Love and Hate in Jamestown: John Smith, Pocahontas, and the Heart of a New Nation
By David A. Price, Alfred A. Knopf, 2003. 300 pp.; $25.95
The wisdom of John Smith’s firm approach to the Indians: These were not
gentle children of nature yearning for Christianity. “The alternative
to intimidation was not love and friendship,” he writes, “it was open
war—which the English, in 1608, would have lost to the last man.”
The English meant no provocation, but their very presence was a
provocation. From time to time Indians found it useful to trade with
the colony, or to enlist its help in quarrels with enemies, but their
abiding attitude was hostility. Many men back in England—and many who
came later to Virginia—continued to believe harmonious relations were
possible with the “naturals,” but Smith soon understood uneasy
toleration was the best the English could expect.
John Smith continued to explore, getting as far as Delaware, and the
future site of Washington, DC. However, by 1609 he had made so many
enemies among the "gentlemen" that the company cashiered him and brought
him back to England.
He never returned to Virginia.
By this time there
were about 500 people in Jamestown, but the newcomers were still, as
Mr. Price explains, “looking forward to lives of idle leisure supported
by supplies from London, food from the natives, and gold from the
ground.” This was because the Virginia Company strictly controlled all
news about the colony, even censoring private letters, so as not to
discourage potential investors and colonists with tales of torture and
starvation. The deluded colonists were still not growing enough food to
feed themselves.
After Powhatan had met the incompetents who replaced Smith, he began
attacking the colony again with surprise raids. His men massacred a
party of English who went looking for food, and left their bodies for
the others to find, with bread stuffed in their mouths.
A ship that went out to trade with Powhatan came back empty, and
with only 16 of the 50 men who had set out on the trip. The commander
had not taken the usual precautions with the Indians, and got the usual
treatment of slow dismemberment and burning. “And so for want of
circumspection [he] miserably perished,” recorded one of his
contemporaries.
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