Captain John Smith. C. H. Forbes-Lindsay
at the risk of his life. In short he continually preserves this mixed company of malcontents and incompetents from the worst consequences of their folly and controls them with the firmness and tact of a master. In his dealings with the Indians, he carefully avoids unnecessary bloodshed or harshness, frequently sacrificing prudence at the dictate of humanity. Yet he gained the respect of the savages by his courage, steadfastness, honesty and—when occasion demanded—by the weight of his strong arm, for Captain John Smith was no less stern than just.
In the days when news traveled slowly and was often delivered by word of mouth, the truth of distant events was hard to ascertain, and great men were frequently the victims of malice and envy. Smith, like many another, failed to receive at the hands of his countrymen the honor and recognition which he deserved. They had been misled by extravagant fables of the wealth of America and were disappointed that Smith did not send home cargoes of gold, spices, and other things which the country did not produce. False tales of his tyranny over the colonists and his cruelty to the savages had preceded his return to England, and he found himself in disfavor. He made two voyages to New England, as he called the region which still bears that name, but little came of them. This was mainly on account of the determination of the promoters to search for gold lodes where none existed. Smith with rare foresight strove to persuade his contemporaries that they had better develop commerce in the products of the sea and the field. Few would listen to him, however, whilst the rich argosies of Spain, freighted with ore from South America, inflamed their minds with visions of similar treasures in the north. The spirit of speculation had taken possession of the country. Smith could obtain money for none but wild or dishonest ventures and in such he would not engage. His generous soul disdained the pursuit of mere wealth, and we see him, after having “lived near thirty-seven years in the midst of wars, pestilence, and famine, by which many a hundred thousand died” about him, passing his last days in the comparative poverty which had been his condition through life. Captain John Smith had not yet reached the prime of life—indeed, he was hardly more than forty years of age—when he was compelled to retire from active life. Despairing of honorable employment, he settled down to write the many books that issued from his pen. It would be difficult to surmise what valuable services he might, with better opportunity, have performed for his country, during this last decade of his life. The time was well spent, however, that he occupied in the composition of his life and historical works. He is a clear and terse writer. We are seldom at a loss to fully understand him, and the only complaint that we feel disposed to make against Captain John Smith as a writer is that he too often fails to give an account of his own part in the stirring events which he records. In fact he combined with the modesty usually associated with true greatness, the self-confidence of the man whose ultimate reliance is upon an all-powerful Providence. “If you but truly consider,” he writes in the history of Virginia, “how many strange accidents have befallen these plantations and myself, you cannot but conceive God’s infinite mercy both to them and to me. … Though I have but my labor for my pains, have I not much reason publicly and privately to acknowledge it and to give good thanks?”
Few men have compassed in fifty years of life so much of noble action and inspiring example as did John Smith. He died, as he had lived, a God-fearing, honorable gentleman, rich in the consciousness of a life well spent and in the respect of all who knew him. He was a connecting link between the old world and the new, and we, no less than England, should keep his memory green.
THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE
John Smith
Gentleman Adventurer
I.
WHERE THERE’S A WILL THERE’S A WAY
Jack Smith is introduced to the reader—He takes part in the rejoicing at the defeat of the Spanish Armada—His relations to the sons of Lord Willoughby—He runs away from school and sells his books and satchel—He is starting for London when his father dies—He is apprenticed to a merchant and shipowner—He tires of life at the desk and deserts the counting-house—His guardian consents to his going into the world and furnishes him with ten shillings—Jack takes the road to London with a bundle on his back—He meets Peregrine Willoughby.
It was the day following that memorable Monday in August, 1588, when the English fleet scattered the galleons and galleasses of Spain and Portugal and chased them into the North Sea. The bells were pealing from every steeple and church tower in Merry England, whilst beacon fires flashed their happy tidings along the chain of hill-tops from Land’s End to John O’Groats. The country was wild with joy at the glorious victory over the Great Armada, and well it might be, for never was a fight more gallant nor a cause more just. It was night and long past the hour when the honest citizens of Good Queen Bess’s realm were wont to seek their couches and well-earned repose, but this night excitement ran too high to admit of the thought of sleep.
In the little village of Willoughby, Master Gardner, portly and red-faced, was prepared to keep the D’Eresby Arms open until daylight despite law and custom. The villagers who passed up and down the one street of the hamlet exchanging greetings and congratulations had more than a patriotic interest in the great event, for at least half of them had sons or brothers amongst the sturdy souls who had flocked from every shire and town to their country’s defence at the first call for help.
Beside the fountain in the market place, interested spectators of the scene, stood a lusty lad and an elderly man, bowed by broken health.
“The Lord be praised that He hath let me live to see this glorious day,” said the man, reverently and with a tremor in his voice. “Our England hath trounced the proud Don, my son. I’ faith! ’tis scarce to be believed that our little cockle-shells should overmatch their great vessels of war. Thank the Lord, lad, that thou wast born in a land that breeds men as staunch as the stuff from which their ships are fashioned. If one who served—with some distinction if I say it—under the great Sir Francis, might hazard a prediction, I would say that the sun of England hath risen over the seas never to set.”
“Would I had been there, Sir!” cried the boy with eyes aglow.
“Thou, manikin!” replied his father smiling, as he patted the bare head. “Thou! But it gladdens my heart that a Smith of Willoughby fought with Drake on the Revenge in yester battle and I’ll warrant that my brother William demeaned himself as becomes one of our line.”
“And thus will I one day,” said the lad earnestly.
“Nay, nay child!” quickly rejoined the man. “Harbor not such wild designs John, for thou art cast for a farmer. Thou must train thy hand to the plow and so dismiss from thy mind all thought of the sea. Come, let us return. Thy mother will be aweary waiting.”
Perhaps it is not strange that Master George Smith, who had followed the sea in his younger days, should have sought to dissuade his son from thought of a similar course. The career of adventure had not resulted in any improvement of the father’s fortune. On the contrary, he had finally returned home with empty pockets and wrecked health to find the farm run down and the mother whom he had loved most dearly, dead. Now, feeling that but few more years of life remained to him, it was his aim to improve the property and his hope that John would grow up to be a thrifty farmer and take care of his mother and the younger children.
Master George Smith came of a family of armigers, or gentlemen, and was accounted a well-to-do farmer in those parts. His holding lay within the estate of the Baron Willoughby, the Lord of the Manor, and he held his lands in perpetuity on what was called a quit rent. This may have consisted of the yearly payment of a few shillings, a firkin of butter, or a flitch of bacon—any trifle in short which would suffice to indicate the farmer’s acknowledgment of the Baron as his overlord.
In the earlier feudal period, lands were granted in consideration of military service. The nobleman received his broad acres from the king upon condition of bringing a certain number of armed retainers into the field whenever summoned. The lord, in order to have the necessary retainers always at command, divided up his domain into small