also made good promises, which were never fulfilled.1
The city of London
contributed to repair the losses of the Virginians; and many private persons displayed an honorable liberality.2 Smith
volunteered his ser vices to protect the planters, overawe the savages, and make discoveries; the company had no funds, and his proposition was never made a matter of public discussion or record; but some of the members, with ludicrous cupidity, proposed, he should have leave to go at his own expense, if he would grant the corporation one half of the pillage.3
There were in the colony much loss and much sorrow, but never any serious apprehensions of discomfiture from the Indians.
The midnight surprise, the ambuscade by day, might be feared; the Indians promptly fled on the least indications of watchfulness and resistance.
There were not wanting men who now advocated an entire subjection of those whom lenity could not win; and the example of Spanish cruelties was cited with applause.4
Besides, a natural instinct had led the Indians to select for their villages the pleasantest places, along the purest streams, and near the soil that was most easily cultivated.
Their rights of property were no longer much respected; their open fields and villages were now appropriated by the colonists, who could plead the laws of war in defence of their covetousness.
Treachery also was employed.
The tangled woods, the fastnesses of nature, were the bulwarks to which the savages retreated.
Pursuit would have been vain; they could not be destroyed except as they were lulled into security, and induced to return to their old homes.
In July of the following year, the inhabitants of the