The Legend of Captaine Jones by David Lloyd (1631)

The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

The Legend of Captaine Jones, a poem attributed to David Lloyd (1597–1663) and first published in 1631, satirizes the legend of Captain John Smith, one of the first English settlers at Jamestown. A native of Montgomeryshire in Wales, Lloyd graduated from Oxford in 1612 and from 1628 and until his death served as a chaplain and official in the Church of England. Included in some printings but not here were various commendatory verses and a longer, second poem that continues the story of Captain Jones. Some spelling has been modernized.



The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

I Sing thy Armes (Bellona,) and the Mans

Whose mighty deeds out did great Tamberlans:

Thy Trump (dire goddesse) send, that I may thunder

Some wondrous strain, to speak this man of wonder.

When Fates decreed that Captain Jones should be

The life and death of men, they could not see

A place more suiting to bring forth this mirror

Of martiall spirits, this thunder crack of terror,

Then some vast mountaines womb, whose rigid rocks

Might forme him, and foreshew the hard knocks

— page 2 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

Which he should give and take: Nor were they nice

To thinke it base, that mountaines bring forth mice,

Since from a Brittish mount and Mars his stones,

They sent this Man of men, sterne Captaine Jones.

Wild Mares milk nurst him on the mountaines gorse,

Which gave him strength and stomach like a horse;

Goats flesh matur’d him, kill’d on craggy tops,

Which taught him to mount Rampiers like those rocks.

Ere eighteen winters fully waxen were,

This imp of Mars began to doe and dare.

With Reymond a stout brother of the sword

He first attempted Sea, and went abroad,

Two hundred strong, for the East Indies bound,

Fame was the only prize he fought or found.

Twice twenty days auspicious waves and winds

Lull’d them: then Æolus and Neptune joynes

To work Great Iones his fall. Envy and ire

To see him more then Man, made them conspire:

Rough Boreas whistled to the dancing ship,

The boisterous billows strove to over-skip

The bounding vessell. In this great disaster

Reymond, the souldiers, Mariners and Master

Lost heart & heed to rule, then up starts Iones,

Calls for six Gispins, drinks them off at once.

Thus arm’d at all points, yet as light as feather,

He ascends, and drew, and pist against the weather;

And are we borne (my hearts, quoth he) to die?

Shall we descend? Thy immortality

Neptune thou must resigne, if I come thither:

One Sea may not contai[n]e us both together.

— page 3 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

Nor waves nor winds could fright him with the motio[n]

Who thought he could containe and pisse an Ocean.

His fatall Smiter thrice aloft he shakes,

And frownes; the Sea and ship and canvasse quakes:

Then from the hatches he descends, and stept

Into his Cabbin, drank again, and slept.

When these rough gods beheld him thus secure,

And arm’d against them like a man pot-sure,

They stint vaine stormes; and so Monstrifera

(So hight the Ship) toucht about Florida,

Upon a desart Island call’d Crotona,

Where savage beasts and serpents live alone:

Here Iones would needs no land, though Reymond swore

Danger was in’t: he laught and leapt ashore.

Danger (quoth he) to the[m] who[m] danger fright,

My heart was fram’d to dare, my hands to fight.

Some six and thirty more put forth to ground,

These for fresh food, he for adventure bound;

They limit their return when three houres ends,

Which Reymond with the ship at Sea attends.

These Sea sick souldiers, rang hills, woods, and vallies,

Seeking provant to fill their empty bellies;

Iones goes alone, where Fate prepar’d to meet him

With such a prey as did unfriendly greet him;

A Beare as black as darknesse, and as fell

As Tyger, vast as the black dog of hell,

Runs at him open jaw’d, so fierce, so fast,

That he no leisure had to draw for hast

Kilzadog his good sword, with fist he aim’d,

Alarm’d, a blow, wch sure the bear had brain’d,

— page 4 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

But that betweene her yawning teeth it dings,

The gauntlet there stuck fast, his hands he wrings

Unarm’d, unharm’d from thence; her formost pawes

The Beare on Jones his shoulder claps, and gnawes

The gauntlet wedg’d between her teeth: Jones claspt her

With both his armes, and strove by force to cast her.

And here they try a pluck, and grasp, and tug,

And foame; but Jones who knew the Cornish hug,

Heaves her a foot from footing, swings her round,

And with a short turn hurles her on the ground;

Then came his good sword forth to act his part,

Which pierc’t skin, ribs and riffe, and rove her heart.

The head (his trophee) from the trunk he cuts,

And with it back unto the shore he struts,

Where Reymond was appointed to attend

His and the rest returne: but he (false friend)

When they were once on shore and out of sight,

Hoist sailes to sea, and tooke himself to flight.

Here Iones found fraud in man, and deeply sweares

Revenge on Reymonds head, the rest he cheares;

All safe return’d, but all in desperation

To see themselves left there to desolation:

Nor grain nor ground, but wilde; nor man, nor beast,

But savage; yet (O strange) here Jones doth feast

His six and thirty daily, ’twas with fishes

Tost from his halberts point into their dishes;

Wherewith he took them standing on the shore

Out of the Ocean: whether ’twas the store

Frequenting this unpeopled coast, or whether

— page 5 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

To see this wondrous man they shoald together

And so astoni[sh]ed, yield themselves a prey

To him from whom they durst not swim away.

Bee’t so, or so, I’le not decide, but I

Know Jones tells this for truth, who knows no lye.

Thus from his weapons point, nine moneths they fed

Till fate Sir Richard Greenfield thither led,

Who to America transports with Jones

His six and thirty fish-fed Mermydons,

To Insip were they brought and left; oh then

‘Twas time, had they had meat, to play the men.

Their first encounter there with famine was,

A dry and desart soile, nor graine nor grasse,

Nor drink, but water had they here, nor bread

For thrice twelve moneths, but caves four house and bed.

Such living as that Country could afford

Bold Jones was forc’t to win by dint of sword

Eleven fierce Kings possesse the fertile tract

Of this great Coast, who all their powers compact

To vanquish Jones: A brave attempt ’tis true,

Yet more then twice eleven fierce Kings could doe.

Two thousand choise and doughty men they chose,

To bid him battaile, arm’d with darts and bowes,

And arrows fadome long, well barb’d with bone

Of some strange fish, which pierc’t through steel and stone

And thus they came prepar’d. When they drew neer him,

— page 6 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

He brought his soldiers forth, and thus did cheare them;

My five and twenty friends (for onely those

Had fate & famine left) these darts and bows

Are fit to deale with fearful Crows and Daws,

But us whose hearts of oak and empty maws,

Hungers sharp dart hath pierc’t & yet we sta[i]d

To fright & foil our foes with sword in hand)

These weapons cannot conquer, not the nu[m]ber

Were they two thousand such as Iohn a Cu[m]ber.

Doth hunger bite you? bite your foes as fast,

Eat these men-eaters (souldiers) kill and tast.

Would you gaine glory? Kill by six and seaven,

If Crownes of Kings, then here behold eleven.

And this he spake and drew. With stomack fierce

They give the first assault, Now for a verse

To speak great Jones his deeds, who headlong goes

Amongst the thickest ranks, cuts, kils, & throws,

Some by the legs, some by the wast he makes

Shorter; another by the lock he takes,

Reaps off his head, wherewith he braines another,

Then at one stroke kils father, sonne, and brother;

Few scap’d with life, but strangely; happy those

Which scap’d with losse of half a face or nose.

Nor may I passe his men, who cut and slash

Like those that fought for life, not Crowns or Cash.

Want made them seem (which sure their foes dismaid)

The very sons of death, whose parts they plaid;

The Insips now no aime can take aright,

They thinke each foe they meet, a mighty Sprite;

And so they fly. Six Kings he took, and kil’d,

— page 7 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

Five, with eight hundred soldiers left the field;

Twelve hundred fel: for those that went off safe

Their heels & not their hearts the praise he gave.

Unto their fullest towns, whe[n] he had kild them.

He brought his ragged regiment and fill’d them.

Here on the river of Mengog they finde

A Weare with fish of wondrous growth and kind,

Where with a thousand herrings they were fed,

All two foot long besides the tail and head.

Here some may aske what came of all the wealth,

(For Jones brought nothing hime besides himselfe)

This conquest gain’d; sure many precious things

Must needs attend the death of six such Kings.

I answer briefly; His heroick desire

Ascends above earth excrements as fire:

Nor can descend to Crownes. The souldiers found

Much wealth, which in their home-return was drownd;

Still fortune favours Jones. Amidst this river

He spies a saile directly bearing thither;

He calls, and find them English, homeward bound,

Who for fresh water thrust into the sound.

With these his men and he for England comes,

Had England known it, all her guns & drums

Had been too little to expresse her joy,

As when victorious Hector entred Troy;

Yet ere he can attaine his native coast,

Æneas like he must be tyr’d and tost

With storms, till meat and water wax’d so scant,

That Jones drank nought but pisse one week for want.

— page 8 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

At last when they had cast out all their goods,

(To save themselves) into the furious flouds,

The ship all bruis’d with sands, and stormes, and stones

At Ipswich doth disburthen the sea of Jones.

England salutes him with the generall joys

Of Court and Countrey, Knights, Squires, fools, & boys

In every towne rejoyce at his arrivall,

The townsmen where he comes their wives do swive all

And bid them thinke on Jones amidst this glee,

In hope to get such roaring boyes as he:

Others this joy, into a fury rapt

To sing his praise, though elegant and apt;

Yet mixt with fixions, which he scornes. ‘Tis knowne

Jones fancies no additions but his owne;

Nor need we stir our braines for glorious stuffe

To paint his praise, himselfe hath done enough,

And hath prescrib’d that I should write no more

Then his good memory hath kept in store

Of what he did. Perhaps he hath or can

Doe more, but hides it like a modest man.

His Brittish expedition make he hie

From his vagary to his Chivalry.

This Dukedomes confines pointing on the South,

Great Ke[e]per Castle guards on Morligs mouth;

Which key of Brittaine (like great Brittaines Dover)

Was wel nigh lost by siege til Jones went over,

To dye or raise it; ‘Twas begirt by land

With fifteen thousand. Foure tall ships withstand

All succours from the sea: Against this force

— page 9 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

He goes as boldly as an eyelesse horse,

With one small Bark (the Shit-fire ’twas) a hot one,

And save a hundred men was with him not one:

But these were Welsh blades, born for hacks & hewing,

And car’d not what they did so they were doing.

Thus like some tempests these foure ships he frightens,

His guns roare thunder whilst his powder lightens,

And from his broad side poures a showre of haile,

Which rakes them thorow & thorow, ribs, masts, & sail.

Their shot replies, but they were rankt too high

To touch the Pinnace, which beares up so nigh

And playes so hot, that her opponents thinke

Some Devill is grand Captaine of the Pinke.

One English Pirat with them, whilst he watches

His time to shoot, spies Jones upon the hatches

And cryes out, Ho, hoise Canvas all at once,

And fly, or yield; Zounds it is Captain Jones:

The man swore reason, and ’twas quickly heard,

For, not a Bullet like that name was feard;

They fly, he followes, but a partiall winde

And wings of feare sav’d them, left him behinde.

To Kemper he returnes him, and supplies it

With fifty men, and victualls to suffice it

Six moneths: The foes by land lose hope and heart

To oppose this new supply, and so depart:

Then on the Gate this title was ingraved,

Jones rescued Kemper, and the Dukedome saved.

Thus plum’d with Laurell, Jones for England came,

Where George of Cumberland, rapt with his fame,

— page 10 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

Wooes him to be Vicegenerall of his fleet;

Which Iones vouchsaft, because he was to meet

Men like himselfe, the doughty Dons of Spain,

Whose honour (or lose all) he vow’d to gaine.

And better fate in this designe he wisht not,

The[n] to cope single wth their great Don Quixot.

Stay Muse and blush, and sigh & sing no more,

Here Jones his Mistris Fortune plaid the whore.

Yet, whilst thou loath’d her lightnesse to rehearse,

Let indignation make thee chide in verse;

Ah deity! and blindly to go on so

From thy deare minion Iones, to Iohn D’Alonso,

Whose out and inside is no better mettle

Then an old Drum, or a base Tinkers Kettle.

And tak’st thou him for Iones? that glorious boy,

Whom Venus self would kisse (were Mars away.)

Well fickle goddesse, if thou be divine,

I’le sweare, heaven hath like earth, light feminine.

Twas thus, This fleet cut through the Westerne maine,

And so lay hovering on the coast of Spaine:

Iones led the front (as twas his custome still)

The first in fight, last to be kil’d or kill:

His ship went swiftest too, as did his minde

On honors wings: But (oh) an envious winde

Fild all his saile, and wrapt him in a mist

From being seen, or seeing, ere he wist.

And thus he lost his traine, and cast about,

And beat these Seas five dayes to find them out,

Till in his quest it was his fate to meet

Don Iohn D. Alonso with the Spanish fleet.

— page 11 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

This Generall bid amaine, and Jones defi’d

From Canons mouth. The Don againe repli’d

“With foure for one. Ah Iones, had I my wish,

“Some Godhead should have turn’d thee to a fish,

“To escape this dire assault; thou shouldst not then

“Be taken like a tame beast in thy den.

Nine thousand souldiers was the force that fought

This day with Iones, whom six huge gallies brought,

The stoutest boats to make a bold Bravado

That were in Spaines invincible Armado:

Iones first commands his men to take their victuall,

He souldier-like dranke much, and prayd a little;

Then tells them briefly, here’s no place to fly,

Come friends, let’s bravely live or bravely die.

By this the gallyes had inclos’d him round,

And sought to board him; but they quickly found

The ship too hot to grapple with sosoon,

And so bore off againe, and paid her roome.

Then each by turne present her the broad side,

Which she repaid with intrest, and so ply’d,

That where her bullets pierce, whose streames of blood

Spout through the gallyes ribs, and dye the flood;

The foes disdaine thus long to stand in fight

Gainst one, and so presse on with all their might;

And now the storme grew hot, and deep in blood,

“Mad rage had got the place where reason stood:

Guns, drums, and trumpets stop the souldiers eares,

From hearing cryes and groanes; and fury reares

This fatall combate to so strange a height,

That higher powers expresse th’effects of fright.

— page 12 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

Great Neptune quakt and roar’d, clouds ran and pist,

The windes fell downe, and Titan lurkt in mist.

Then belch huge bullets forth, smoak, fire, & thunder:

Their fury strikes the gods with feare and wonder.

One gally which two hundred slaves did row,

Affront the ship in hope to buldge her prow.

Jones gave her leave; but when she once came nigh,

One burst his murdering shot; here doom’d to dye

Downe dropp’d the brave Viceroy of Saint Iago,

Don Diego de Cordona and Gonzago.

Stones, chaines, and bullets tare their passage out

Through men and galley, which soon tackt about

In hope to get aloofe; but Jones sent after

Two lucky shots, which light twixt wind and water.

“In crept the quaking billow, where he spide

“Those holes, in hopes its fearefull head to hide;

“The galley like afeard, worse hurt, doth creep

“Into the trembling bowels of the deep;

“And so she sanke. Thus Diego whilst he try’d

His force with Jones, with fifteen hundred dy’d.

Now Jones all breathlesse sat to take his breath

Upon a But of sack, and drank the death

Of Don Iohn de Alonso, which his men

Pledge in a rowse, and so they fight agen.

Ninescore there were, but threescore now remaine

To doe or suffer, for the rest were slaine.

The Spanish force distract twixt hope and feare,

Yet by their fellowes fall forewarnd, forbeare

This hot assault, keep distance, and at Jones

Let fly their shot at randome all at once,

— page 13 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

Some halfe a Cable short and some flew ore

The top saile, some the sterne and rudder tore:

One, all the rest in fatall fury past,

And all to shivers rove the master mast,

Downe fell the tackle, and the vessell lay

An English prison and a Spanish prey.

Starboard and Larboard side, from poope to prow

They all let drive and rak’d her through and through.

All now but Iones and one man more were kill’d,

Who cry’d, Now fight and die or live and yield.

Iones kil’d the first, the latter he besought him

Upon his knees, whilst by the knees he caught him

Begging for life, a bullet tooke away

His head, when when ’twas off still seem’d to pray;

Out flew the head and bullet both at once

Between the manly thighes of Captaine Iones;

Who lookt behind him, art thou gone (quoth he)

Still may they die so, that cry yield to me.

Now nought to him but blood and death appear’d,

Death was his wish, captivity he fear’d;

Which to prevent Kil-za-dog forth he drew,

And thus spake, Brave Cato, Cato slew.

And when victorious Brutus could not stand,

He fell, but by his owne victorious hand.

Brutus, I am a Brute, and have thy spirit,

Thy fortune and selfe-death I will inherit.

Thus said, his sword unto his side he plyes,

Which his good Genius stays & thus replyes;

HoldIones, reserv’d for thy Countries good,

Born to shed hostil, not thy home-bred blood,

— page 14 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

And know that self death is the Cowards curse,

For, he that dyes so, dyes for feare of worse;

The time will come when Irish bogs shall quake

Under thy feet, whilst great Oneale doth shake.

I may not on thy future deeds dilate,

Thy sword must right what is involv’d in fate;

This know, in thy old age thou shalt impart

Unto thy Countries youth thy martiall art,

Teach them to manage armes, and how they must

Make bright their swords, which peace hath wrapt in rust.

NowIones vouchsaf’d to live, not for himself

But for his Countries good and Common wealth,

His scarlet cap he dons, with crimson plume,

And he ascends the hatches all in sume.

The Musketiers ambitiously desire

To hit this mark, and all at once give fire:

Some Bullets raze his plume, his haire, his nose,

His velvet Jerkin, and his sattin hose,

(The scars may yet be seen) yet draws he breath

Fearlesse and harmlesse in the jawes of death.

The Spaniard now conjectur’d his intent,

By seeking death t’avoid imprisonment,

And so forbore to shoot, drew neere and fought

To take the prey, which they so deare had bought.

Then Iones all raging throwes into the maine

That sword which men and wolves & beares had slain,

That sword which erst had drunke the blood of Kings,

Into the bowels of the deep he dings.

The Ocean thirld for feare, and gave it place,

And greedy Neptune snatcht it for his mace.

— page 15 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

Then from the ship he leaps amongst his foes,

And so undaunted to Don Iohn he goes,

Who bid him Live, Don-like, but gave him breath,

Onely to breath in greater paines then death.

This shock had sent to Styx six thousand men,

Whose soules Don Iohn to satisfie againe

Inflicts more servile punishments on Jones,

Then countervails six thousand deaths at once.

He beds on boards, is fed with bits and knocks

Ape-like, barefoot with neither shoos nor socks.

Haire shirt, blew bonnet, made a servile knave,

A lowsie, dusty, nasty galley slave.

At last he brings Jones to the Spanish King,

And says: Great Monarch, see this pretious thing;

Six thousand of your bravest men he cost,

Who to gain him alive, their lives have lost,

Nor think the bargain deare, for here’s a man

Can doe & say more then your Viceroyes can.

This praise was given him by the crafty Don,

For feare his losse seem’d more then what he won;

And so it did indeed, for Phillip thought

Jones inside by his outside dearely bought.

To try he askes him, whither bound, and whence

He was, and Jones replies with little sense,

Whether through feare or faining, he affords

To all the King demands, not three wise words.

To try him further, in a Jaile they cast him,

Which serv’d for nothing but to stink & fast in.

And here it was his destiny to light

Upon a learned Priest, a Jesuite:

— page 16 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

With him falls Iones to work. The sacred word

His weapon was, for he had drown’d his sword.

Their question was of purgatory, where,

And whether ’tis at all, if so, ’tis here

(Quoth Iones.) For he half tir’d with paines would needs

Go straight to heaven: And thus the question breeds.

Iones was no Schoolman, yet he bore a braine

Which nere forgot what ere it could containe.

Yet this old Priest so wrests the letters sense,

Equivocates, denies plaine consequence,

Starts to and fro, and raiseth such confusions,

That Iones chief ward was to deny conclusions:

But, doe this subtill Schoolman what he can,

Such was the vigour of this martiall man,

Though he was no good disputant or Text-man

Nor knew to spell Amen, to serve a Sexton;

Yet truth, with confidence and his strong fist

Doth first convince, and then convert the Priest.

Some talke of Garnets straw and Lipsius lasses,

Whose miracles made many Artists asses;

But here’s a miracle transcends them all,

An artist made wise by a Naturall.

Now Englands Court rings all of Iones his fetters,

And men of rank were soon sent ore with letters,

To ransome him for gold, or man for man,

On any termes. The King with many a Don

Consults upon this point: One thought it fit

— page 17 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

To deale upon exchange; some better wit

Thought it more fit to keep this second Drak,

For so he term’d him wisely, and thus spake;

Armies are Englands arme, Captaines the hand

Of this strong arme that rules by sea & land:

And of this arme and hand I think in summe,

This captive Captaine is the very thumb.

This speech was short and sound, but could not goe so

Without th’opposing of old Don Mendozo;

Who lov’d and favour’d Jones, but knew not why,

(Nature it seems had wrought some sympathy)

Pardon (quoth he) (dread Soveraign) are we come

To talke of armes and hands and Captaine Thumb?

From East to West our Arms and armies raigne,

And feare we now for one to re-obtaine

So many Viceroyes in the Isle captiv’d,

For us, of light and almost life depriv’d;

Were Drake’s and Candish spirit in this dragon,

Let not their future times have this to brag on,

That Englands Queen did prize one Captaine more

Than Spaines great Monarch did his twenty foure.


His speech prevail’d, and so they all attone,

And twenty foure were askt and given for one,

All which had led great armies to the field,

And never knew but once, what twas to yield.

And thus was Iones dismist; yet ere he goe

The King, to grace him, made him kisse his toe.

Long maist thou live old man, and may thy tongue

And memory, as thou grow’st old, wax young:

— page 18 —
The Legend of Captaine Jones (1631)

Then wilt thou live in spight of time, and be

Times subject, and time thine t’imblazon thee.

Pardon my forward Muse, striving to soare

A pitch with thee at mid-day tyr’d, gives ore;

For, who can speak thee all (thou mighty man?)

Not Greece’s Homer, nor Rome’s Mantuan.

Thy Irish warres, thy taking great Tyrone,

Whole heards of Wolves kill’d there by thee alone,

Thy severall single duels with fie[r]ce men

And Bears, all slain; and that dry journy when

Thou drank’st but what thou pist for thrice seven daies,

Which made thee dry ere since; then th’amorous waies

The Queen of No-land us’d to make thee King

Of her and hers (Oh) many a precious thing.

Thy London widow next in love halfe drown’d,

Which thou refus’dst with forty thousand pound:

Thy daunting Essex in his rash bravado,

Raleigh ‘s hard scaping of thy bastinado;

Lastly, thy grace with thy great Queen Eliza,

Who, hadst thou had the learning to suffice a

Man, but to write and read, had made thee able

To fit in Councell at her highnesse Stable.

These trophees of thy Fame, and myriads more

Kept by thy fertile braine for time in store,

I leave unsung, and wish they may be writ

In golden lines by some more happy wit,

Whose Genius, till some fury doth inspire,

Let me sit downe in silence, and admire.




A True relation of such occurrences and accidents of note, as hath hapned at Virginia, since the first planting of that Collony by John Smith (1608) A Map of Virginia. With a Description of the Countrey, the Commodities, People, Government and Religion by John Smith (1612) Chapter 1, Book 3 of The Generall Historie of Virginia, New-England, and the Summer Isles by John Smith (1624) Chapter 2, Book 3 of The Generall Historie of Virginia, New-England, and the Summer Isles by John Smith (1624) Chapter 7, Book 3 of The Generall Historie of Virginia, New-England, and the Summer Isles by John Smith (1624) Chapters 10–11, Book 3 of The Generall Historie of Virginia, New-England, and the Summer Isles by John Smith (1624) Chapter 12, Book 3 of The Generall Historie of Virginia, New-England, and the Summer Isles by John Smith (1624) “The gouernment left to Captaine Yearly,” from Book 4 of The Generall Historie of Virginia, New-England, and the Summer Isles by John Smith (1624) Chapters 1–2 of The Trve Travels, Adventvres and Observations of Captaine Iohn Smith in Europe, Asia, Africke, and America, Vol. 1 (1629) Chapter 7 of The Trve Travels, Adventvres and Observations of Captaine Iohn Smith in Europe, Asia, Africke, and America, Vol. 1 (1629) Chapter 11–12 of The Trve Travels, Adventvres and Observations of Captaine Iohn Smith in Europe, Asia, Africke, and America, Vol. 1 (1629) Chapter 17 of The Trve Travels, Adventvres and Observations of Captaine Iohn Smith in Europe, Asia, Africke, and America, Vol. 1 (1629) “John Smith,” from The History of the Worthies of England by Thomas Fuller (1661)

APA Citation:
Lloyd, David. The Legend of Captaine Jones by David Lloyd (1631). (2020, December 07). In Encyclopedia Virginia.
MLA Citation:
Lloyd, David. "The Legend of Captaine Jones by David Lloyd (1631)" Encyclopedia Virginia. Virginia Humanities, (07 Dec. 2020). Web. 21 Jul. 2024
Last updated: 2020, December 07
  • This field is for validation purposes and should be left unchanged.