ere followed by vast swarms of
what seem to have been cicadas, which rose out of the ground, ate the
fresh leaves of the trees, and then disappeared. So those who believed
in omens were not surprised when the year was marked by the greatest
catastrophe in the history of the colony.

But to understand what happened it is necessary to go back thirty-five
years to the appointment by Charles I of Sir William Berkeley as
Governor of Virginia. No doubt the King considered this an especial
act of grace to the colony, for Berkeley was a member of the Privy
Chamber, and as such lived in the royal palace. It was this, perhaps,
which fired him with an intense loyalty for the House of Stuart which
endured to the day of his death. To dispute the omnipotence of the
king was in his eyes the darkest of crimes. A Master of Arts at
Oxford, a writer of some merit, polished in manner, he seemed out of
place in the forests of Virginia. Perhaps it was his passion to rule
which brought him to the colony, perhaps it was cupidity, for he
accumulated there a fortune of considerable size.

He had been in Virginia but a few months when word reached him of the
outbreak of the Civil War in England. He must have been horrified that
anyone should dare to take up arms against the sacred person of the
King, and he sought permission to return to England to defend him. So,
in the summer of 1644, when Charles was bearing down on the
Parliamentary forces under Essex in Cornwall, Berkeley was with him.
And he looked on with deep satisfaction as Sir Richard Grenville
ransacked Lord Roberts' house at Lanhydrock, eight miles north of
Fowey, and made off with silver plate worth L2000.

It was probably soon after this that word came of the terrible Indian
massacre of April 18, 1644, for Berkeley was back in Virginia on June
7, 1645. Placing himself at the head of the forces which had been
bringing fire and destruction to the Indian villages, he soon forced
the savages to seek refuge in the woods and swamps. After he had
captured their aged chief Opechancanough, they sued for peace.

Upon receiving news of the execution of Charles I, Sir William
proclaimed Charles II King. And when, in 1652, a Parliamentary fleet
sailed up the James to reduce the colony, he summoned the militia and
prepared for a stubborn resistance. It was only when his Council
pointed out the folly of defying the might of Britain that he
reluctantly agreed to surrender. But his soul was fill