 SCARESLY A WEEK HAD PASSED BEFORE THE NEW PIECE AND HAPPINESS OF THE FRENCH COLONY WAS BROUGHT TO A CRUEL END. Late one night the men on board the French ships saw a great black hulk loom silently up out of the darkness. It was followed by another and another. No word was spoken, and in eerie silence the strange ships crept stealthily onwards and cast anchor beside the French. The stillness grew terrible. At length it was broken by a trumpet call from the deck of one of the silent newcomers. Then a voice came through the darkness. Gentlemen, it asked, whence does this fleet come? From France was the reply. What are you doing here was the next question. We are bringing soldiers and supplies for a fort which the King of France has in this country and for many which he soon will have. Are you Catholics or Lutherans? The question came sharply across the dark water. It was answered by many voices. We are Lutherans, cried the French. We are of the new religion. Then it was the Frenchman's turn to ask questions. Who are you, they cried, and whence come ye? I am Pedro Menendez, replied the voice out of the darkness. I am Admiral of the fleet of the King of Spain, and I am come into this country to hang and behead all Lutherans whom I may find by land or by sea, and my King has given me such strict commands that I have power to pardon no man of them, and these commands I shall obey to the letter as you will see. At dawn I shall come aboard your ship, and if there I find any Catholic he shall be well treated, but every heretic shall die. Then reply to this speech a shout of wrath went up from the Frenchman. If you are a brave man, they cried, why wait for dawn, come on now and see what you will get. Then in their anger they heaped insults upon the Spaniards and poured forth torrents of scuffing words. Thereupon Menendez was so enraged that he swore to silence those Lutheran dogs once and for ever, so the order was given, and his great ship slowly moved towards the French. The threats of the French had been but idle boasting, they could not withstand the Spaniards for their leader was ashore with most of his soldiers, so cutting their cables they fled out to sea pursued by the foe. There was a mad chase through the darkness, but the heretic devils, as the Spaniards called them, were skillful sailors. Menendez could not catch them, and when day dawned he gave up the chase and moodily turned back to Fort Caroline. Here he found the French ready for him, and they seemed so strong that he would not attack, but sailed away southwards until he reached the River of Dolphins. Here Menendez landed and took possession of the country in the name of the King of Spain. While cannon-boomed and trumpets-blue he stepped on shore followed by his officers and gentlemen. In all the gay trappings of knighthood, with many colored banners fluttering in the breeze, they marched. Then as they advanced another procession came toward them. At the head of it was a priest in all the pomp and splendor of his priestly robes. He carried a gilded crucifix in his hand, and as he marched he sang a te deum. When the two processions met Menendez and all his company knelt, and bearing their heads kissed the crucifix. So was the land claimed for Spain and the Catholic faith, and St. Augustine, the oldest town in the United States, was founded. Meanwhile the fleeing French ships had turned, followed the Spaniards and seen them land. Then they went back to Fort Caroline with the news. While these things had been happening, Laudonnière had been very ill. He was still in bed when Ribault, followed by several of his chief officers, came to his room to tell him the news which the returning ships had just brought. And beside his sick bed they held a council of war. It was decided to attack the Spaniards and drive them from the land, but how? First one plan, and then another was discussed, and to each someone objected, but at length it was decided to go by sea and attack the Spaniards suddenly in their newly founded fort. So almost every man who could hold a gun set forth with Ribault, and Laudonnière was left in the fort with the feeble and sick, and scarcely a man besides who had ever drawn a sword or fired a shot. Their leader was as sick and feeble as any of them, but he dragged himself from his bed to review his forces. They were poor indeed, but Laudonnière made the best of them. He appointed each man to a certain duty. He set a watch night and day, and he began to repair the broken down walls of the fort, so that they would be able to make some show of resistance in case of attack. Laudonnière was thus ordering his poor little garrison, the ships carrying the rest of the colonists, sailed on their way. The wind was fair, and in the night they crept close to where the Spanish vessels lay. But when day dawned and the Spaniards saw the French vessels close to them, they fled to the shelter of their harbour, and a sudden storm arising, the French were driven out to sea again. As Menendez watched them from the shore he rejoiced. He knew by the number of ships that most of the French colonists must be in them, and he hoped that they would all be lost in the storm. Then as he watched, a sudden thought came to him. While the French men were battling with wind and waves, he resolved to move quickly over land and take Fort Caroline, for he knew that it must be almost, if not quite, unprotected. One of the French mutineers who had deserted Laudonnière was now in the Spanish fort. He would show the way. Full of this splendid idea, eager to carry it out at once, he ordered mass to be said, then he called a council and laid his plan before his officers. They however met his eagerness with coldness. It was a mad and hopeless plan, they thought, and they did their best to dissuade Menendez from it. But Menendez was determined to go. Comrades, he said, it is now that we must show our courage and our zeal. This is God's war, and we must not turn our backs upon it. It is war against heretics, and we must wage it with blood and with fire. But the Spanish leader's eager words awoke no response in the heart of his hearers. They answered him only with mutterings. Still Menendez insisted. The debate grew stormy and angry words were flung this way and that. At length, however, Menendez had his way. The clamour was stilled. The officers gave a grudging consent, and preparations for the march were begun. In a few days all was ready and the expedition set out. It was a simple matter. There was no great train of sumpter mules or baggage wagons. Each man carried his own food and ammunition, and twenty axmen marched in front of the little army to give away through the forest. The storm still raged. Rain fell in torrents, and the wind howled ceaselessly as on and on the men trudged. They plunged through seas of mud and grass which grew waist high and threaded their way along the narrow paths cloven for them by the axmen. So for three days they toiled onward. Their food was gone, their ammunition soaked, they were drenched to the skin, foot sore and famishing, when upon the third night they lay down upon the muddy ground, cursing their leader for having brought them forth to die thus miserably. But while the men cursed, Menendez prayed. All night he prayed, and before day dawn he called his officers to a council. They were now within a mile of Fort Caroline, and he was eager to attack. But his officers were sick of the whole business. The men were utterly disheartened. One and all they clambered to return. Yet once again Menendez bent them to his will. In the darkness of the forest he spoke to the wretched, shivering, rain-drenched men. He taunted, he persuaded, and at length rung from them a sullen consent to follow him. So once again the miserable march was begun, and when day dawned they stood on the hill above the Fort. No sound came from it, no watchman stood upon the ramparts. For towards morning, seeing that it rained harder than ever, the captain of the guard had sent his men to bed, for they were soaked to the skin and he was sorry for them. In such rain and wind what enemy would venture forth, he asked himself. It was folly to stay abroad on such a night, he thought. So he dismissed the guard and went off to bed. Thus none heard or saw the approach of the Spaniards. Then suddenly the silence of the dawn was broken with fierce war-cries. At them shouted the Spaniards, God is with us! The sleeping Frenchmen started from their beds in terror. Half naked they sprang to arms. On every side the Spaniards poured in. The dim light of dawn showed the dark, cruel faces and the gleam of drawn swords. Then clash of steel, screams of frightened women and children, curses, prayers, all mingled together in terrible confusion. At the first alarm La Doniere sprang from his bed and seizing his sword called his men to follow him. But the Spaniards surrounded him, his men were slain and scattered, and he himself was forced back into the yard of his house. Here there was a tent. This stopped his pursuers, for they stumbled over the cordage and became entangled with it. The confusion gave La Doniere a few minutes respite in which he escaped through a breach in the ramparts and took refuge in the forest. A few others fleeing this way and that escaped likewise, but some—the first moment of terror or past—resolved to return and throw themselves on the mercy of the Spaniards, rather than face starvation in the woods. They are men, said one. It may be when their fury is spent they will spare our lives. Even if they slay us, what of that? It is but a moment's pain. Better that than to starve here in the woods or be torn to pieces by wild beasts. Still some held back, but most agreed to throw themselves upon the mercy of the Spaniards. So unarmed and almost naked as they were, they turned back to give themselves up. But little did these simple Frenchmen understand the fury of the foe. When they neared the fort, the Spaniards rushed out upon them, and unheeding their cries for mercy slew them to a man. Those who had held back when they saw the fate of their companions fled through the forest. Some sought refuge among the Indians, but even from that refuge the Spaniards hunted them forth and slew them without pity. Thus the land was filled with bloodshed and ruin. Many were slain at once by the sword, others were hanged on trees round the fort, and over them Menendez wrote, I do this not as to Frenchmen, but as to Lutherans. Only a few miserable stragglers, after untold sufferings, reached the little ship which still lay at anchor in the river. Among these was Laudonière. Their one desire now was to flee homewards, and unfurling their sails they set out for France. The colony of Fort Caroline was wiped out, and rejoicing at the success of his bold scheme, Menendez marched back to St. Augustine where a teideum was sung in honour of this victory over heretics. Meanwhile the Frenchmen who had set forth to attack St. Augustine by sea had been driven hither and thither by the storm, and at length were wrecked. But although the ships were lost, all or nearly all of the men succeeded in reaching the shore in safety, and not knowing what had happened at Fort Caroline they set out in two companies to try to reach the fort by land. But they never reached the fort. For one morning scarcely ten days after the destruction of Fort Caroline some Indians came to Menendez with the news that they had seen a French ship wrecked a little to the south. The news delighted Menendez, and he at once set out to capture the shipwrecked men. It was not long before he saw the lights of the French camp in the distance, but on coming nearer it was seen that they were on the other side of an arm of the sea, so that it was impossible to reach them. Hiding, therefore, in the bushes by the waters edge, Menendez and his men watched the Frenchmen on the other side. The Spaniards soon saw that their enemies were in distress. They suspected that they were starving, for they could be seen walking up and down the shore seeking shellfish. But Menendez wanted to make sure of the state they were in, and he made up his mind to get nearer to the Frenchmen. So he put off his fine clothes, and dressing himself like a common sailor, got into a boat and rowed across the water. Seeing him come, one of the Frenchmen swam out to meet him. As he drew near, Menendez called out to him. Who are you, and whence com ye? We are followers of Rebeau, Viceroy of the King of France, answered the Frenchman. Are you Catholics or Lutherans? asked Menendez. We are Lutherans, answered the man. Then after a little more talk, Menendez told who he was. With this news the man swam back to his companions, but he soon returned to the boat to say that five of the French leaders wished to speak with the Spanish leader, and begged for safe conduct to his camp. To this Menendez readily agreed, and returning to his own side he sent the boat back to bring the Frenchmen over. When they landed, Menendez received them courteously, and after returning his ceremonious greetings, the Frenchmen begged the Spaniards to lend them a boat, so that they might cross the river which lay between them and Fort Caroline. At this request Menendez smiled evilly. Gentlemen, he said, it were idle for you to go to your fort. It has been taken, and every man is slain. But the Frenchmen could not at first believe that he spoke the truth, so in proof of his words the Spanish leader, bad his men, show the heretics the plunder which had been taken from their fort. As they looked upon it the hearts of the Frenchmen sank. Then ordering breakfast to be sent to them, Menendez left them, and went to breakfast with his own officers. Breakfast over he came back to the Frenchmen, and as he looked at their gloomy faces his heart rejoiced. Do you believe now, he asked, that what I told you is true? Yes, replied the Frenchmen, we believe. It would be useless now to go to the fort. All we ask of you is to lend us ships, so that we may return home. I would gladly do so, replied Menendez, if you were Catholics and if I had ships. But I have none. Then seeing that he would give them no help to reach home the Frenchmen begged Menendez at least to let them stay with his people until help came to them from France. It was little enough to ask, they thought, as France and Spain were at peace. But there was no pity or kindliness in the Spanish general's heart. All Catholics, he replied sternly, I would defend and succour, but as for you you are Lutherans and I must hold you as enemies. I will wage war against you with blood and fire. I will wage it fiercely, both by land and sea, for I am viceroy for my king in this country. I am here to plant the Holy Gospel in this land, that the Indians may come to the light and knowledge of the holy Catholic faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, as taught by the Roman Church. Give up your banners and your arms and throw yourselves on my mercy, and I will do with you as God gives me grace. In no other way can you have truce or friendship with me. To this the Frenchmen knew not what to say. First they consulted together, then some of them went back across the water to take counsel with those who waited there. They talked long, and anxiously those on the Spanish side awaited their return. At length one of their messengers returned, and going to Menendez he offered him a large sum of money, if he would swear to spare their lives. But Menendez would promise nothing. The Frenchmen were helpless. They were starving and in his hands, and both he and they knew it. They saw no hope anywhere, so they yielded to the Spanish general's demands. Once more the boat was sent across the water, and this time it came back laden with banners, arms, and armor. Then guarded by Spanish soldiers the Frenchmen were brought across by tens. As each batch landed they found themselves prisoners, their arms were taken from them, and their hands were tied behind their backs. All day, hour after hour, the boat plied to and fro, and when all the Frenchmen had been brought over they were ordered to march forward. The Spanish general walked in front, but he did not go far, and the sun was already setting, and it was time to camp for the night. So but a little way from the shore he stopped and drew a line in the sand, and when the wretched Frenchmen reached that line, weaponless and helpless as they were, they were one and all put to death. Then, glorying in his deed, Menendez returned to St. Augustine. But he had not yet completely wiped out the French colony, for besides those he had so ruthlessly slain there was another large party under Ribbeau, who, ignorant of all that had happened, were still slowly making their way to Fort Caroline. But again news of their whereabouts was brought to Menendez by Indians, and again he set off to waylay them. He found them on the same spot as he had found the first party, but this time the Frenchmen had made a raft, and upon this they were preparing to cross the water when the Spaniards came upon them. The Frenchmen were in such misery that many of them greeted the appearance of their enemies with joy, but others were filled with misgiving. Still they resolved to try to make terms with the Spaniards, so first one of his officers and then Ribbeau himself rode across the strip of water to parley with the Spanish leader. They found him as pitiless as their companions had found him, and seeing that they could make no terms with him, many of the Frenchmen refused to give themselves up, and they marched away. But after much parleying, and many comings and goings across the river, Ribbeau, believing that Menendez would spare their lives, yielded up himself and the rest of his company to the Spaniards. He was soon undiseived, for he was led away among the bushes, and his hands were tied behind his back. As his followers came over they too were bound and led away. Then as trumpets blew and drums beat, the Spaniards fell upon their helpless prisoners, and slew them to a man. When Ribbeau saw that his hour was come he did not flinch. We are but dust, he said, and to dust we must return, twenty years more or less can matter little. So with the words of a psalm upon his lips he met the sword thrust. Not till every man lay dead was the fury of the Spaniards sated. Then his horrible labour ended, Menendez returned once more in triumph to his fort. Those of the French who had refused to give themselves up to Menendez now wandered back to the shore where their ship had been wrecked. Out of the broken pieces they tried to build a ship in which they might sail homeward, but again news of their doings was brought to Menendez by the Indians, and again he set out to crush them. When the Frenchmen saw the Spaniards come they fled in terror, but Menendez sent a messenger after them promising that if they yielded to him he would spare their lives. Most of them yielded, and Menendez kept his promise. He treated his prisoners well, but when an opportunity arrived he sent them home to end their lives as galley slaves. End of chapter 9. Red on October 26th, 2007, in Oceanside, California. This country of ours, chapter 10. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Kara Schellenberg. This country of ours, chapter 10. How a Frenchman avenged the death of his countrymen. When the news of these terrible massacres reached France it was greeted with a cry of horror. Even the boy king, Charles IX, Catholic though he was, demanded redress, but the king of Spain declared that the Frenchmen had been justly served. The land upon which they had settled was his, he said, and they had no right to be there. He was sorry that they were Frenchmen, but they were also pirates and robbers, and had received only the just reward of their misdeeds. Neither Charles nor his mother, who was the real ruler in France at this time, wished to quarrel with the king of Spain, so finding that no persuasions would move him, and that instead of being punished, Menendez was praised and rewarded, they let the matter drop. But there was one man in France who would not thus tamely submit to the tyranny of Spain. His name was Dominique de Gorge. He hated the Spaniards with a deadly hatred, and when he heard of the Florida massacre he vowed to avenge the death of his countrymen. He sold all that he had, borrowed what money he could, and with three ships and a goodly company of soldiers and sailors set sail. At first, however, he kept his real object secret. Instead of steering straight for Florida, he steered southward, making believe that he was going to Africa for slaves. But after encountering storms and contrarie winds, he turned westward, and when off the coast of Cuba he gathered all his men together and told them what he had set out to do. In vivid, terrible words he recounted to them the horrible slaughter. Shall we let such cruelty go unpunished? he asked. What fame for us if we avenge it? To this end I have given my fortune, and I counted on you to help me. Was I wrong? No, they all cried. We will go with you to avenge our countrymen. So with hearts filled with thoughts of vengeance they sailed onward to Fort Caroline. The Spaniards had repaired the fort, and now called it Fort Mateo. They had also built two small forts nearer the mouth of the river to guard the entrance to it. Now one afternoon the men in these forts saw three ships go sailing by. These were the French ships belonging to Gorge and his companions. But the men in the forts thought that they were Spanish ships, and therefore fired a salute. Gorge did not un-deceive them. He fired a salute in reply and sailing on as if he were going elsewhere was soon lost to sight. At length having found a convenient place out of sight of the forts he drew to the shore. But when he would have landed he saw that the whole beach was crowded with savages armed with bows and arrows and ready for war. For the Indians too had taken the strange ships to be Spanish, and as they had grown to hate the Spaniards with a deadly hatred they were prepared to withstand their landing. Fortunately, Gorge had on board a trumpeter who had been in Florida with Laudanier. So now he sent him on shore to talk with the Indians. And as soon as they recognized him they greeted him with shouts of joy. Then they led him at once to their chief, who was no other than Saturiona, Laudanier's one-time friend. So amid great rejoicings the Frenchmen landed. Then Saturiona poured into their ears the tale of his wrongs. He told them how the Spaniards stole their corn, drove them from their huts and their hunting grounds, and generally ill-treated them. Not one peaceful day, he said, have the Indians known since the Frenchmen went away. When Gorge heard this he was well pleased. If you have been ill-treated by the Spaniards, he said, the French will avenge you. At this Saturiona leapt for joy. What, he cried, will you fight the Spaniards? Yes, replied Gorge, but you must do your part also. We will die with you, cried Saturiona, if need be. That is well, said Gorge, how soon can you be ready? For if we fight we should fight at once. In three days we can be ready, said the Indian. See to it then, said Gorge, that you are a secret in the matter so that the Spaniards suspect nothing. Have no fear, replied Saturiona, we wish them more ill than you do. The third day came, and true to his word Saturiona appeared, surrounded by hundreds of warriors, fearful in paint and feathers. Then, some by water, some by land, the French and Indians set forth, and after many hardships and much toil they reached one of the forts which the Spaniards had built near the river's mouth. From the shelter of the surrounding trees they gazed upon it. There, cried Gorge, there at last are the thieves who have stolen this land from our king. There are the murderers who slew our countrymen. At his words the men were hardly to be restrained. In eager whispers they begged to be led on, so the word was given and the Frenchmen rushed upon the fort. The Spaniards had just finished their midday meal when a cry was heard from the ramparts. To arms, to arms, the French are coming. They were taken quite unawares, and with but short resistance they fled. The French and Indians pursued them and hemmed them in, so that not one man escaped. In like manner the second fort was also taken, and every man slain or made prisoner. The next day was Sunday, and Gorge spent it resting and making preparations to attack Fort Mateo. When the Spaniards in Fort Mateo saw the French and their great host of yelling, dancing Indians, they were filled with fear, and in order to find out how strong the force really was one of them dressed himself as an Indian and crept within the French lines. But almost at once he was seen by a young Indian chief, and his disguise being thus discovered he was seized and questioned. He owned that there were scarce three hundred men in the fort, and that, believing the French to number at least two thousand, they were completely terror-stricken. This news delighted Gorge, and next morning he prepared to attack. The fort was easily taken. When the Spaniards saw the French attack panic seized them and they fled into the forest. But there the Indians, mad with the desire of blood and vengeance, met them. Many fell before the tomahawks. Others turned back, choosing rather to die at the hands of the French than of the Indians. But which way they turned there was no escape. Nearly all were slain. A few only were taken prisoner. When the fight was over Gorge brought all the prisoners from the three forts together. He led them to the trees where Menendez had hanged the Frenchmen a few months before. There he spoke to them. Did you think that such foul treachery, such abominable cruelty, would go unpunished, he said? Nay, I, one of the most lowly of my king's subjects, have taken upon myself to avenge it. There is no name shameful enough with which to brand your deeds, no punishment severe enough to repay them. But though you cannot be made to suffer as you deserve, you shall suffer all that an enemy may honorably inflict. Thus your fate shall be an example to teach others to keep the peace and friendly alliance which you have broken so wickedly. And having spoken thus sternly to the trembling wretches, Gorge ordered his men to hang them on the very same trees upon which Menendez had hanged the Frenchmen. And over their heads he nailed tablets of wood upon which were burned the words, not as Spaniards or as mariners, but as traitors, robbers, and murderers. Then at length the vengeance of Gorge was satisfied, but indeed it was scarce complete, for Menendez, the chief mover and leader of the Spaniards, was safe in Europe, and beyond the reach of any private man's vengeance. The Spaniards, too, were strongly entrenched at St. Augustine, so strongly indeed that Gorge knew he had not forced enough to oust them. He had not even many enough to keep the three forts he had won, so he resolved to destroy them. This delighted the Indians, and they worked with such vigor that in one day all three forts were made level with the ground. Then having accomplished all that he had come to do, Gorge made ready to depart, whereupon the Indians set up a wail of grief. With tears they begged the Frenchmen to stay, and when they refused they followed them all the way to the shore, praising them and giving them gifts and praying them to return. So leaving the savages weeping upon the shore the Frenchmen sailed away, and little more than a month later they reached home. When they heard of what Gorge had done the Huguenots rejoiced, and they greeted him with honour and praise. But Philip of Spain was furiously angry. He demanded that Gorge should be punished, and offered a large sum of money for his head. King Charles, too, being in fear of the King of Spain, looked upon him coldly, so that for a time he was obliged to flee away and hide himself. Gorge had used all his money to set forth on his expedition, so for a few years he lived in poverty, but Queen Elizabeth at length heard of him and his deeds, and as she, too, hated the Spaniards she was pleased at what he had done, and she asked him to enter her service. Thus at length he was restored to honour and favour, and in honour and favour he continued all the rest of his life. This Country of Hours by H. E. Marshall Chapter 11 The Adventures of Sir Humphrey Gilbert The terrible disasters in Florida did not altogether stop French adventurers from going to the New World, but to avoid conflict with Spain they sailed henceforth more to the northern shores of America and endeavored to found colonies there. This made Englishmen angry, for by right of Cabot's voyages they claimed all America, from Florida to Newfoundland, which, says a writer in the time of Queen Elizabeth, they bought and annexed unto the Crown of England. The English, therefore, looked upon the French as interlopers and usurpers. The French, however, paid little attention to the English claims. They explored the country, named mountains, rivers, capes, and bays, and planted colonies where they liked. Thus began the long two hundred years struggle between the French and English for possession of North America. The French had already planted a colony on the St. Lawrence when an Englishman, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, determined also to plant one in North America. He was the first Englishman ever to attempt to found a colony in America. Many Englishmen had indeed sailed there before him, but they had only gone in quest of gold and of adventures, and without any thought of founding a New England across the seas. This now, with Queen Elizabeth's permission, was what Sir Humphrey hoped to do. He set out with a little fleet of five ships. One of these was called the Raleigh, and had been fitted out by the famous Sir Walter Raleigh, who was Gilbert's step-brother. Walter Raleigh, no doubt, would gladly have gone with the company himself, but he was at the time in high favour with good Queen Bess, and she forbade him to go on any such dangerous expedition. So he had to content himself with helping to fit out expeditions for other people. The Raleigh was the largest ship of the little fleet, and Sir Walter spared no cost in fitting it out. But before they had been two days at sea, the captain of the Raleigh, and many of his men, fell ill. This so greatly discouraged them that they turned back to Plymouth. Sir Humphrey was sad indeed at the loss of the largest and best fitted ship of his expedition, but he held on his way, undaunted. They had a troublous passage. Contrary winds, fogs, and icebergs delayed them. In a fog, two of the ships named the Swallow and the Squirrel separated from the others, but still Sir Humphrey sailed on. At length land came in sight, but it was a barren, unfriendly coast, nothing but hideous rocks and mountains, bare of trees and void of any green herbs, says one who went with the expedition. And seeing it so uninviting, they sailed southward along the coast, looking for a fairer land. And now, to their great joy, they fell in again with the Swallow. The men in the Swallow were glad, too, to see the golden hind and the delight once more. They threw their caps into the air and shouted aloud for joy. Soon after the reappearance of the Swallow, the Squirrel also turned up, so the four ships were together again. Together they sailed into the harbour of St. John's in Newfoundland. Here they found fishermen from all countries, for Newfoundland had by this time become famous as a fishing ground, and every summer ships from all countries went there to fish. Sir Humphrey, armed as he was with a commission from Queen Elizabeth, was received with all honour and courtesy by these people. And on Monday, August 5th, 1583, he landed and solemnly took possession of the country for two hundred leagues north, south, east, and west, in the name of England's Queen. First his commission was read aloud and interpreted to those of foreign lands who were there. Then one of Sir Humphrey's followers brought him a twig of a hazel tree and a sod of earth, and put them into his hands, as a sign that he took possession of the land and all that was in it. Then proclamation was made that these lands belonged to Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth of England by the grace of God. And if any person shall utter words sounding to the dishonour of Her Majesty, he shall lose his ears and have his ship and goods confiscate. The arms of England, engraved on lead and fixed to a pillar of wood, were then set up, and after prayer to God the ceremony came to an end. Thus Newfoundland became an English possession, and by right of Sir Humphrey Gilbert's claims, it is the oldest colony of the British Empire. Sir Humphrey Gilbert had taken possession of the land, but it soon became plain that it would be impossible to found a colony with the wild riff-raff of the sea of which his company was formed. Troubles began at once. A few indeed went about their business quietly, but others spent their time in plotting mischief. They had no desire to stay in that far country, so some hid in the woods, waiting a chance to steal away in one or other of the ships, which were daily sailing homeward laden with fish. Others, more bold, plotted to steal one of Sir Humphrey's ships and sail home without him, but their plot was discovered. They, however, succeeded in stealing a ship belonging to some other adventurers. It was laden with fish and ready to depart homeward. In this they sailed away, leaving its owners behind. The rest of Sir Humphrey's men now clamored more than ever to be taken home, and at length he yielded to them, but the company was now much smaller than when he set out, for besides those who had stolen away many had died and many more were sick. There were not enough men to man all four ships, so the swallow was left with the sick and a few colonists who wished to remain, and in the other three Sir Humphrey put to sea with the rest of his company. He did not, however, sail straight homeward, for he wanted to explore still further and find, if he could, an island to the south, which he had heard was very fertile. But the weather was stormy, and before they had gone far the delight was wrecked, and nearly all on board were lost. This was a heavy and grievous event, to lose at one blow our chief ship, freighted with great provision, gathered together with much travail, care, long time, and difficulty. But more was the loss of our men to the number almost of a hundred souls. So wrote Master Edward Hay, who commanded the Golden Hind, and who afterwards wrote the story of the expedition. After this heavy chance the two ships that remained beat up and down, tacking with the wind, Sir Humphrey hoping always that the weather would clear up and allow him once more to get near land. But day by day passed. The wind and waves continued a stormy as ever, and no glimpse of land did the weary sailors catch. It was bitterly cold, food was growing scarce, and day by day the men lost courage. At length they prayed Sir Humphrey to leave his search and return homeward. Sir Humphrey had no wish to go, but seeing his men shivering and hungry he felt sorry for them, and resolved to do as they wished. Be content, he said, we have seen enough, if God send us safe home we will set forth again next spring. So the course was changed, and the ships turned eastward. The wind was large for England, says hey, but very high, and the sea rough. It was so rough that the squirrel in which Sir Humphrey sailed was almost swallowed up, for the squirrel was only a tiny frigate of ten tons, and seeing it battered to and fro, and in danger of sinking every moment the captain of the golden hind and many of the others prayed Sir Humphrey to leave it and come aboard their boat. But Sir Humphrey would not. I will not forsake my little company going homeward, he said, for I have passed through many storms and perils with them. No persuasions could move him, so the captain of the golden hind was feigned to let him have his way. One afternoon in September those in the golden hind watched the little squirrel anxiously as it tossed up and down among the waves. But Sir Humphrey seemed not a whit disturbed. He sat in the stern, calmly reading, and seeing the anxious faces of his friends he cheerfully waved his hand to them. We are as near to heaven by sea as by land, he called, through the roar of waves. Then the sun went down. Darkness fell over the wild sea, and the ships could only know each other's whereabouts by the tossing lights. Suddenly to the men on the golden hind it seemed as if the lights of the little frigate went out. Immediately the watch cried out that the frigate was lost. It was too true, for in that moment the frigate was devoured and swallowed up by the sea. Yet the men on the golden hind would not give up hope. All that night they kept watch, straining their eyes through the stormy darkness in the hope of catching sight of the frigate or of some of its crew. But morning came and there was no sign of it on all the wide waste of waters. Still they hoped, and all the way to England they hailed every small sail which came in sight, trusting still that it might be the squirrel. But it never appeared. Of the five ships which set forth only the golden hind returned to tell the tale, and thus ended the first attempt to found an English colony in the New World. End of Chapter 11. Red on October 26th, 2007, in Oceanside, California. The first attempt to found an English colony in America had been an utter failure. But the idea of founding a New England across the seas had now taken hold of Sir Humphrey's young step-brother, Walter Raleigh. And a few months after the return of the golden hind, he received from the Queen a charter very much the same as his brothers. But although he got the charter, Raleigh himself could not sail to America, for Queen Elizabeth would not let him go. So again he had to content himself with sending other people. It was on April 27th, 1584, that his expedition set out into small ships. Raleigh knew some of the great Frenchmen of the day, and had heard of their attempt to found a colony in Florida. And in spite of the terrible fate of the Frenchmen, he thought Florida would be an excellent place to found an English colony. So Raleigh's ships made their way to Florida, and landed on Roanoke Island, off the coast of what is now North Carolina. In those days of course there was no Carolina, and the Spaniards called the whole coast Florida, right up to the shores of Newfoundland. The Englishmen were delighted with Roanoke. It seemed to them a fertile pleasant land, the most plentiful, sweet, fruitful, and wholesome of all the world. So they at once took possession of it, in the right of the Queen's most excellent Majesty, as rightful Queen and Princess of the same. The natives, too, seemed friendly, and in their behaviour as mannerly and civil as any man of Europe. But the pale faces and the redskins found it difficult to understand each other. What you call this country, asked an Englishman. Wingan dacoa, answered the Indian. So the Englishmen went home to tell of the wonderful country of Wingan dacoa. But what the Indian had really said was, what fine clothes you have. However the mistake did not matter much, for the Englishmen now changed the name of the land from whatever it had been to Virginia, in honour of their Queen. This first expedition to Roanoke was only for exploring, and after a little the adventurers sailed home again to tell of all that they had seen. But Raleigh was so pleased with the report of Roanoke Island, which they brought home to him, that he at once began to make plans for founding a colony there. And the following April his ships were ready, and the expedition set out under his cousin, Sir Richard Grenville. But now almost as soon as they landed, troubles began with the Indians. One of them stole a silver cup, and as it was not returned, the Englishmen in anger set fire to the cornfields and destroyed them. This was a bad beginning, but the Englishmen had no knowledge yet of how cruel and revengeful the Red Man could be. So it was with no misgivings that Sir Richard left a colony of over a hundred men in the country, and promising to return with fresh supplies in the following spring, he sailed homeward. The governor of this colony was named Ralph Lane. He was wise and able, but he was soon beset with difficulties. He found that the place chosen for a colony was not a good one, for the harbour was bad, the coast dangerous, and many of the Indians were now unfriendly. So he set about exploring the country, and decided as soon as fresh supplies came from England to move to a better spot. Spring came and passed, and no ships from England appeared. The men began to starve, and seeing this the Indians who had feared them before now began to be scornful and taunt them. Your God is not a true God, they said, or he would not leave you to starve. They refused to sell the colonists' food no matter what price was offered. Their hatred of the English was so great indeed that they resolved to sow no corn in order that there should be no harvest, being ready to suffer hunger themselves, if they might destroy the colony utterly. As the days passed the Englishmen daily felt the pinch of hunger more and more. Then Lane divided his company into three, and sent each in a different direction so that they might gather roots and herbs, and catch fish for themselves, and also keep a look out for ships. But things went from bad to worse. The savages grew daily bolder and more insolent, and the colonists lived constantly in dread of an attack from them. At length, although he had tried hard to avoid it, Lane was forced to fight them. They were easily overcome and fled to the woods, but Lane knew well that his advantage was only for the moment. Should help not come the colony would be wiped out. Then one day, about a week after the fight with the Indians, news was brought to Lane that a great fleet of twenty-three ships had appeared in the distance. Were they friends or were they foes? That was the great question. The English knew the terrible story of Fort Caroline. Were these Spanish ships? Fearing that they might be, Ralph Lane looked to his defenses and made ready to withstand the enemy, if enemy they proved to be, as bravely as might be. But soon it was seen that their fears were needless. The ships were English, and two days later Sir Francis Drake anchored in the wretched little harbor. Drake had not come on purpose to relieve the colony. He had been out on one of his marauding expeditions against the Spaniards. He had taken and sacked St. Domingo, Cartagena, and Fort St. Augustine. And now sailing home in triumph, Chance had brought him to Raleigh's colony at Roanoke. And when he saw the miserable condition of the colonists and heard the tale of their hardships he offered to take them all home to England. Or he said if they chose to remain he would leave them a ship and food and everything that was necessary to keep them from want until help should come. Both Lane and his chief officers who were men of spirit wanted to stay, so they accepted Drake's offer of the loan of a ship, agreeing that, after they had found a good place for a colony and a better harbor, they would go home to England and return again next year. Thus the matter was settled. Drake began to put provisions on board one of his ships for the use of the colony. The colonists on their side began writing letters to send home with Drake's ships. All was business and excitement, but in the midst of it a great storm arose. It lasted for four days and was so violent that most of Drake's ships were forced to put out to sea lest they should be dashed to pieces upon the shore. Among the ships thus driven out to sea was that which Drake had promised to give Ralph Lane, and when the storm was over it was nowhere to be seen. So Drake offered another ship to Lane. It was a large one, too large to get into the little harbor, but the only one he could spare. Lane was now doubtful what was best to do. Did it not seem as if by driving away their ship God had stretched out his hand to take them from them? Was the storm not meant as a sign to them? So not being able to decide by himself what was best to do, Lane called his officers and gentlemen together and asked advice of them. They all begged him to go home. No help had come from Sir Richard Grenville, nor was it likely to come, for Drake had brought the news that war between Spain and England had been declared. They knew that at such a time every Englishman would bend all his energies to the defeat of Spain, and that Raleigh would have neither thoughts nor money to spare for that far-off colony. Had length it was settled that they should all go home. In haste then the Englishman got on board, for Drake was anxious to be gone from the dangerous anchorage, which caused him more peril of wreck, says Ralph Lane, than all his former most honourable actions against the Spaniards. So on the 19th of June, 1586, the colonists set sail and arrived in England some six weeks later. They brought with them two things which afterward proved to be of great importance. The first was tobacco. The use of it had been known ever since the days of Columbus, but it was now for the first time brought to England. The second was the potato. This Raleigh planted on his estates in Ireland, and to this day Ireland is one of the great potato-growing countries of the world. But meanwhile Raleigh had not forgotten his colonists, and scarce a week after they had sailed away, a ship arrived, laden with all manner of things in most plentiful manner for the supply and relief of his colony. For some time the ship beat up and down the coast searching vainly for the colony, and at length finding no sign of it it returned to England. About a fortnight later Sir Richard Grenville also arrived with three ships. To his astonishment when he reached Roanoke he saw no sign of the ship which he knew had sailed shortly before him, and to his still greater astonishment he found the colony deserted, yet he could not believe that it had been abandoned, so he searched the country up and down in the hope of finding some of the colonists. But finding no trace of them he at length gave up the search and returned to the forsaken huts. And being unwilling to lose possession of the country he determined to leave some of his men there, so fifteen men were left behind, well provided with everything necessary to keep them for two years. Then Sir Richard sailed homeward. In spite of all these mischances Raleigh would not give up his great idea, and the following year he fitted out another expedition. This time there were a few women among the colonists, and John White, who had already been out with Lane, was chosen as governor. It was now decided to give up Roanoke, which had proved such an unfortunate spot, and the new company of colonists was bound for Chesapeake Bay. But before they settled there they were told to go to Roanoke to pick up the fifteen men left by Sir Richard Grenville and take them to Chesapeake also. When, however, they reached Roanoke, the master of the vessels, who was by birth a Spaniard, and who was perhaps in league with the Spanish, said that it was too late in the year to go seeking another spot. So whether they would or not he landed the colonists and sailed away, leaving only one small boat with them. Thus, per force, they had to take up their abode in the old spot. They found it deserted, the fort was raised to the ground, and although the huts were still standing they were choked with weeds and overgrown with wild vines, while deer wandered in and out of the open doors. It was plain that for many months no man had lived there, and although careful search was made, saving the bones of one, no sign was found of the fifteen men left there by Sir Richard. At length the new colonists learned from a few friendly Indians that they had been traitorously set upon by hostile Indians. Most of them were slain, the others escaped in their boat, and went no man knew hither. The Englishmen were very angry when they heard that and wanted to punish the Indians, so they set out against them. But the Indians fled at their coming, and the Englishmen, by mistake, killed some of the friendly Indians instead of their enemies. Thus things were made worse, instead of better. And now, amid all these troubles, on the eighteenth of August, fifteen eighty-seven, a little girl was born. Her father was Ananias Dare, and her mother was the daughter of John White, the governor. The little baby was thus the granddaughter of the governor, and because she was the first English child to be born in Virginia, she was called Virginia. But matters were not going well in the colony. Day by day the men were finding out things which were lacking, and which they felt they must have if they were not all to perish. So a few days after Virginia was christened, all the chief men came to the governor, and begged him to go back to England to get fresh supplies, and other things necessary to the life of the colony. John White, however, refused to go. The next day not only the men but the women also came to him, and again begged him to go back to England. They begged so hard that at last the governor consented to go. All were agreed that the place they were now in was by no means the best which might be chosen for a colony, and it had been determined that they should move some fifty miles further inland. Now it was arranged that if they moved while the governor was away they should carve on the trees and posts of the door the name of the place to which they had gone so that on his return he might be able easily to find them. And also it was arranged that if they were in any trouble or distress they should carve a cross over the name. All these matters being settled John White set forth, and it was with great content that the colonists saw their governor go, for they knew that they could send home no better man to look after their welfare, and they were sure he would bring back the food and other things which were needed. But when White arrived in England he found that no man, not even Raleigh, had a thought to spare for Virginia, for Spain was making ready all her mighty sea power to crush England, and the English were straining every nerve to meet and break that power. So John White had to wait with what patience he could. Often his heart was sick when he thought of his daughter and his little granddaughter, Virginia Dare, far away in that great unknown land across the sea. Often he longed to be back beside them, but his longings were of no avail. He could but wait, for every ship was seized by government and pressed into the service of the country. And while the Spaniards were at the gate it was accounted treason for any Englishman to set sail to western lands. So the summer of fifteen eighty-eight passed, the autumn came, and at length the great Armada sailed from Spain. It sailed across the narrow seas in pride and splendor, haughtily certain of crushing the insolent sea-dogs of England. But God blew with his breath and they were scattered. Before many days were over these proud ships were fleeing before the storm, their sails torn, their masts splintered. They were shattered upon the rocky shores of Scotland and Ireland. They were swallowed by the deep. The sea-power of Spain was broken and the history of America truly began. For, as has been said, the defeat of the invincible Armada was the opening event in the history of the United States. Free now from the dread of Spain ships could come and go without hindrance, but another year and more passed before John White succeeded in getting ships and provisions and setting out once more for Virginia. It was for him an anxious voyage, but as he neared the place where the colony had been his heart rejoiced, for he saw smoke rising from the land. It was dark, however, before they reached the spot, and seeing no lights save that of a huge fire far in the woods, the governor sounded a trumpet call. The notes of the trumpet rang through the woods and died away to silence. Answer there was none. So the men called and called again, but still no answer came. Then, with sinking heart, John White bad them sing some well-known English songs. For that, he thought, would surely bring an answer from the shore. So through the still night air the musical sound of men's voices rang out, but still no answer came from the silent fort. With a heart heavy as lead the governor waited for the dawn. As soon as it was light he went ashore. The fort was deserted. Grass and weeds grew in the ruined houses, but upon a post, in fair capital letters, was carved the word Croatoan. This was the name of a neighbouring island inhabited by friendly Indians. There was no cross or sign of distress carved over the letters, and when the governor saw that he was greatly comforted. He spent some time searching about for other signs of the colonists. In one place he found some iron and lead thrown aside as if too heavy to carry away, and now overgrown with weeds. In another he found five chests which had evidently been buried by the colonists and dug up again by the Indians. They had been burst open, and the contents lay scattered about the grass. Three of these chests John White saw were his own, and it grieved him greatly to see his things spoiled and broken. His books were torn from their covers, his pictures and maps were rotten with the rain, and his armour almost eaten through with rust. At length, having searched in vain for any other signs of the colonists, the English returned to the ships and set sail for Croatoan. But now they encountered terrible storms. Their ships were battered this way and that, their sails were torn, their anchors lost. And at length, in spite of all entreaties, the captain resolved to make sail for England. So John White never saw Croatoan, never knew what had become of his dear ones. And what happened to little Virginia Dare, the first English girl to be born on the soil of the United States, will never be known. But years afterwards the settlers were told by the Indians that the white people left at Roanoke had gone to live among the Indians. For some years it was said they all lived in a friendly manner together. In time, however, the medicine men began to hate the pale faces and caused them all to be slain, except four men, one young woman, and three boys. Was the young woman perhaps Virginia Dare? No one can tell. All Raleigh's attempts at founding a colony had thus come to nothing. Still he did not despair. Once again he sent out an expedition, but that too failed, and the leader returned having done nothing. Even this did not break Raleigh's faith in the future of Virginia. I shall yet live to see it an English nation, he said. But although Raleigh's faith was as firm as before, his money was gone. He had spent enormous sums on his fruitless efforts to found a colony. Now he had no more to spend. And now great changes came. Good Queen Bess died, and James of Scotland reigned in her stead. Raleigh fell into disgrace, was imprisoned in the tower. And after a short release was beheaded there. Thus an end came to all his splendid schemes. Never before, perhaps, had such noble devotion to king and country been so basely requited. At the time it was said that never before was English justice so injured or so disgraced as by the sentence of death passed upon Raleigh. No man is perfect, nor was Raleigh perfect, but he was a great man, and although all his plans failed, we remember him as the first great coloniser, the first Englishman to gain possession of any part of North America. End of Chapter 12. And that's the end of the first part of This Country of Hours by H. E. Marshall. Read by Kara Schellenberg.