The Birth of the Nation, Jamestown, 1607. Sara Agnes Rice Pryor
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rights of birth and property, more vice in high places, more extravagance, drunkenness, and debauchery. It was unsafe to walk in the streets of London after nightfall. A portion of the city was set apart as a refuge for murderers and lawbreakers, whence the law had no power to drag them. Life was held cheap in King James's time. Heads fell on the block as a matter of course. Great ladies drove in their coaches to see Mrs. Turner executed. "Saw three men hanged and so to breakfast," said Samuel Pepys a little later.
The common people were wretchedly poor. They slept on straw and lived on barley. Only the servants of the rich could eat rye bread. Vagrants and beggars swarmed over the kingdom. In a pamphlet entitled "Grievous Groans of the Poor," the writer complains that "The country is pitifully pestered with those who beg, filch, and steal for their maintenance, and travel the highway of hell until the law bring them to fearful hanging." What to do with these swarming "rogues," in case they could not be hanged, was a tough question with Lord Coke,[4] conveniently answered later by imposing them upon the starving colonists.
The picturesque beggar was not a very costly luxury. A curious pamphlet entitled "Stanley's Remedy, or the Way to Reform Wandering Beggars, Thieves, Highway Robbers, and Pickpockets," was published in 1646, in which the cost of the diet and maintenance of every thievish, idle, drunken person in the kingdom was estimated at threepence a day at least.
Of course it was unsafe for "true men" to travel except in numbers and well armed, and whoever was about to take a journey had to wait until a tolerably strong caravan had mustered for the same route. Among the chief places of danger was Gadshill in Kent, where Falstaff achieved the glory of killing the already dead Percy.
Thieves are always more interesting in a story than noblemen, but the Virginia colony was more intimate with the latter than the former; at least until the King graciously reënforced their numbers with a cargo of outlaws. The company that undertook to support the colony was a London Company, and the adventurers were mainly citizens of London. Those who held the title of "gentlemen" may reasonably be supposed to have known something of the luxuries they were now exchanging for the hardships of colonial life. Some idea of the extravagance of the time may be gleaned from old diaries and letters.
A very curious letter has been preserved, which reveals the domestic economy of a family of distinction during the reign of James the First. It is from the daughter of Sir John Spenser and wife of the Earl of Northampton to her lord soon after their marriage. It is an amusing list of the necessities of a lady of rank: "My sweet life, now I have declared to you my mind for the settling of your estate, I suppose it were best for me to bethink and consider within myself what allowance were meet for me," and she proceeds to ask the sum of £2600, to be paid quarterly. In addition to this, she must have £600 quarterly for sundries not to be accounted for. In addition, the lady feels that she needs "three horses that none shall dare lend or borrow," two gentlewomen and a horse for each; six or eight mounted gentlemen, two coaches lined with velvet, four horses to each; a coach for each of her women with gold lace, scarlet cloth; four horses, and two coachmen for each coach; carriages for six laundresses and other serving women; a gentleman usher on horseback; two footmen; all of which to be maintained by her husband. For apparel she needs twenty gowns, £6000 to buy jewels, £4000 to buy a pearl chain, in all $76,000. For her house she wishes him to furnish beds, stools, chairs, cushions, carpets; silver warming-pans; fair hangings, and cupboards of plate, "all things fine and delicate." And in addition to all these she thinks it would save trouble to have £2000 in case of emergency. The letter concludes, "It is my desire that you lend no money, as you love God, to my Lord Chamberlain, who would have all, perhaps your life, from you." And then, on second thoughts, she asks that when her husband becomes an earl £2000 more be allowed her and double attendance.[5] A note to the letter adds, "Her husband went out of his wits."
We cannot begin to describe the Elizabethan magnificence in dress. The artificial taste for dainty and costly living was also abundantly evident in the epicurism of the time. The court that allotted a scanty diet of cereal, oil, and vinegar to the men it sent out to subdue a wilderness, could partake of no simple food or drink. The cookery was complicated and consisted mainly of "villanous compounds" of great cost. Butter, cream, marrow, ambergris, lemons, spices, dried fruits, oranges, the scarce sugar—all of these entered largely in the composition of dishes. We read, among the simple dishes, of an artificial hen made of paste, sitting upon eggs in each of which, enclosed in paste, was a fat nightingale seasoned with ambergris, then the most costly of flavours. There were snails stewed or fried in oil, vinegar, and spices; frogs dressed into fricassees. There was a wonderful receipt for cooking herring. "In hell they'll roast thee like a herring," was the warning to Tam O'Shanter, but herrings were not roasted in King James's time, Scotchman although he was. Here is a receipt for salted herring[6] or "herring-pie," a little bit of which might serve as an appetizer: "Take salt herrings being watered (soaked), wash them between your hands and you shall loose the fish from the skin; take off the skin whole, and lay them in a dish; then have a pound of almond paste ready; mince the herrings and stamp them with the almond paste; two milts or roes; five or six dates, some grated manchet, sugar, sack, rose-water and saffron; make the composition somewhat stiff and fill the skins; put butter in the bottom of your pie, lay on the herring, and on them dates, gooseberries, currants, barberries, and butter; close it up and bake it; being baked, liquor it with butter, verjuice, and sugar."
There was once a gathering of marquises, lords, knights, and squires at Newcastle to celebrate a great anniversary, and each guest was required to bring a dish. The specimen of Sir George Goring was reckoned a masterpiece. It consisted of four huge, brawny pigs, piping hot, bitted and harnessed with ropes of sausages all tied to a monstrous bag-pudding.[7] The narrator explains that "on some occasions a coarse and clownish dish was a pleasing variety."
We can imagine George Percy, John Smith, Gosnold, Newport (all of whom were doubtless received in court circles), dining on this costly fare, and drinking healths on their knees when the King was toasted. So much of the drinking was attributed to Danish influence that it was a common saying that "The Danes had again conquered England."
Before we join our colonists in their perilous enterprise we briefly sketch some of the peculiarities of the life whence they came. This will help to account for some things that follow. Of the political and literary aspects of the times, we must be allowed a short notice, in order that the ensuing story may be better understood.
A great convulsion, incident upon the Reformation, had passed over the world. It raged on the Continent, and then extended to England and Scotland, where it lasted until the death of Queen Elizabeth and the accession to the throne of James the First, when Protestantism was firmly established. The Roman Catholics were in high disfavour. The dreadful Gunpowder Plot had aggravated the bitterness against them. England, all the corruption at court notwithstanding, was full of religious enthusiasts. With them the experiment in Virginia was only the beginning of the conversion of a great multitude of savages. The first charter expressed[8] a pious longing that "so noble a work may by the providence of God hereafter tend to the glory of His Divine Majesty in the propagating of the Christian religion to such people as sit in darkness and miserable ignorance of the true knowledge and worship of God." "This is the work we first intended," says a writer of the time, "and have published to the world to be chief in our thoughts; to bring the infidel people from the worship of Devils to the service of God." "The end of this voyage is the destruction of the Devil's Kingdom," said the good clergyman who preached to the adventurers on the eve of their embarkation.
A more restless, inconsistent age cannot possibly be imagined. In literature a race of giants appeared whose works were the expression of the times. The epoch flowered in the great names which have made the age of Elizabeth so illustrious. Bacon had published his "Advancement of Learning," Spenser his "Faerie Queene," Shakespeare was at the head of a great group of literary giants. A fine stage was set for the monarch, just three years on his throne. He might have been the central jewel of a splendid setting! He might have been the inspiration of a noble era. All the material was at his hand. As it was, it is marvellous he did not plunge the country into ruin. Old England owes much to her House of Commons: "A troublesome body," said James, "but how can I get rid of it? I found it here!"
When Bartholomew Gosnold, Richard Hakluyt, Robert Hunt, John Smith, and others succeeded in obtaining a royal charter