The Birth of the Nation, Jamestown, 1607

by Sara Agnes Rice Pryor

The "idlers" now began to murmur because no effort had been made to explore the country; and complained that the royal order to go in search of the "South Sea"—that sea which was to open to them the riches of the East—had not been obeyed. The great sea perhaps lay not far distant. Communication with it would be found, they had heard, through some river running from the northwest. There was the Chickahominy flowing in that direction,—why was this river not explored?

Their number had now been so much reduced that they hesitated to send any of their strong men far away from the fort. They remembered the fate of the Roanoke colony. Perhaps, after all, they had better keep together, antagonistic as was their attitude towards each other.

Plans were made and abandoned: to return to England or send thither for supplies; to send to Newfoundland, or to the southern islands. Finally they resolved to wait as long as possible, and hope for Newport's return.

Anxious eyes scanned the horizon from the moment the sun streamed up from the sea in the east until he sank behind the mysterious hills in the west. No sail appeared upon the silent waters. Perhaps they had been abandoned! Perhaps Newport would never come!

But the frost and snow had already come. The birds had long ago sought a warmer climate, and the fish would soon be locked in the ice-bound streams. They durst not wander far enough away from the fort to track the deer or capture the wild-fowl that abound in winter upon the Virginia marshes. More than one of their number had ventured only a short distance away, and been shot full of arrows. Wherever there was a tangle of grass, or of thick-growing reeds, there would some savage lie in hiding with his evil eye upon the hated white man.

Finally John Smith yielded to the complaints of the "idlers," and taking Emry, Casson, and six others, set forth in a barge to "discover up the Chickahominy river." They set out December 10, in a very severe spell of cold weather, "to make the famous discovery of the great South Sea," according to the orders of the London Council. The attempt in the dead of winter to penetrate a country swarming with savage enemies was extremely hazardous. In describing his perils and privations, Smith seems constrained to apologize for the risk to which he exposed himself and his party. "Though some men," he says,[30] "may condemn this too bould attempt of too much indiscretion, yet if they will consider the friendship of the Indians in conducting me" (his two guides), "the probability of some lucke, and the malicious judges of my actions at home—as also to have some matters of worth to incourage our adventures in england—might well have caused any honest mind to have done the like, as well for his own discharge as for the public good."

This voyage was destined to be an important event in the history of the birth of our nation, and every step of it merits our attention and interest.

Captain Smith spent about a month with the Indians and became thoroughly acquainted with them in their own homes, observed their habits of domestic life, their rites and ceremonies, and learned something of their strange language. His residence was solely with the tribe of the Powhatans, who inhabited the tide-water region of Virginia. Of the Indians in the interior beyond the mountains he learned nothing except through vague traditions. But for this voyage we should have lost the beautiful romance so dear to the hearts of Virginians, and now so sternly challenged and defended by the historians of the present day.

The barge or shallop proceeded about forty miles up the river without interruption. At one point a great tree, which he cut in two, hindered the passage. The land was low and swampy—"a vast and wilde wilderness." Many years ago, before the days of steam-engines and railway cars, I traversed this region in a high-swung old Virginia chariot; and the dark river, coloured from juniper berries, the oozy swamps, the tangled undergrowth, the rotting trees, with mottled trunks like great serpents, the funereal moss hanging from the twisted vines, the slimy water-snakes, filled me with childish fear. I saw it all as John Smith had seen it.

When at last the barge could advance no farther, he returned eight miles and moored her in a wide bay out of danger. Leaving her in charge of all his men except two, and taking an Indian guide with him, he went up the river twenty miles in a canoe. He expressly ordered the men in the barge not to land until his return. This order they disobeyed, being minded to make some discoveries of their own. Two of the number left behind were murdered in the most cruel manner by the savages. The others escaped, and reached Jamestown in safety. "Having discovered," says Smith, "twenty miles further in this desart, the river still kept his depth and breadth, but was much more combred with trees. Here we went ashore, being some 12 miles higher than the barge had bene, to refresh ourselves during the boyling of our victuals. One of the Indians I tooke with me to see the nature of the soile and to cross the boughts [windings] of the river. The other Indian I left with Maister Robinson and Thomas Emry, with their matches lighted and order to discharge a peece for my retreat at the first sight of an Indian."