Attack upon the American Militia. Carelessness of Dudley. "Sherwood Forest." Ex-president Tyler. as guide. The party at the Court House, consisting of one hundred and fifty militia, under the command of Colonel Dudley, were completely surprised, for they had no intimation of the immediate approach of a foe until their sentries were fired upon, and two bugles sounded the signal of attack, upon the frosty air of that winter's night. A confused and scattering fire ensued, when the American detachment fled and joined the main body, which lay a few miles distant, toward the Chickahominy River. A part of Simcoe's dragoons dismounted, rushed into the tavern, and seized several of the Americans. Two of the militiamen (Deane and Ballard) were killed. One of them was slain upon the landing at the head of the stairs, while fleeing to the chamber for safety. The spot was pointed out to me, where, until within a few years, the stains of the victim's blood might be seen. The attack was so sudden and furious, that those who escaped and communicated the fact to the militia under Nelson, so alarmed that body, that a large number of them broke from the camp, and fled to Williamsburg. Simcoe collected his prisoners and a few captured horses as speedily as possible, and before dawn he joined Arnold at Westover. Mr. Tyler (the late President of the United States), on whom I called while on my way from Charles City Court House to Jamestown, informed me that his father, who was then a member of the Virginia Assembly, but at his residence at the time, aware of the force of the enemy at Westover and Berkeley, earnestly advised Colonel Dudley, the commander of the county militia, to place his men in a position for defense; offering, at the same time, to join them, and act in any capacity. He advised him to remove his party from the tavern, for, if left there drinking and carousing as usual, they would surely be surprised. The haughty colonel would not heed his warning, and the result was defeat and disgrace. It was another glorious morning when I left Charles City Court House. Warm and brilliant as May, I anticipated a delightful day's journey. Nor was I disappointed. A heavy fog during the night had hung each bough and spray with liquid jewels, and these, glittering in the early sun, fell in radiant showers as the light breezes touched their restingplaces. Traversing a rough road for nearly four miles, I crossed a rapid stream at a mill, and ascending to a plain half a mile beyond, I reined up at the entrance-gate to Sherwood Forest, the estate of ex-President Tyler. His mansion is very spacious, and stands upon the brow of a gentle slope, half a mile from the highway. It is sheltered in the rear by a thick forest of oaks, pines, and chestnuts, while from the front the eye overlooks almost the whole of his plantation of fourteen hundred acres, with occasional glimpses of the James River. The distinguished proprietor was at home, and received me with that courteous hospitality so common in the South, which makes the traveler feel at ease, as if at the house of a friend. Mr. Tyler is tall and slender in person, his locks long, thin, and slightly grizzled, and he was dressed in the plain garb of a Virginia planter. After giving warm expressions of interest in my enterprise, and an invitation to remain longer at Sherwood Forest, was then at home, and witnessed a part of the affray, always declared that the sky was cloudless, and the moon in full orb. 2 This tavern, in which I lodged, was built about ten years before the skirmish which occurred within and around it. It is now occupied by Edmund F. Christian, Esq., the clerk of Charles City county when I visited it in 1848. 3 A man named Royston, whom Mr. Tyler well knew, was badly wounded in the affray. A pistol was discharged so near his head, that grains of powder sprinkled his face, and disfigured him for life. He was then struck down by a saber blow, and the troopers cruelly tried to make their horses trample him to death. The animals, more humane in action than their riders, leaped over him, and he was saved. He crawled to the residence of Mr. Tyler, where a colored nurse, the only inmate of the house, dressed his wounds and gave him food and drink. Mr. Tyler had moved his family to a place of safety, beyond the Chickahominy River The Slashes of the Chickahominy. Difficulties at the Ferry. The Chickahominy and its Associations. he sketched a map of my route to Jamestown, as a guide among the diverging ways. Time was precious, and I passed only an hour at the hospitable mansion of the ex-president, and then departed for the Chickahominy. Soon after leaving Sherwood Forest, I entered a low, wet region, covered with pines, called the slashes. These extended to the banks of the Chickahominy, a distance of seven miles; and in all that journey, without a clearing to cheer the eye, I saw no living thing, except an occasional "wild boar of the wood," a dwarf breed of hogs which inhabit this dreary region. Here, where once broad fields were smiling with culture-blessings, and this road, now almost a quagmire, but fifty years ago was one of the finest highways in Virginia, wild deers and turkeys abound, as if the land was a primeval wilderness. It was a sad commentary upon the past husbandry of Virginia, and a sadder picture of the inevitable result of the present bad husbandry which prevails in many regions of the South. Year after year the tillers make constant drafts upon the vitality of the soil without an ounce of compensating manure, until all fertility is exhausted. I saw thousands of acres in the course of my journey, where tillage had levied its withering taxes until the generous soil could no longer yield its tithe, nor even its hundredth. The earth was completely covered with "poverty grass," dwarf pines, or stately forests of the same tree, patiently renewing its strength during a long Sabbath-rest of abandonment by man. It was at meridian when I emerged from the wilderness and halted upon the high sandbank of the Chickahominy, a few miles above its confluence with the James River. Above, all appeared bright and beautiful; below, all was gloomy and desolate. Silence reigned here, where once the busy ferryman plied his oars from morning until night. No voice was to be heard; no human habitation was to be seen. The broad and turbid river moved sluggishly on without a ripple, and on the beach a scow, half filled with water, told only of desolation. There appeared no way for me to cross the stream. If denied that privilege, men. I must make a circuit of thirty miles' travel to a public crossing above! I looked for the smoke of a dwelling, but saw none. I shouted; there was no response but that of echo. Remembering that, just before reaching the clearing upon the Chickahominy, I saw a road, covered with leaves, diverging toward the James River, I returned, reined into it, and followed it with hope. Presently I saw a log hut upon the shore, and heard the voices of They were negroes, busily preparing a canoe for a fishing excursion. I inquired for a ferryman, and was informed that nobody crossed now, and the scow would not float. Two of the men speedily changed their opinion when I offered a bright half dollar to each if they would" bail out" the craft and "pole" me across. They worked faithfully, and within half an hour I was embarked upon the stream, with my horse and vehicle, in a shell just long enough and broad enough to contain us. To keep Charley quiet, so as to "trim the boat," I allowed him to dine upon some oats which I procured at Charles City Court House. The Chickahominy is here about a quarter of a mile wide. The current was quite strong, and so deep, that the poles, by which the bateau was impelled, were sometimes too short for use. We drifted some distance down the stream, and, at one time, I anticipated an evening voyage upon the James River, but by the great exertions of the motive-power we reached the landing-place in safety, after rather a dangerous voyage of nearly three quarters of an hour. The bateau was again almost half filled with water, and the ferrymen were obliged to empty it before returning. I was too much occupied while crossing with apprehensions of an involuntary bath to reflect upon the perils which Captain John Smith encountered upon this very stream, before the empire of the white men had commenced; but when safely seated in my wagon upon the Jamestown side of the river, I looked with intense interest upon the wooded shores of those waters, up which that adventurer paddled. More than sixty miles above the place where I crossed he was captured by Opechancanough, the king of Pamunkee, and carried in triumph to Powhatan, at Werowocomoco, where he was saved from death by the gentle Pocahontas. These events we shall consider presently. I was now eight miles from old Jamestown, the goal of my day's journey. Hungry and thirsty, I was about entering another dreary region of slashes, five miles in extent, when I Green Spring and its Associations. Distant View of Jamestown Island. Changes in the River Banks. Tradition saw a log hut on the verge of the woods. I hailed, but no person appeared, except a lit tle child of six years, black as ebony, and having nothing on but its birth-day suit and a tattered shirt. It brought me a draught of cool water in a gourd from a spring near by. Dropping half a dime into the emptied shell, I pursued my way. Emerging from the slashes, I passed through a portion of the celebrated Green Spring plantation, its mansion appearing among the trees on my left, half a mile distant.' It is now in possession of two brothers, named Ward, formerly of New Jersey, who, for many years, as skippers upon the James River, bartered for the products of this plantation, until they were able to purchase it. Green Spring was the theater of an interesting episode in our Revolutionary history, for there the American army, under La Fayette, Wayne, and Steuben, were encamped for a few days in the summer of 1781, while watching the movements and foiling the designs of Cornwallis in Virginia. It was almost sunset when I passed the morass in front of Green Spring, over which the Americans crossed to the attack of Cornwallis at Jamestown Ford. I crossed the plantation of John Coke, Esq., and halted upon the shore of an estuary of the James River, at the cottage of Mr. Bacon, opposite Jamestown island. It was too late to visit the consecrated spot that evening. I sketched this distant view of the portion of the island where This was the residence of Sir William Berkeley, one of the early governors of Virginia. It afterward belonged to Philip Ludwell, one of the king's council, from whom it descended to William Lee, sheriff of London under the celebrated John Wilkes. 2 This view is from the north side of what was once a marsh, but now a deep bay, four hundred yards wide. On the left is seen the remains of a bridge, destroyed by a gale and high tide a few years ago; and beyond is the James River. Near the point of the island, toward the end of the bridge, are the remains of an ancient church, a near view of which is given upon the opposite page. Mr. Coke resided upon the island when the tempest occurred which destroyed the bridge. The island was submerged, and for three days himself and family were prisoners. It was in winter, and he was obliged to cut the branches of ornamental trees that were close to his house, for fuel. I was gravely informed by a man on the beach, while making the sketch, that Pocahontas crossed at that very spot "in her skiff," when she went to warn the Jamestown settlers of threatened danger. The dear child had no need of a skiff, had such a thing existed in America, for I was told by Mr. Coke that his father-in-law well remembered when a marsh, so narrow and firm that a person might cross it upon a fence rail, was where the deep water at the ruined bridge now is. Every year the current of James River is changing its margins in this region, and within a few years Jamestown Island, made so only by a marsh on the land side, will have a navigable channel around it. Already a large portion of it, whereon the ancient town was erected, has been washed away; and I was informed that a cypress-tree, now many yards from the shore, stood at the end of a carriage-way to the wharf, sixty yards from the water's edge, only sixteen years ago. The destructive flood is gradually approaching the old church tower, and if the hand of man shall not arrest its sure progress, that too will be swept away, and not a vestige of Jamestown will remain. Virginians, look to it. and let a wall of masonry along the river margin attest your reverence for the Mr. Coke's Plantation. ⚫ care. The Council Tree. Remains of Old Jamestown Church and Grave-yard. on the ancient city stood, and then returned to the mansion of Mr. Coke, (who is brother of the late Richard Coke, member of Congress from Accomac district), to pass the night under his roof, where I experienced true Virginia hospitality. Mr. Coke was for many years. sheriff of the county, is an influential man, and an excellent practical agriculturist. He owns a plantation of nineteen hundred acres, nearly one thousand of which is under cultivation. Unlike too many agriculturists of the South, he is his own general overseer, and his family of seventy persons (only eleven of whom are white), receive his daily personal He owns all the soil that is left unsubmerged on which the English built their first town in America. His house has many bullet-marks, made there during the battle at Jamestown Ford, on the 6th of July, 1781; and in the broad level field in front of his mansion, the French army was encamped when on its way to Yorktown the same year. Within that field a venerable chestnut-oak, riven, but not destroyed, by lightning, was yet standing, under which a court-martial was held by Cornwallis, and upon its branches a culprit was hanged. It is called the "Council Tree." Mr. Coke's plantation is truly classic ground, for upon it occurred events connected with those widely-separated incidents, the opening and the closing of the heroic age of America. Over it the lordly Powhatan once walked, and the feet of his gentle daughter pressed its soil when speeding on her mission of mercy to the doomed settlement of Jamestown. Over it the royal and republican armies marched, and there fought desperately for victory. I was at Mr. Bacon's cottage soon after an early breakfast, and before nine o'clock had crossed the estuary in a punt, and sat within the shadow of the old church tower, which stands like a sentinel watching the city of the dead at its feet. This crumbling pile, surrounded by shrubbery, brambles, and tangled vines; and the old church-yard wall, of English brick, inclosing a few broken monuments, half buried in earth or covered with a pall of ivy and long grass, are all the tangible records that remain of the first planting of an English colony in America. As I sat upon the hollow trunk of a half-reclining and decayed old sycamore, and sketched the broken tower, the questionings of the eloquent Wirt came up from the depth of feeling: "Whence, my dear S......., arises this irrepressible reverence and tender affection with which I look at this broken steeple? RUINS AT JAMESTOWN.1 most interesting historical relic within your borders! Some remains of the old fort may be seen at low wa ter, several yards from the shore. This view is from the old church-yard, looking toward James River, a glimpse of which may be seen through the arches. The stream is here about three miles wide. It is uncertain at what precise time the church, of which now only a portion of the tower remains, was erected. It was probably built sometime between 1617 and 1620. According to Smith, a fire consumed a large portion of the town, with the palisades, at about the close of 1607, the first year of the settlement. Captain Smith and Mr. Scrivener were appointed commissioners to superintend the rebuilding of the town and church. Afterward, in speaking of the arrival of Governor Argall in 1617, he says, "In James towne he found but five or six houses, the church downe, the pallizados broken, the bridge in pieces, the well of fresh water spoiled, the store-house used for the church," &c. The tower here represented was doubtless that of the third church built, and is now (1852) about 234 years old. The tower is now about thirty feet high, the walls three feet thick, all of imported brick. Wirt's Musings at the Church at Jamestown. The Ancient Monuments. Paulding's Ode. Efforts at Early Settlement. Is it that my soul, by a secret, subtile process, invests the moldering ruins with her own powers; imagines it a fellow-being-a venerable old man, a Nestor or an Ossian, who has witnessed and survived the ravages of successive generations, the companions of his youth and of his maturity, and now mourns his own solitary and desolate condition, and hails their spirits in every passing cloud? Whatever may be the cause, as I look at it, I feel my soul drawn forward as by the cords of gentlest sympathy, and involuntarily open my lips to offer consolation to the drooping pile." the Spirit of Romance and the Muse of Poetry delight to linger, and the bosom of the American glows with increased patriotism as he contemplates this small beginning of the mighty progression around him. "What solemn recollections throng, What touching visions rise, As, wandering these old stones among, I backward turn my eyes, And see the shadows of the dead flit round, Like spirits when the last dread trump shall sound! The wonders of an age combined, In one short moment memory supplies; a Dec. 21, * * Although it was late in December, a the sun was shining almost as warm as at 1848. the close of May. While finishing my sketch, I was glad to take shelter from its beams in the shadow of the sycamore. Here, upon this curiously-wrought slab, clasped by the roots of the forest anak, let us sit a while and ponder the early chronicles of Virginia.' I have mentioned, in the Introduction to this work, the efforts made by the English, Spanish, and French adventurers to plant colonies in the New World, and their failures. The idea was not abandoned; and the public mind, particularly in England, was much occupied with the visions of new and opulent empires beyond the ocean, of which a few glimpses had appeared. Sir Humphrey Gilbert, a step-brother of Sir Walter Raleigh, published a hypothetical treatise on a northwest passage to the East Indies, which attracted great attention, and exerted much influence favorable to colonizing expeditions. He obtained b June 11, a patent from Queen Elizabethb to colonize such parts of North America as were not already possessed by any of her allies. Raleigh, a young, ardent, and am bitious student at Oxford, had just completed his studies, and was about to engage in a military life in France. He was induced by his step-brother to join with him in an expedition to America. They sailed early in 1579, but never reached our Continent, because, as was alleged, their little squadron was broken up in a conflict with a Spanish fleet, when they returned to England. Gilbert's patent was limited, and he made great efforts to plant a colony before it should expire. He and Raleigh equipped a new squadron in 1583.3 1578. 1 Wirt's Letters of a British Spy, page 128. 2 The slab referred to was a blue stone about four inches thick. The roots of the sycamore were so firmly entwined around it that no church-yard thief could take it away. It bore the date of 1608. The remainder of the inscription was so broken and defaced that I could not decipher a name. This is probably the oldest tomb-stone extant in the United States. Vandalism has been at work in that old grave-yard as elsewhere. Almost every monument has a fragment broken from it. A small piece, with some letters upon it, had been recently broken from one, and was left lying in the grass. This I brought away with me, not, however, without a sense of being an accessory after the fact" in an act of sacrilege. 3 The names of the vessels were Raleigh, Swallow, Hind, Delight, and Squirrel. The Raleigh went but a few leagues from Portsmouth, and returned. |