Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America (14 page)

BOOK: Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America
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Lane also learned that the nearby Roanoke River would repay further investigation. His captive chieftain informed him that if he pushed deep inland he would find a tribe with so much copper “that they beautifie their houses with great plates.” This was music to Lane’s ears. Copper was a sought-after commodity in England, and a cheap source would delight Ralegh’s profit-hungry financiers. He decided that this must be his first goal, and he set off to explore immediately, keenly aware that he needed some good news before the expected supply fleet arrived in the summer.
Lane took two boats and forty of his hardiest soldiers on his expedition up the Roanoke River. But they soon found themselves struggling to propel their boats, for the river “hath so violent a current” that it was scarcely navigable. Manteo told them that this was the easy part. Further upstream, “it passeth with many creeks and turnings, and for the space of thirtie miles rowing and more it is as broad as the Thames betwixt Greenwich and the Ile of Dogges.”
The oarsmen were quickly exhausted and hungry. They had hoped to buy food from the Indians, but they discovered that all the tribes living close to the riverbank had fled into the forest. “Having passed three dayes voyage up the river, we could not meete a man, nor finde a graine of corne in any of their townes.” Despite this, Lane pushed them to the limits of their endurance; they managed to cover a remarkable thirty miles a day.
After several days of this punishing regime, Lane realised that he faced a difficult choice. He had few supplies left and was, by his own reckoning, some 160 miles from Roanoke Island. The weather held
the prospect of “contrarie windes or stormes,” and he suspected that they might be ambushed by “savages.” It seemed clear to him that they should continue—endurance, after all, was one of the pleasures of exploration—but he took the unusual step of allowing his men the choice. “I willed them to deliberate all night upon the matter, and in the morning at our going aborde, to set our course according to the desires of the greatest part.” The men talked late into the night, debating whether to risk their lives by continuing upstream or return to the safety of Roanoke. As dawn broke, Lane asked for their decision. “Their resolution fully and wholly was … that whiles there was left one halfe pinte of corne for a man, that we should not leave the searche of that river.”
They set off with renewed hopes of success, forcing their passage against an increasingly swift current. But two more days of exhaustion finally began to break the spirit of these hardy but hungry men. They moored their boats and wondered if they would lose their lives in this dank, inhospitable forest.
As night fell and the temperature plummeted, they noticed small fires flickering in the twilight and hoped that this signified the existence of a settlement where they might find food. “In the evening,” wrote Lane, “we heard certaine savages call as we thought, ‘Manteo,’ who was also at that time with mee in the boate.” The men were heartened by this, “hoping of some friendly conference with them, and willing him to answere them, they presently began a song, as we thought, in token of our welcome to them.” But Manteo was not so convinced that this was a welcome cry; as he strained to catch their words, he suddenly leaped up and grabbed his weapon. “[He] tolde mee that they ment to fight with us,” wrote Lane, “which word was not so sooner spoken by him … [than] there lighted a vollie of arrowes.” The men on shore were fortunate to be wearing their buff jerkins, so the arrows “did no hurt—God be thanked—to any man.” Those still in the boat primed their weapons, jumped ashore, and chased their Indian quarry into the woods. But the tribesmen vanished without trace. With “the sunne drawing then towards the setting,”
Lane wisely ordered all his men back to the riverbank. They hastily built a makeshift fort, elected a guard to stand watch throughout the night, and agreed to start the long journey back to Roanoke “before the rising of the sunne.”
The men were now so hungry that they began to look greedily on the two bullmastiffs that they had brought on the expedition. These huge animals terrified the Indians and were valuable as watchdogs, but such was the desperation for food that they were now put to more practical use. They were slaughtered, mixed together with leaves of the sassafras tree, and made into a “pottage.” The half-starved men ate as much of this revolting mixture as their stomachs would hold, then—after a brief rest—climbed into the boats and headed back downstream, keeping a careful watch for any surprise attack from the forest.
The return journey was much faster, for the little wherry was whisked downstream by the current. They covered in one day what had previously taken four. Even so, by the time they reached the open waters of Pamlico Sound, the congealed bullmastiff was finished and “wee had nothing in the world to eate but pottage of sassafras leaves.” Even the ebullient Lane records that this was virtually inedible. He took the opportunity to crack the only joke in his entire journal. “This was upon Easter eve,” he wrote, “which was fasted very trulie.”
He now realised that he had been extremely fortunate to have brought all his men back down the river alive, having narrowly escaped starvation. Their hardship was not quite over, for they found themselves unable to row across the sound. “The winde blewe so strongly, and the billow so great, that there was no possibilities of passage without sinking of our boates.” But the storm ceased on the following morning, and after a hard day’s rowing the men finally arrived back at their settlement on Roanoke. “God,” wrote Lane, “was pleased not utterly to suffer us to be lost.”
Their arrival was a source of amazement to both the English and the Indians. In their absence, Wingina had been busy making mischief,
informing both parties that Lane’s expedition had been wiped out—“part slayne and part starved.” This, he told his tribe, was proof that the English were not the immortal spirits that the superstitious elders believed them to be. The tribesmen took Wingina at his word and, feeling they had been duped by the English, “grew not onely into contempt of us … [but] began to blaspheme and flatly to say that our Lord God was not God, since hee suffered us to sustaine much hunger and also to be killed.”
Wingina’s strategy had worked well. Had Lane not unexpectedly returned, he would have withdrawn his tribe from Roanoke and moved to the settlement on the mainland. This would have had dire consequences for the colonists, for they had “no weares for fish … [nor] one grayne of corne for seede to put into the grounde.” Indeed, Lane later wrote that such an action would have “brought us to ruine.” The English colony would have starved to death.
The return of the expeditionary force changed everything. It undermined all that Wingina had told his tribe and dramatically weakened his authority. It also forced him to listen once again to his most influential advisor, Ensenor, who had consistently supported the English cause and believed their presence on Roanoke to be beneficial to the Indians. Ensenor had pleaded with his fellow tribesmen to treat the English with respect, arguing that they “were the servants of God and … not subject to be destroyed by them.” He believed Lane’s men to be phantoms and spirits who, “being dead men, were able to doe them more hurt then now we coulde do being alive.”
Wingina’s tribe now sided with Ensenor, convinced that the English were indeed reincarnated spirits. They rejected their chieftain’s fiery rhetoric, returning to their former belief “that we be dead men returned into the worlde againe.”
This heartened the English colonists, and they soon received even better news. An Indian runner arrived at Roanoke with a message from Menatonon, the disabled chieftain, informing them that he had been so impressed with Lane’s tales of the might of Queen Elizabeth that he had commanded one of his lesser chieftains “to yelde himselfe servant and homager to the great
weroanza
of England, and after her to Sir Walter Ralegh.” This chieftain, Okisko, demonstrated his loyalty by sending “foure and twentie of his principllest men to Roanoke” with the news that “from that time forwarde, hee and his successours were to acknowledge her Majestie [as] their onely sovereigne.”
This news was greeted with great joy by the colonists. After just eight months in America, an entire Indian tribe was prepared to accept Queen Elizabeth as their supreme chieftain. The queen now had a new and exotic title to add to her list—one that would cause her immense pride. Henceforth, she was
Weroanza
Elizabeth of Virginia.
When Wingina learned what had happened, he was finally convinced that his anti-English policy was doomed. Since he could no longer count on the support of either his own tribe or the neighbouring Indians, he reluctantly ordered his men to assist the English. They set up fish traps, and by the end of April “had sowed a good quantitie of grounde; so much as [would have] bene sufficient to have fed our whole company (God blessing the grouth) and that by the belly for a whole yere.” He also gave the English some fields—something he had previously resisted—so they could sow grain on their own land.
For the first time in many months, there was a feeling of optimism among the English on Roanoke. With a supply ship due to arrive at the beginning of July—when the first grain would be ready for harvesting—the colonists had just two months more to rely on the Indians for food.
Enter Sir Francis
Sir Richard Grenville’s voyage back to England was blessed with good fortune. He set sail in the third week of August 1585 and steered his course towards Bermuda, where he had the good fortune to cross the path of the
Santa Maria
, a straggler from the Spanish treasure fleet.
The ship’s captain nervously saluted the
Tiger
, firing a round of blank artillery “in token of amity.” In a flash, Grenville was firing back—not with blanks but with weighty cannonballs—aiming his heaviest weaponry at the hull of the
Santa Maria
. “He opened fire and bore down on them … and so cut up their rigging that they were disabled.” Rejoicing in the carnage, Grenville pumped more and more shot into the ship’s weakened timbers. “One man on board was killed, four or five were injured, and two shots struck her near the waterline so that they were sinking.” To avoid catastrophe, the Spaniards hauled in their sails and shifted the ship through a ninety-degree turn so that her crippled hull was no longer facing the waves; but “they could do nothing else because their ship was badly damaged.”
Grenville was anxious to board the vessel and seize her cargo, but he realised he had a problem. He had foolishly left his pinnace and all his small boats with Ralph Lane on Roanoke, and had absolutely
no means of getting his men onto the Spanish ship. As he pondered his predicament, one of his crew had the bright idea of constructing “a boate made with boards of chests.” This was duly knocked together, but the boat was flimsy and began to fall apart as soon as she was lowered into the water. As Grenville and his boarding party rowed across to the
Santa Maria
, watched by jeering Spaniards, there was a sudden crack and she “fell asunder and sunke at the shippes side.” Grenville and his men had to grapple up the ship’s ropes and haul themselves aboard.
The wounded Spanish crew had no stomach for a fight and willingly capitulated to Grenville. He promised “that he would do them no bodily hurt”—little consolation to the dead and dying—on condition that they handed over the ship’s register. When he realised the size and value of her cargo, he could scarcely believe his luck. According to the official Spanish records, the
Santa Maria
was heavily laden with gold, silver, and pearls, as well as 200 boxes of sugar, 7,000 hides, and 1,000 hundredweight of ginger, “to a total value of 120,000 ducats.”
There was far too much to be transferred to the
Tiger
, so Grenville decided to repair the shattered hull of the
Santa Maria
and take command of the vessel, aided by a small contingent of his soldiers. After transferring his belongings, he made his way slowly back to England, eventually dropping anchor at Plymouth in October 1585.
News of his triumph had already reached London; Grenville suddenly found himself the most popular man in the land. “[He] was courteously received by diverse of his worshipfull friends,” reads one account, and doubtless plied with wine. Many of these hosts also happened to be investors in the Roanoke enterprise and, as such, hoped to receive their share of the prize. Prattlers and tavern gossips said the ship was worth a million, maybe more, but however much the London merchants pestered Grenville for an accurate breakdown of her cargo, they learned nothing. The wily Sir Richard kept a stony silence and devoted his time to selling off the seized goods in great secrecy.
It was some weeks before he wrote to Sir Francis Walsingham, also an investor, with the sad news that the
Santa Maria
had been grossly overvalued. “The whole estimate of the shippe … amountethe only to 40,000 or 50,000 ducats.” Such a low amount was clearly nonsense, yet even with such modest proceeds Grenville was able to repay “the retorne of your adventure, with some gayne.” This was a most important boast, for it proved to London’s financiers that England’s colony could be a profitable enterprise, if only as a base for privateers and pirates. Grenville had given them tangible evidence of the advantages of a fortified stronghold on Roanoke—a supply depot and warehouse—from where their doughty captains could launch raids on the Spanish treasure fleet. It was an exhilarating prospect, and men began to talk excitedly about how the colonisation of America would enable them “to possesse king Phillippes pursse, which is the sure waie to ruine, att one instant, both him and all the usurers depending on him.”
Grenville presented Ralegh with a mixed account of the fledgling colony on Roanoke. He proudly informed him that a settlement had been constructed and—never shy of blowing his own clarion—added that through his own exertions it had been planted “with suche cattell and beastes as are fitte and necessary for manuringe the countrey.” But he also brought news of the loss of the
Tiger
’s stores, and explained that he had left the colonists with empty bellies and mouldy seeds.
Ralegh was alarmed by what he heard. The colony’s first supply ship was due to have sailed some months previously, but it had been unexpectedly delayed by an event in Spain that had not only brought the two countries to the brink of war, but now threatened the very existence of the first English colony in America.
King Philip had grown increasingly frustrated with Queen Elizabeth’s hawkish foreign policy in the Spanish Netherlands and was infuriated by her refusal to call a halt to the piratical activities of sea captains like Sir Richard Grenville. When crop failures in Spain threatened a famine, he decided to make mischief. He invited English
merchants to dispatch a large flotilla of grain ships, with the intention of seizing their cargoes and imprisoning their sailors as the prelude to a total embargo on English trade.
It was a bold idea and it almost worked. But a single slip caused the operation to backfire, and this in turn caused a serious domino effect on the fledgling colony on Roanoke. Things went awry in the spring of 1585 when King Philip’s officers came to board the
Primrose
, a large English vessel anchored in the bay of Bilbao. The
Primrose’
s captain was ignorant of the seizure of the other English ships and had given a warm welcome to the boarding party, showing particular courtesy to the lieutenant general of Biscay. The lieutenant general repaid his kindness by ordering him to “yeeld yourselfe, for you are the king’s prisoner.” The captain lamely called to his men, “We are betrayed.”
But the English mariners had no inclination to surrender. They knew that capture would lead to incarceration and torture, and resolved “to die and be burned in the middest of the sea, rather than to suffer themselves to come into the tormentors’ hands.” They braced themselves for an onslaught and, “in very bold and manly sort … tooke them to their javelings, lances, bore-speares and shot … [and] did shoote up at the Spaniards.”
Carnage ensued, in which the upper decks of the
Primrose
were turned into a human abbatoir. “Now did their blood runne about in the ship in great quantitie, some of them being shot in betweene the legges, the bullets issuing foorth of their breasts, some cut in the hand, some thrust into the bodie, and many of them very sore wounded.” The Spanish quickly realised they had made a grave error of judgement. The English crew were sea-toughened ruffians who fought with such tenacity that they had soon recovered the greater part of the vessel. The Spaniards threw in the towel and, without further ado, “tumbled as fast over boord on both sides, with their weapons in their handes, some falling into the sea and some getting into their bootes.”
The lieutenant general followed them into the water and clung to
the ship until, “for pities sake,” he was hauled aboard. Realising that the game was up, he reached inside his clothes, “which were wet, [and] did plucke foorth the king’s commission by which he was authorized to doe all that he did.”
Only now did the crew of the
Primrose
realise that they had an extremely valuable hostage. The lieutenant general was carrying proof that King Philip had masterminded the whole affair. The English captain immediately weighed anchor and headed for England to present both the document and the Spaniard to Queen Elizabeth.
The queen was livid when she learned what had happened and vowed to have her revenge. England’s merchants were no less indignant and clamoured for war with Spain. Soon the whole country was demanding action. Elizabeth, answering the cries of her nation, threw caution to the wind and ordered a retaliatory embargo on Spanish goods, as well as issuing letters of reprisal to the merchants. This was tantamount to a declaration of war, for the queen’s measure made it “lawful for the said merchants … to set upon by force of arms, and to take and apprehend upon the seas, any of the ships or goods of the subjects of the King of Spain.” Henceforth they were allowed to act “as if it were in the time of open war between her Majesty and the said King of Spain.” The queen showed that she meant business by ordering her trusty servant, Sir Francis Drake, to prepare a fleet to rescue the seized vessels.
The furore that followed had an unfortunate consequence for Ralph Lane and his hungry colonists on Roanoke. Ralegh’s supply ship, the
Golden Royal
, was already laden with tools and victuals and was about to sail for America when Queen Elizabeth announced that she had a more urgent task for its captain, Bernard Drake, the brother of Sir Francis. Concerned that the English fishing fleet in Newfoundland was in danger, she ordered him to alert the fishermen to the turn of events and to protect them from attack.
Young Bernard carried out Her Majesty’s orders to the letter, and even found time in the coming weeks to attack nineteen Spanish
vessels, much to the fury of their owners. Elizabeth rejoiced in his success and added salt to the Spaniards’ wounds by knighting him on his return.
English piracy quickly became so rife in New World waters that Spain’s Council of the Indies was moved to write a desperate plea to the king. “Since the damage is becoming greater every day, and since, if the arrogance of these corsairs remains unchecked, we will always be troubled, we again, with all humility, beseech your majesty to find a remedy.” The council added that it was imperative that the English colony be located and destroyed, since it was believed to be harbouring the piratical English vessels.
The Spanish were hindered by a lack of reliable information. Although dozens of reports were delivered to the king’s magnificent palace, El Escorial, few contained anything more concrete than rumour. “The plan and principal objective of these corsairs is not yet understood,” reads one report; another claims that Ralegh had dispatched more than 500 colonists to America. Anger bred desperation, and the Council of the Indies prepared a warship, “strong and well armed … with settlers, arms, powder, necessary military stores and any other cargo considered desirable.” This was to have a defensive and offensive role—capable of protecting Spain’s military outposts in Florida but also equipped to strike at the English colony.
King Philip fully supported such measures, aware that he would almost certainly have to use force to drive England out of America. But unbeknown to either the Spanish or the English, Ralph Lane’s settlers were proving more than capable of destroying themselves.
 
 
Ralph Lane had every reason for optimism after surviving his ill-fated expedition up the Roanoke River. Crops had been planted and fish traps set, and he noted in his journal that the crops could be harvested in just two months, at which point the colony would become self-sufficient. “All our feare was of the two moneths betwixt,” he
wrote, “in which meane space, if the savages should not helpe us … we might well starve.”
But on April 20, 1586, Lane was awakened with some dreadful news. Ensenor, “the only frend to our nation,” had dropped dead, depriving the English of their most loyal supporter. He alone had “opposed himselfe in their consultations against al matters proposed against us.” And he alone commanded sufficient respect to force a climbdown from Wingina. More bad news arrived a few days later when Lane learned that Wanchese, along with several others, had finally deserted the English cause, leaving Manteo as Lane’s only Indian ally.
With Ensenor dead and the collapse of the pro-English camp, Wingina’s hostility to Lane was renewed; he privately vowed to wipe out the colonists once and for all. He was tired of their “dayly sending … for supply of victuall” and forbade his tribesmen from selling any food to the English. He also moved his base to the mainland and forced his tribe to destroy all the fish traps, which, “once being broken, [were] never to be repaired.”
This was a serious development. “The king stood assured,” wrote Lane, “that I must be enforced, for lacke of sustenance, there to disband my company into sundry places to live upon shell-fishe.” This was exactly the course that the English now adopted, “for the famine grewe so extreeme among us … that I was enforced to send Captaine Stafford with 20 with him to Croatoan [Island].” Lane further reduced numbers by dispatching another band of men to the Outer Banks “to live there and also to wayte for shipping.” He sent a rotating team to the mainland to forage for berries and shellfish.
It was not long before Wingina felt that the English were sufficiently weakened for him to attempt an assault on their fort, and he spent considerable effort persuading other tribes to join him, promising them the spoils of war as their reward. Lane knew in advance of the planned ambush, for the information had been leaked to him by a renegade Indian. It was a carefully planned operation that involved several hundred warriors. Two of Wingina’s advisors, along with
twenty bowmen, were to row across to Roanoke Island, and then, according to Lane, “in the dead time of the night, they would have beset my house and put fire in the reedes.” If all had gone to plan, a panic-striken Lane “woulde have come running out of a sudden, amazed, in my shirt [and] without armes, upon the instant whereof they woulde have knocked out my braynes.” As soon as Lane was dead, the Indians would have killed Harriot and the other “gentlemen” and then set upon the shocked survivors. In the space of a few short hours, England’s colony in America would have been wiped off the map.
BOOK: Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America
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