot.
Ralegh now had the necessary fortune to turn, once again, to America. He let it be known that “no terrors, no personal losses or misfortunes” would tear him away “from the sweet embraces of … Virginia, that fairest of nymphs.”
There would, after all, be another expedition to the New World.
The Unfortunate Master Coffin
Master Coffin set his men to work as soon as they had landed on Roanoke. Most of the storm-damaged dwellings were abandoned and the earth-and-timber fort was hurriedly broken up so that it could be rebuilt on a much smaller scale. “Four pieces of artillery of cast-iron,” left by Grenville, were polished and primed in anticipation of an attack.
The fifteen soldiers made little effort to explore their surroundings. Once they had repaired a few essential buildings, they allowed themselves the luxury of gorging on their plentiful victuals. Grenville had provided them with “all manner of provision for two years,” and there was no immediate necessity to hunt and fish for their food. Besides, they had his assurance that a supply vessel would arrive within a few months.
The men must nevertheless have taken the departure of the fleet with a mixture of fear and foreboding, aware that their last link with England was now broken. Their sense of isolation is apparent in the long silence that followed. They kept no journal and wrote no letters, for there was no ship to carry their news back across the Atlantic. These reluctant colonists were charged with playing a waiting game, and their hopes were pinned on one day sighting through the mists the white and red flag of St. George.
 
The rituals and dances of the Indians terrified the English. “They be verye familiar with devils,” wrote Harriot, “from whome they enquier what their enemies doe.”
It is possible that some of Coffin’s men had volunteered to stay on Roanoke, relieved to have escaped the return journey to England. Life on board was perilous and unpredictable, particularly when the ship was captained by such a chimerical spirit as Sir Richard Grenville. But what none of them realised—for they had left England before Harriot’s return—was that their long months on the island would be even more dangerous and uncomfortable.
It was a far cry from the grandiose dreams espoused by London’s colonial enthusiasts. Hakluyt’s vision of colonisation aspired to lofty principles. In a letter to Ralegh, originally written in Latin, he saw the goal as inherently noble. “No greater glory can be handed down than to conquer the barbarian, to recall the savage and the pagan to civility, to draw the ignorant within the orbit of reason, and to fill with reverence for divinity the godless and the ungodly.” But Hakluyt had never experienced the backbreaking work of building a colony, nor did he know the perils of the long voyage to America. The furthest he had travelled was to Paris, where he dined off porcelain and lived a splendid existence in the cosseted surroundings of England’s embassy.
The reality of colonisation had more to do with willpower and survival, a constant battle of wits between the English and the Indians. Coffin and his men were all too aware of the dangers of clashing with the local tribes and decided that their safest option was to dig themselves in on their island stronghold. This seemed like a sensible course of action, for they lay out of reach of Indian arrows. But cocooned behind mud walls, Coffin failed to detect that deadly forces were conspiring against his little battalion, and that the surrounding woodlands were home to a growing band of vengeful and warlike tribesmen.
His hope that a supply vessel would soon be under way was not altogether misplaced, for Ralegh was seriously considering shipping a new colony across the Atlantic. But he had no intention of landing more men on Roanoke. His eyes were now set on Chesapeake Bay, some eighty miles to the north, which had none of the drawbacks of
Wingina’s former fiefdom. Lane himself had proposed this new site, assuring Ralegh that “the territorie and soyle of the Chespians … was for pleasantnes of seate, for temperature of climate, for fertilitie of soyle, and for the commoditie of the sea … not to be excelled by any other whatsoever.”
Sir Walter had been given considerably more information by Harriot and White, who had led the winter expedition to the “Chespians,” rowing their pinnace through the mouth of the bay and exploring its irregular southern shoreline. Their small-scale map is remarkably accurate, and they also produced a much larger copy—which has been lost—on which they marked villages, harbours, hills, even fruit trees and wild vines. They reported that the land was much less forbidding than the swamps of Pamlico Sound. “We found the soyle to bee fatter,” wrote Harriot, “the trees greater and to growe thinner, the grounde more firme and deeper mould, more and larger champions, finer grasse and as good as ever we saw any in England.”
For once, his account was not mere hyperbole. Later adventurers also declared themselves impressed by the “faire meddowes and goodly tall trees.” One enthusiast was so enraptured by the bucolic delights that he was “almost ravished at the sight thereof.” There was not a peat bog in sight: indeed, the ground was “full of fine and beautiful strawberries”—not like the miniature ones served up in England, but “foure times bigger and better than ours.”
Ralegh also learned that Chesapeake Bay was ruled by jovial chieftains who had shown a hearty friendship towards the English. They had lavished meat and fruit on the exploratory party and gone out of their way to provide wholesome and nourishing food throughout the lean winter months. Harriot had enjoyed their “deers’ flesche” and “broiled fishe,” especially when accompanied by maize, but his favourite dish was a thick peasant stew cooked in earthenware with “special cunninge.” “Their woemen fill the vessel with water,” he explained, “and then putt in fruite, flesh and fish, and lett all boyle together.” The result was not unlike the tasty
Spanish dish
olla podrida,
and it was always eaten with “good cheere.”
Harriot’s enthusiasm soon convinced Sir Walter of the merits of Chesapeake Bay, but before he took any final decisions he once again sought advice from his trusty friend Richard Hakluyt. He had chosen his moment well, for Hakluyt was putting the finishing touches to his investigation into Spanish forays in North America. After months of research, the chronicler was able to give some straightforward advice: “Yf yow proceed, which I longe much to knowe, in yor enterprise of Virginia, yor best planting wilbe about the bay of Chesepians.” He added the tantalising information that the colonists would be in striking distance of “rich sylver mynes up in the country.”
Ralegh’s mind was now made up, and he launched himself into his new enterprise with customary gusto. His most pressing concern was to find someone of a suitable calibre to lead his new colony. Ralph Lane showed no immediate desire to return to America. Thomas Harriot, for all his enthusiasm, preferred to try his hand at being a colonist in Ireland, and he set off for Munster, where he began the arduous task of mapping Ralegh’s huge estates.
John White alone was anxious to return to the New World. He had thoroughly enjoyed his year of adventure on Roanoke. When Sir Walter began casting around for someone to appoint as prospective governor, he let it be known that he was itching to take up the position.
Ralegh was more than happy to reward White for all his previous hard work. He had been astonished by the quality of White’s maps and portraits. Although it was unorthodox to appoint an artist as governor, he did not hesitate in giving his backing. In January 1587, he “nomynated, elected, chose, constituted, made and appoynted John White of London, gentleman, to be chief governor theare.”
It was an impressive appointment for a man whose origins were probably humble and certainly obscure. His date and place of birth are unknown, his family history has passed unrecorded, and his early
years are a complete mystery. It is not until 1580 that a John White is listed as a member of the Painter-Stainers’ company, a guild which embraced everyone involved in the painting crafts.
It is almost certain that the young White served his apprenticeship as a limner or miniaturist, a gentleman’s profession that saw itself as being a cut above the tawdry world of the common artist. “None should meddle with limning but gentlemen alone,” wrote the famous miniaturist Nicholas Hilliard, adding that “the fierst and cheefest precepts which I give is cleanlynes.” Hilliard instructed aspiring miniaturists to wear silken blouses and breeches and suggested that they work in a reverent silence, although he conceded that “discret talke or reading, quiet mirth or musike offendeth not.”
John White must have cut a very different figure from his fellow miniaturists. While they honed their skills in oil painting, he began experimenting with an altogether more eccentric medium—watercolour—which was shunned by professional portrait artists and only commonly used as a wash for line drawings and maps. Nor was White content to spend his life painting the sycophants and flatterers of the Elizabethan court. His love of adventure had been kindled by the yarns of merchants and explorers, and from an early age he had yearned to take his skills to far-off climes. His chance came at last in 1577 when he heard rumours that the explorer Martin Frobisher was setting off to the Arctic in search of a northwest passage. He seems to have won himself employment as expedition artist, for the earliest of his surviving works depict skin-wrapped Eskimos paddling kayaks through the ice floes. These paintings persuaded Ralegh to commission him to portray the Indians of Roanoke Island.
Painting in the swamps of Pamlico Sound was frustratingly hard and taught him that the strange rules of limning had their limitations. It was hardly practical for him to powder his hair and wear silk pantaloons, yet he never forgot the first and most important rule of portraiture: “[to] drawe to life … the figures and shapes of men and woemen in their apparell.” Speed was crucial to success, and White developed a system that enabled him to capture a likeness in a flash,
making quick field sketches which he later used to produce his watercolours. These sketches were lost in the hurried departure from Roanoke, as were many of his finished watercolours, but others survived and they were bound into a set on his return to England.
News of White’s talent soon spread across Europe, and within two years of his return, the great Flemish printer, Theodor de Bry, was begging permission to make engravings of his portraits. These eventually became the illustrations for de Bry’s magnificent fourlanguage edition of Harriot’s writings, published in 1590 under the title
America
.
Although White had amply demonstrated his ability as an artist, he had yet to prove he had the leadership skills necessary to govern unruly and dissolute layabouts. Nor had he displayed much resourcefulness or initiative during the 1585 experiment. It was Harriot who had masterminded the great winter expedition to Chesapeake Bay, and Lane who had kept his colonists alive throughout a period of unremitting hardship. Both of these men were shrewd enough to brag about their successes in writing, ensuring that the Elizabethan court was well apprised of their heroics. White, by contrast, is the invisible man of Ralegh’s 1585 colony. He is scarcely mentioned in dispatches and never commended for his bravado; were it not for his watercolours, it would be easy to forget that he was one of the lynchpins of Ralegh’s team. His new appointment as governor was a high-risk gamble, and it remained to be seen if his artistic temperament was capable of commanding respect from his men.
He was not, of course, to govern the colony on his own. Ralegh also created a body that was given the grandiloquent title of the Governor and Assistants of the City of Ralegh in Virginia. This provided White with twelve assistants, like-minded adventurers who had been fired with enthusiasm by Harriot’s account of America.
It was unfortunate that the majority of these men lacked the flair and skill of the gentlemen who had set sail in 1585. England’s most sought-after mariners were too preoccupied with plundering Spain’s treasure ships to take any part in John White’s expedition, and the
few who put their names forward as assistants were wholly unknown and quite without breeding. The only exception was Simon Fernandez, Grenville’s skillful navigator on the
Tiger
, whose arrogance had made him one of the most hated men in Lane’s team. His nickname among sailors was “the swine,” yet he retained the full confidence of Ralegh and was welcomed into the new organisation.
Another of White’s assistants was Ananias Dare, his son-in-law, who had trained as a bricklayer and tiler. His practical skills would be useful when it came to building houses, but were not what was needed to govern a colony. Dare was a wild card who had sown his oats at an early age and unwittingly sired an illegitimate child. In the wrong circles, this would have seriously tarnished his reputation; but there were plenty among London’s adventurers who had a sneaking admiration for such knavish behaviour and agreed with the adage that “untill everyone hath two or three bastards a peece, they esteeme him no man.”

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