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One windy day in May, a tiny ship made its way tentatively into the choppy waters of the James River. The intrepid explorers aboard—few true seafarers among them—are well known to us, their names immortalized in history texts and classrooms across the country: Lyman Butterfield, Alfred A. Knopf, Edmund Morgan, and company. These landlubbing scholars and their colleagues and families were hightailing it up and down the James aboard a replica Godspeed as part of the Institute’s annual Council meeting.

Friends and constituents may be surprised to learn that the Institute's annual Council meetings were, once upon a time, quite festive occasions. After the requisite attention to scholarly research, publishing, and Institute business matters, Council members could partake in a bit of historic revelry. On May 3, 1958, this revelry involved a replica seventeenth-century ship, military escorts, and numerous life preservers. The trip was arranged with the help of John Curtis, Sr., of Curtis-Dunn Marine Industries, Inc., the firm that had built the replica vessel in 1957, in celebration of the 350th anniversary of the founding of Jamestown. This Godspeed, along with its larger sister ship, a replica of the Susan Constant, was docked and displayed in Jamestown Festival Park.1

In a March 28, 1958, letter to Curtis, William and Mary Quarterly editor Lawrence W. Towner eagerly anticipated the forthcoming “grand voyage.” Although Towner hoped for “four or five hours afloat,” he feared that the Instituters might lack sufficiently aquatic dispositions: “I doubt if all the passengers will be swimmers, and while I'm sure that none of them will have the opportunity to try their skill, some might be apprehensive on that score.” He requested life jackets for the group, “less in the interests of safety than in quieting apprehensions among the more inactive of the scholars and their wives.”

Institute Director Lester Cappon informed Council members in April of this “rather unusual outing,” explaining that “except for trial voyages before the ships were turned over to the Jamestown Commission, this will be the only time the ships have carried passengers.” To ease the nerves of the “more inactive,” Cappon explained that “the crew are experienced amateur sailors from the local yacht club who have already sailed the vessels several times. We shall be accompanied by three power boats for assistance in the event of becoming becalmed, and for safety's sake.” Cappon also noted, with clear regret, that plans to sail both the Godspeed and the Susan Constant had to be abandoned: “Unhappily, the Susan Constant can be gotten out of her berth only at great expense.” There is no record of the final cost of the voyage, but it likely put at least a small dent in the Institute’s 1957–1958 budget of $65,756.

Despite the absence of the larger ship, the Council members traveled in high style. Most of the fifty-two men on board the Godspeed’s 1607 cruise to Jamestown were crammed below deck, keeping company with the cargo. Not wishing to simulate the entire sensory experience of that earlier expedition, the fifty-some women, children, and men of the Institute contingent took turns riding on the Godspeed, with midriver transfers to and from a tugboat. One presumes this procedure did not test their questionable swimming skills.

Arrangements for the voyage involved consultations and cooperation with Jamestown Festival Park, the Army, the Navy, and the Coast Guard. Special insurance had to be purchased for the Godspeed since it rarely left the dock. Initial preparations for the trip were complicated by concerns that the water around Jamestown Island was too shallow to land the support vessels. To pull the ship, accommodate the overflow passengers, and serve as an escort, Major-General Rush Lincoln provided the expedition with an LCM (Landing Craft Mechanized), a tugboat, and a J-boat. This made for a motley collection of vessels, complete with military crew, civilian seafarers, a small press contingent, and historians.

Members of the media were invited to participate in the excursion, but a mildly cryptic and undated telegram only hints at what might have been: “Regret could not arrange Life assignment boat trip May third,” wrote Roger Butterfield of Life magazine.2 Colonial Williamsburg also failed to report on the event to Cappon's satisfaction, as he noted in a letter to a Foundation official on April 9, 1959: “Last year I was disappointed that the public relations office refused our request for coverage of a sailing trip the Council members made on the James River aboard the Godspeed.” Cappon's gentle reprimand came in a request for film coverage of the 1959 Council meeting. “A visit to Williamsburg by these distinguished historians is, it seems to me, worthy of motion picture coverage and dissemination of this film to news media,” he patiently explained.

Lester Cappon's Worst Nightmare
George Cruickshank, “A Party of Pleasure—Dedicated to the Funny Club,” 1835. Courtesy, The Mariners’ Museum, Newport News, Va., LE2807

At least one newspaper reported on the Godspeed’s journey, however. As recounted in a May 4 Daily Press article, “Historians Take James River Jaunt,” the replica “was towed into the James River channel off Jamestown by a Fort Eustis tug and escorted by a Fort Eustis LCM cra ft filled with other historians and their families . . . good winds filled the heavy canvas sails as the crew expertly maneuvered the Godspeed about in the channel area.” As Cappon later wrote to General Lincoln, “This adventure in seventeenth- century sailing was made possible only by the aid and support of twentieth-century military transportation.” It was truly a group effort: “with the expert supervision and thoughtful attention of Colonel Shipp and Lieutenant Prince we felt very secure at all times.”

Plans for a private picnic at a riverside plantation and cattle ranch were dashed during the planning process, so Councilors and their guests feasted instead on box lunches during a stop on Jamestown Island midway through the festivities. The Institute paid $1.35 for each meal, which featured two sandwiches, fruit, celery, olives, hard-boiled egg, pickle, cake, and “salt and pepper.” If they followed Cappon's written advice, Council members were decked out in “old clothes” while their wives modeled sartorially seaworthy “slacks or bermuda shorts.” A photograph from the Daily Press, however, shows that “old clothes” included suit jackets.

By all accounts, the voyage was a rousing success. On May 12, 1958, Cappon wrote a letter thanking John Curtis, Jr., who had skippered the voyage. “Since the return home of the Institute members and their wives, I have received many enthusiastic letters reminiscing about their cruise on the Godspeed and wondering how or where they could have enjoyed a more delightful and unusual experience,” he informed Curtis.

“Frankly, I think we shall be hard put in arranging an outing next year.”3

Rebecca Wrenn
University of California, Riverside

Notes
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1. In 2006 a new Godspeed replaced a second-generation replica from the 1980s and joined a newly built, more authentic Susan Constant and the 1991-vintage Discovery at Jamestown for the 2007 quadricentennial festivities.

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2 Roger Butterfield was the brother of former Institute Director Lyman Butterfield, who was a member of the Council in 1958.

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3. All letters quoted are housed in the Institute’s archives.