Scenes in my Native Land/First Church at Jamestown, Virginia
FIRST CHURCH AT JAMESTOWN, VIRGINIA.
Roll on, proud River, toward the waiting main,
And glow, gay shores, in summer's fostering smile;
Your blended beauties strive to lure in vain
The traveller's eye from yon deserted pile.
For there, in solitary state it stands,
While drooping foliage robes its mouldering frame,
The earliest temple reared by Christian hands
To teach a pagan realm Jehovah's name.
Hail, ancient fane! where first was heard to flow
That hallowed praise which heavenly choirs repeat,
While the stern savage staid his lifted bow,
From echo's voice to learn the cadence sweet.
Here, her frail babe, the matron-exile brought,
Here, the glad lover led his trusting bride,
And in thy solemn ritual forgot
The far cathedral, once their childhood's pride.
Were language thine, what scenes couldst thou describe,
When the New World came forth to meet the Old,
The simple welcome of the red-browed tribe,
The high-born Saxon, dignified and cold;
The plumed chieftain, at his council-fire,
The dauntless hunter on the wind-swept hill,
The watchful soldier, and the patriot-sire,
Guarding the infant colony from ill.
The grim gold-searcher, full of venal dreams,
With microscopic eye and restless soul,
Hoarding the yellow earth that lined the streams.
Till meagre famine on his reverie stole.
Perchance, Powhatan here, in regal pride,
His warriors marshalled and his banners waved,
Or Pocahontas, moved with pity, sighed,
O'er the pale victim, by her firmness saved.
Now, all are swept away. From care and toil,
Virginia's sires have sought their mouldering bed,
And the untutored owners of the soil,
Like their own arrow mid the forest, fled.
But thou, Old Church, by hoary Time revered,
And spared by tempests in their ruthless rage,
To hoar antiquity a friend endeared,
Art still the beacon of a buried age.
And when the pomp and pageantry of earth,
Shall fleet and shrivel in the day of ire,
The meek devotion that in thee had birth,
Shall soar unchanging, never to expire.
The voyager upon the noble and beautiful James River, perceives, about fifty miles from its mouth, the ruins of an ancient edifice. It stands upon a slight elevation, and were it mantled and festooned with luxuriant ivy, like the decaying structures of the Mother Land, would present a picturesque appearance. Still, as the first Christian temple ever reared in this new-found world, its associations are vivid and sacred. While we gaze upon it, the mists of more than two centuries fleet away, and the past stands before us.
Lofty forests ascend, and tangled thickets usurp the place of the velvet meads. The snowy sails of a stranger bark glitter in the morning sun. The first Christian vessel that ever explored these waters, approaches the shore, and, in the words of an old historian, is "moored to the trees, in six fathom water, in the great river of Pouhatan, on the 13th day of May, 1607." Then the Saxon race, whose birth-right is to rule, laid the foundation of their first permanent dominion, in the clime which Columbus, one hundred and fifteen years before, had discovered. Smith, who has been justly called the "soul of the infant colony," changed the name of the broad river to "James," in honor of his sovereign, and guiding the exploring party through the trackless wilds, suddenly presented himself before Powhatan, the great monarch of the country, while encompassed by his warriors and savage court. He describes his rude palace as "pleasantly situated on a hill, having before it three fertile isles, around it many corn-fields, and strong by nature." What a strange interview, when the red-browed rulers of the land, first gazed upon faces, costumes, and weapons so new and strange, and heard the tones of an unknown language, which was to have the mastery in these realms, when their own barbarous articulations should be a forgotten sound.
In the settlement at Jamestown, lowly roof-trees rise like the mushroom. A rude palisade surrounds them. In the midst, is this temple to Jehovah, over whose ruins, as we linger, the pictured records of its early ritual unfold themselves. We see the masses of fresh, wild flowers with which it was daily decked, and hear the filial petition for a blessing on "England, the sweet mother-country," which mingled with the morning and evening prayer. We see the pulpit, with its hour-glass, on the sacred day reminding the man of God of the fitting limits of his discourse, and that the patience of his auditors could scarcely be expected to outrun the measure of its sands. We see the chair of state for the Governor, with its cushion of green velvet, and the board "on which he kneeleth, covered with a great cloath." Gathered as a congregation, we see the thoughtful statesman, the high-born cavalier, the hardy soldier, the restless adventurer, the care-worn matron, and the blooming maiden. Change and hardship mark traces upon all, and on more than one brow sits the frown of disappointment. But in the worship of a high and holy Being the soul uplifts itself, and is strengthened. The disunited feel the influence of the Gospel of Peace, and the meek-hearted gather solace from the hopes of another life. The hallowed chant breaks forth, and earth's sorrows are forgotten, while the startled Indian stays his bended bow, and listens through the parted foliage to a strain so passing sweet, which first taught these unshorn forests the praise of God.
Four years slowly notch their chronicles, and pass away. A throng hasten toward the consecrated house. The captain of the watch "shuts the ports, and places centinels, the bell having tolled the last time, and all the houses of the town been searched, to command every one, of what quality soever, the sick and hurt excepted, to repair to church." What occasions this unwonted zeal of purpose, and celerity of movement? An event is to take place for which the prayers of faithful hearts have long ascended to the Father of Mercies. The first Christian convert from the heathen tribes is to receive the baptismal vow. And that convert is the young daughter of their king. The first lamb led by the hand of young Virginia to the fold of the Great Shepherd, approaches timidly, and with tears, the simple font hewn from the oak of her native forests. Near her is her favorite and noble-hearted brother, while an elder sister, clasping her infant son to her bosom, regards with intense curiosity a deed, to their comprehension so wrapped in mystery. Plumed chieftains of her nation, and nobles of her own kindred blood, stand like bronze statues, with their eyes fixed upon the princess. She kneels, confesses her faith in the Redeemer, and receives upon her brow that seal, which her future life never dishonored. High honor was it to thee, Old Church! thus to have garnered the first fruits of the wilderness,—to have laid upon heaven's altar the first consecrated rose from these western forests.
This era in the history of our country has been illustrated, by the spirited pencil of Chapman, and placed, by order of Congress, with other national pictures, in the Rotunda of the Capitol at Washington.
Yet one more scene in the ancient church of Jamestown. Around the rough pine columns, are wreath; and knots of the earliest spring flowers; for April has fully justified her appellation of the "bud-opener." She has also decked the earth in the brightest verdure, and filled the air with the music of countless birds. The pulpit, covered with its rich, embroidered cloth, displays the arms of young Virginia quartered with the initials of Britain's king.
Sir Thomas Dale, the wise and stately Governor, is there, in his court-costume, with pages and standard-bearer. Other attendants in livery, halberdiers with their armor, and stately officers, the chivalry of England, are in his train. Colonists of all ranks,—the tillers of the soil, the mechanic, the adventurer, are there. Mothers and daughters, youths and children, in their best attire, swell the throng. On every brow is a cheering expectation.
Ranged on the opposite side of the area, rise the tall and plumed chieftains of the forest, gathering around their king, the majestic Powhatan. His fiery, eagle-eye is at rest, and expresses complacence. Nearest him, is his son, the prince Nantiquas, styled by a historian of that day, "the most manliest, comeliest, boldest spirit ever seen in a salvage." Here and there, the red-browed females, their raven locks decorated with feathers, are mingled amid groups of painted warriors.
In the chancel, where a profusion of the richest blossoms breathe fragrance, stood the clergyman in his robes, the Rev. Mr. Hunt, so often designated as the "morning-star of the church." His features and demeanor evince the meekness which had so often breathed peace upon the dissensions of the colonists, and bound them together as brethren, in Jesus' name.
A bridal group approach the altar. The forest-maiden, on whose forehead he had shed the drops of baptismal dedication, bends timidly before him. At her side, is a high-born cavalier of England. Mutual love moves them thus to seek the indissoluble vow. The brother of the king,—her haughty and warlike uncle,—with head towering above all the people,—comes forward at the appointed moment, and gives her hand to her destined husband.
Breathless interest pervades the whole assembly. Powhatan, the proud king of thirty nations, is satisfied. Still his lip trembles, when the darling of his heart transfers her fealty to another. The colonists regard the gentle bride as the hostage of peace, and rejoice in an event which will reprieve them from the perils of savage warfare.
The hallowed rite proceeds. The mystic ring is pressed upon the slender finger of the forest-princess. The Old World weds the New. The benediction is swelled by the tearful ardor of many hearts. For the white strangers could not but remember, that in all their sorrows she had been an unchangeable friend. They could not but remember, that amid her sportive childhood, her firmness had saved their endangered champion from the death-stroke; that when they fainted with famine, she brought them corn with her own hands; that she dared, at the deepest midnight, the trackless wild, to warn them of a conspiracy which must have wrought their extermination. They remembered that she was now their sister in the faith, and that in invoking the smile of heaven upon her, they were blessing the tutelary angel of the colony.
Sir Thomas Dale, in his dispatches to the English government, dated June 18th, 1614, thus notices these transactions, with his characteristic zeal and piety. "The daughter of Powhatan I caused to be carefully instructed in the Christian religion, who, after she had made good progress therein, publicly renounced the idolatry of her country, openly confessed the true faith, and was, at her desire, baptized. She is since married to an English gentleman of good understanding; another knot to bind our peace the stronger. The king, her father, gave approbation to it, and her uncle gave her, in the church, to her husband. She lives civilly and lovingly with him, and will, I trust, increase in goodness as the knowledge of God increaseth in her. She will go unto England with me, and were it but for the gaining of this one soul, I would think my time, toil, and present stay, well spent."
Two years afterwards, Pocahontas, or the Lady Rebecca,—by which name she was called after her baptism,—accompanied Mr. Rolfe to his native land, taking with them their infant son. They sailed in the same ship with the Governor, and arrived at Plymouth in June, 1616.
Marked attentions were paid the forest-princess, not only by her husband's relatives, but by Anna, the queen of James the First, and several of the nobility. Her profusion of black, glossy hair, and her manners, simple, yet dignified and self-possessed, were admired at court; while her gentleness and piety won her many true friends. Purchas, in his Pilgrim, remarks "Not only did she accustom herself to civility, still carried herself as the daughter of a king; was accordingly respected, both by the company in which I met her, and by divers persons of high estate and honor, trusting, in their hopeful zeal, through her to advance Christianity. I was present, when the Bishop of London entertained her with festival, state and pomp, beyond what, in his great hospitality he afforded to other ladies. About to return to Virginia, she came, at Gravesend, to her end and grave, having given great demonstration of her Christian sincerity, as the first fruits of Virginian conversion, leaving among us a godly memory and hope of a blessed resurrection, her soul aspiring to see and enjoy in heaven, what here she had heard and believed, of her beloved Saviour."
Mouldering walls! so fruitful in legendary lore, so entapestried with pictures of the past, ye deserve the thanks of the traveller, and the kind care of those who dwell around. For the sake of the images you restore to us, and the sacred rites you have witnessed, you should be protected from the further disruption of the seasons, and clothed with a robe of the richest mantling vine-leaves.
It has been well said, that "a fine landscape without associations, is like a fair woman without a heart. It is in vain that we see regular features, or a brilliant complexion, unless the soul, looking through the eyes, give the essence of beauty. This constitutes the charm of travelling in a classic clime. The mountains may not be richer, or the mountains more lofty, but every dell and stream are consecrated. Therefore, a new country must be inferior to the old. Its loftiest associations lead but to the labors of the colonist, or his wars upon the wild beasts that were there before him."
Our own country furnishes an exception to the closing remarks of this accomplished writer. Though of comparatively recent date, many of its associations are as lofty and spirit-stirring as those which strike more deeply into the dimness of antiquity. Those of the venerable structure which we contemplate, are mingled with the chivalry of the Old World, and the royalty of the New,—with rites that staid the effusion of blood, and linked contending races in amity—that gathered the first soul from the bondage of idols to the Worship of the true God, and girded it to run faithfully the way of eternal life.
Old Church!—first herald of salvation to the western wild,—thou hast fallen by the way, but thy ruins are precious in our eyes. Blessed is the young land whose cradle-memories are like thine.