Old Times in the Colonies. Charles Carleton Coffin
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community; that what does not help, hinders; that the idlers and vagabonds could pull down faster than they could build up. They repeated Sir John Popham’s mistake.
All was confusion at Jamestown. The new-comers ate up the provisions of the colonists. They were lazy.
“We did not come here to work,” they said.
“Then you shall not eat,” said Captain John Smith, and ruled them with a determination that soon brought order out of confusion. But when he sailed for England the vagabonds had things their own way; they robbed the Indians, and the Indians, in revenge, split open the skulls of the robbers. Famine came. Thirty of the scapegraces seized one of the vessels in the river and turned pirates. The Indians became more bold — cutting off all stragglers. In six months after Captain Smith’s departure the settlers dwindled from four hundred and ninety to sixty; and they were eating their last provisions when Sir Thomas Gates arrived from the West Indies. What a scene was that which he beheld! A few haggard, starving wretches on the verge of despair!
Sir Thomas had suffered shipwreck at the Bermudas, but had built two small vessels there, and had reached Jamestown with very little food to give to the starving colonists.
“We must abandon the settlement, make our way to Newfoundland, and join the fishermen,”‘ said Sir Thomas.
“We will burn the cursed place,” shouted the colonists, ready to set the houses on fire; but Sir Thomas prevented them from carrying out their plan.
They sailed down the James; but their hearts were made glad at meeting Lord Delaware in a ship bringing supplies and emigrants. With fresh courage they went back to begin once more the foundations of an empire. Lord Delaware was appointed governor. He ruled mildly but firmly. The new colonists were more industrious. Early in the morning they all gathered in the little church while prayers were read, and made their devotions more pleasant by keeping the building adorned with flowers. After prayers they had breakfast, and then worked from six till ten. They rested while the sun was hottest, but labored from two till four in the afternoon. “He that tilleth the land shall be satisfied with bread.” Solomon said it three thousand years ago, and the colonists quickly proved its truth. The harvest was bountiful, and there were abundant supplies.
Lord Delaware returned to England, and Sir Thomas Dale succeeded him as governor. A code of laws printed in England was sent out. The governor had all power, and could inflict severe punishment. If a colonist used an oath against the king, he was to be put to death.
The poets, who a few years before had written plays picturing the richness and attractiveness of Virginia, now held the country and settlers up to ridicule, which so grieved Rev. Mr. Crashaw that he wrote this prayer for the use of the settlers, and which was printed with the laws:
“Whereas, we have, by undertaking this plantation, undergone the reproof of a base world, insomuch as many of our own brethren laugh us to scorn, O Lord we pray thee fortify us against this temptation. Let Sanballat and Tobias, Papists and players, and such other Amorites and Horonites, the scum and dregs of the earth — let them mock such as help to build up the walls of Jerusalem. They that be filthy, let them be filthy still.”
In 1611 three hundred men and one hundred cattle were sent to Virginia. Part of the emigrants settled at Hampton, and part up the river beyond Jamestown. The laws were made more severe. If a man stayed away from church on Sunday, he was to suffer the loss of a week’s provision; for a second offence he was to be whipped; and for staying away three times, was to be put to death. If he refused to tell the minister what he believed in regard to religion, he was to be whipped till he complied. If a washer-woman stole a piece of linen, she was to be tied to the whipping-post and flogged. If the baker did not put a given amount of flour into his loaves, he was to have his ears cut off.
The company held everything in their own hands, and there was no incentive to labor, no hope of reward. A new policy was inaugurated by the governor — the giving of a few acres of land to each settler for an orchard and garden. The land was taken from the Indians, no regard being paid to their rights, nor anything given in return, and the settlers helped themselves to corn which the Indians had raised.
The company in London wanted money; and as no revenue had been received from the colony, the king gave a new charter, with the privilege of their setting up a lottery. They advertised great prizes, but, when the drawing took place, the people who had purchased tickets found that there were sixty thousand blanks to one prize!
It was a dreary winter, that of 1612, to the Jesuit fathers, and the few Frenchmen in the little settlement on the eastern shore of the Bay of Fundy. They had little to eat, and could give no such feasts to the Indians as De Monts had spread for them seven years before. Father Biard was studying the Indian language, giving them bits of bread to induce them to talk. The Indians made game of him.
“What are the Indian words for Faith, Hope, Charity, Sacrament, Baptism?” asked the priest.
The unsuspecting father wrote down, in all soberness, the low, scurrilous, and indecent words which they gave. He made a catechism, but was greatly perplexed at the laughter of the savages when he came to use it.
In midwinter, when their provisions were running low, a vessel from France arrived, bringing information that Baron Pontrincourt had lost much money, and was obliged to sell his rights in Acadia to Madame de Guercheville, a rich and noble lady, deeply religious, who was ready to employ her wealth in converting the Indians to the Catholic faith. The Jesuits told her of the glory and honor that would await her in the next world if she should be the means of saving the souls of the Indians. Her zeal was fired for the Church.
In grand old cathedrals, amidst the pomp and gorgeous ceremony of the Church, women weary of the world were bidding good-bye to its frivolity, taking the veil, consecrating themselves to lives of penance and self-denial, that they might win heaven. Madame de Guercheville planned to send a company of nuns and Jesuit fathers to carry on the work already begun. She infused a little of her own spirit into the indolent, frivolous, voluptuous crowd that swarmed around the boy-king, Louis XIII., so that they opened their purses and contributed liberally to her enterprise.
The Jesuits laid far-reaching plans, persuading Madame de Guercheville to ask Louis to give her all the country between the St. Lawrence and Florida. What was a wilderness on the other side of the sea to a boy? What did he know or care about it? Nothing. He granted all that Madame de Guercheville asked, giving her the whole of America north of the territory claimed by Spain, including Virginia. The Jesuits were delighted; the continent was theirs! Not quite. There were other forces at work, and other wills and plans besides theirs. Time would reveal them.
Along the towering cliffs of Mount Desert, into the peaceful waters of Somes Sound, sailed a ship from Honfleur. It was the month of May, and the forest was robed in green, and the air fragrant with the odors of spring. The vessel was owned by Madame de Guercheville, and commanded by an officer of the Court of Louis XII., De Saussaye. The vessel had touched at Port Royal, and taken on board Father Biard and other Jesuits. Madame de Guercheville had sent out a company of colonists, who, with the priests, were to establish missions to convert the Indians.
A signal fire was blazing on the beach, kindled by the Indians, and Father Biard hastened to the shore. The Indians knew him, for they had been to Port Royal and eaten good dinners at the hall.
“Our chief is sick, and will die, and live in hell forever if he is not baptized!” they said.
The priest hastened to see the chief, and found that he had only a bad cold, and was in no danger of dying. But he saw what a beautiful place it was — a green and grassy slope descending to the sea — a delightful harbor protected from the ocean’s waves.
The colonists went on shore. The priest set up the cross, and mass was said. The four white tents which Madame de Guercheville had sent were pitched on the verdant slope, and the boxes, bales, and chests of goods unloaded.
What vessel was that sailing into the harbor, with a red flag and the cross of St. George at the mast-head, and sixteen cannon protruding from the port-holes, and sixty men on her deck?
It was a ship commanded by Samuel Argall, who was roving