by Mike Rhynard
Elyoner smiled. “Auntie Emily we shall call you.” She took Emily’s hands in hers, looked into her eyes. “You know, my dear, we’ve barely spoken since your arrival. So let us talk now.”
“Truly, I remember nothing from yesterday or the night before. I know we talked, but I was completely exhausted—in every way—I’ve no idea what we said.”
“You told me of the storm and nearly being swept out to sea with the tide; and then you fell asleep until yesterday afternoon when you awoke, had a nibble of food, and fell asleep again. So tell me of the rest of your journey . . . if it doesn’t pain you too much . . . all of it must have frightened you near to death . . . especially when the Savages surrounded you.”
“It did indeed . . . I nearly piddled down my legs when we heard them. ’Twas far worse than the massacre because I had time to think about what was happening, time for fear to seize my mind . . . though that’s becoming rather commonplace. But when the Savages stopped closing in on us, and one of them said Chesapeake, it eased my terror a bit; and I walked up to him, started using the hand signs Manteo taught me: asked him how they found us and whether you were all safe, and why they nearly scared us into our graves, and . . . listen to me blather on. Anyway, he told me about the two survivors from the second shallop, straggling into the village after Lieutenant Waters had departed with the search party, and Sergeant Smith—he didn’t know his name— asking the hunting party to search for us because he wasn’t allowed to send any soldiers away from the village. Then he told me why they surrounded us and let out such horrible, blood-chilling shrieks. I guess it makes sense . . . if you’re a Savage . . . but they didn’t know we were without weapons, and were afraid we’d shoot them if they didn’t make noise and show themselves to us.” A sudden smile brightened her face. “ ’Twas probably fortunate we didn’t have guns, for some jumpy fool would surely have shot one of them if we had.”
“Aye. No question there.”
“And, Ellie”—she again embraced Elyoner—“I truly believed I’d never see you again.”
Elyoner held her close, patted her back as she would a distressed child. “Em, I feared for you more than I can ever tell. ’Twas most strange, but the night of the storm and the night you were nearly swept out to sea—though I believed you were still at Roanoke—I had a flood of fear flow into me; dizzied me like a blow to the head, it did. It wouldn’t leave, and I knew you were in danger, feared you were dead . . . just laid there on my back all night staring at the roof, crying.”
“I thought I was dead, as well . . . I was dead but for George, and then Hugh.” Her face grew abruptly somber. “And what am I to do about Hugh?”
“I don’t know, Em; but in spite of my misgivings about the man, praise God he risked his life to save you.”
“Indeed, but how shall I ever know the truth about him?”
Surrounded by his nine Assistants, Roger Baylye stood under a large tree halfway between the colonists’ village and the Chesapeakes’. “Before we start, I must tell you all that the hanging of William Clement this morning turned my stomach. In the unfortunate event we have to perform another execution, we must be certain that the knot works properly and delivers swift death. Though there was little sympathy for the man, no one should slowly strangle like that . . . kicking, writhing, gasping.”
Baylye waited silently for the nods and somber looks to abate, then traded his compassionate expression for a formal one. “John Bright will now give us a tally of our remaining strength. John . . .”
Bright pulled a piece of paper from inside his shirt, unfolded it. “We had one hundred eight souls when we began the move. Three are at Croatan Island; seventy-two of us are here; and . . . and thirty-three perished in the storm or on the . . .” He covered his mouth with his left hand, turned away.
Every man stared silently, dejectedly at anything but the face of another. Finally, Bright collected himself, wiped his drippy nose with the back of his hand. “We’ve twenty-one soldiers and fifty-one civilians, and—thank the Lord—all of our leadership save Dyonis Harvie. On the other hand, we’ve lost several critical skills, including our physician, John Jones; our sheriff, Anthony Cage; and Professor Thomas Harris. Fortunately, our skilled farmers and hunters, and our magistrate, Thomas Hewet, survived. Ananias Dare will conduct a remembrance ceremony at midmorning on the morrow for those who perished.”
Baylye said, “Thank you, John. Now to the task of electing a new Assistant. When we elected Lieutenant Waters, I made the decision to hold the number of Assistants at twelve rather than the thirteen we started with, and I would like to maintain that number because ’tis more proportionate to our diminished numbers. Besides, Fernandez, the thirteenth Assistant, never really participated in our proceedings. Further, as you all know, the colony’s charter states that the advice of the Assistants is precisely that— advice—and the governor is the final decision authority. So it matters not if we have a tie vote on some issue, for a split vote will convey the mind of the Assistants as well as an uneven vote. However, I make this promise to you: on grave matters, such as the election of a new Assistant, should we have the misfortune to have to do so again, I will abide by the Assistants’ decision unless ’tis a tie, in which case I shall cast the deciding vote. Speak now if this be not acceptable to you.” He looked at each man, saw no dissent. “Very well. Proceeding then, the names of Thomas Hewet, our magistrate, and Hugh Tayler have been placed in nomination, and I should like to entertain your thoughts on both.”
Thomas Colman coughed, doubled over with one hand on his mouth, the other on his stomach. “Excuse me . . . gentlemen . . . I’ll . . . return . . . shortly . . . please continue.” He began walking away.
Baylye said, “Certainly, Thomas.”
Lieutenant Waters raised his hand. “Sir, while in general I think it best that members of the judiciary and the military not be part of government, I realize our situation and numbers demand a somewhat different view . . . at least temporarily until Governor White returns with more planters. I also believe we’ve difficult times ahead . . . times that may require creative deliberations . . . and collaborations . . . to maintain the rule of law, good order, and discipline in the colony. Therefore, I believe Master Hewet’s legal experience makes him a good choice.”
Ayes rippled through the group until Thomas Stevens spoke for Hugh Tayler, recommended him as a man of good breeding and sound judgment. Again several voices of assent wafted toward Baylye.
After several seconds of silence, Waters again raised his hand to speak. “Two of my men, whose judgment and probity are beyond question, asked me to speak on their behalf should Master Tayler be nominated and seriously considered.”
Even those who had been looking elsewhere immediately focused at Waters.
“I do not wish to be specific on this occasion without him being here to defend himself; but I will say my men challenge Master Tayler’s character, and I’ve good reason to believe their misgivings are valid; and I shall say no more at this moment.”
Dubious looks spread through the Assistants like a ripple spreading out from a pebble plunked into a pond.
Baylye surveyed them for a moment; he wondered what Waters had heard, made a mental note to ask him after the meeting. “Any more comments?” He used the pause to search for Thomas Colman, whom he spied leaning against a tree at the edge of the forest. “Very well. Let us vote. Master Colman appears indisposed at the moment, but he may certainly vote when he rejoins us, if necessary to break a tie.” After the lopsided vote, he said, “Thank you, gentlemen. Thomas Hewet is our new Assistant. Now to the subject of palisades.”
Groans instantly filled the assembly.
Thomas Stevens said, “ ’Tis too late in the season to begin palisades.”
Several said, “Aye! Aye! True words!”
John Brooke raised his hand. “Roger, we’ve not the manpower to build palisades. God o’ mercy, man, the Roanoke palisades nearly killed us when we were at full strength. How can you
expect us to undertake such a huge endeavor with our current numbers?”
Cuthbert White shook his head. “Out of the question, Roger.”
Baylye nodded at Waters, who had raised his hand to speak. “Gentlemen, from the military view, ’twould be insane not to build palisades . . . no matter what the cost. Without them the colony is indefensible; and for anyone to think this land is a safe haven, rather than the violent, dangerous place it is, would be utter foolishness. Rather, we must build palisades, and we must begin now to complete them before deep winter . . . it simply must be done . . . even if only my men and I have to do it.” He cringed at his own words, knew too few of his tiny contingent would ever be free enough from guarding the colony to accomplish such a feat, knew their morale would plunge even deeper at the mere suggestion of it, knew that even with the entire colony on the task, completion before winter was impossible. But perchance . . . just perchance . . . with a total commitment and long days, perhaps even some nights . . . and with a bit of luck and good weather . . . they might complete enough to mount a semblance of a defense against a Savage attack. But, he admitted, morale already sits at the bottom of the bay . . . many will be diverted to procuring food for the winter . . . cannot depend on the Chesapeakes . . . cannot use them to help with the palisades. Mayhap we can trade with them for food, save ourselves the time of hunting and fishing . . . but trade what? We’ve little left. Good Lord, there’s no way . . . but we must try. “But we can do the job far faster if all lend their effort. So I beseech you, gentlemen, help my men and me do what must be done, for nothing less than the survival of the colony is at stake.”
None spoke. All stared at Waters, weighed his words.
Baylye read their eyes, sensed their hearts denying Waters’ words, their minds acknowledging their truth. “What say you, men? Will you support us?”
Ananias voiced the first aye, followed by Thomas Colman, who had returned in time to hear Waters’ plea. Then White and Brooke added their ayes, as did the remainder except William Willes and Thomas Stevens.
Baylye said, “Thank you, men. We shall build palisades . . . commencing as soon as all the cottages are completed, which should be in a few days.” He paused for a moment. “In addition to cottages and palisades, we’ve an enormous amount of work to do to lay in stores for winter. The Chesapeakes’ harvest, with the exception of corn, will not likely yield enough to help us, so we’re on our own, which means we must procure fish, venison, and any small game we can catch.” He looked at Christopher Cooper. “Christopher, would you choose three men—perhaps those that George Howe worked with—to be our lead fishermen. Then take Mistress Colman with you if she’s willing, to the Chesapeake village. As you know, she’s fluent in the Savages’ hand signs and can speak with their fishermen, learn their skills, and communicate them to you. Our own skills fell quite short at Roanoke, and we must do better here. Mistress Colman might also relate their drying and smoking methods.”
“Certainly, Roger.”
“And, Roger Prat, can you collect your surviving hunters and put them to work? We also need you to visit the Chesapeakes with Mistress Colman.” He glanced at Thomas Colman. “Thomas do you think Emily will be willing to help us with all this? We need her rather desperately.”
“Of course, Roger. I think she’ll be quite eager to help.”
“Excellent. Thank you. So, Roger, to continue, take Mistress Colman and have her talk to the Chesapeakes about where the best hunting grounds are, as well as their methods for hunting, and preserving venison.”
“Aye, Roger. And by the bye, Mistress Colman was by far my best student at dressing deer at Roanoke; I should think she’d be an excellent teacher for the other ladies since they’ll now be performing that duty.”
Thomas Colman glowed, thought how proud he was of Emily. “Good idea,” Baylye said. He glanced at Colman. “Thomas, your daughter has become the most valuable asset in the colony.” He smiled then eyed Cuthbert White. “And now, Cuthbert White, I’m told you enjoy great favor with the ladies.” He paused for the volley of snickers that rippled through the assembly, recognizing White’s five-foot stature and ponderous, unseemly girth. “So could you find a couple of willing ladies—” More laughter. Baylye frowned. “That is not what I meant. I meant willing to lead the soap-and candle-making tasks. There’s plentiful bayberry here for making wax, and we’ll have considerable animal fat if our hunters are successful. And soapwort abounds. Mayhap you could find two ladies to be in charge of soap and candles, and help them organize the others.”
White nodded stoic agreement.
“And, William Willes, can you find three people to make salt . . . men or women. We’ve good stores on hand from Roanoke, but we’ll eventually need more.”
“Aye.”
“Now for our most important task. John Brooke, you’ve some experience at brewing beer.”
“ ’Tis true, Roger.”
“Then would you deal with the Chesapeakes, again with Mistress Colman’s help, to barter some of our few remaining trade goods for as much corn as you can acquire? Then set aside some for making flour as the Savages do and begin making beer with the rest? We’ve abundant wild hops about for preservation and flavor.”
“ ’Twill be a pleasure, Roger, as long as I can guarantee the quality with frequent tasting.”
Laughter.
“So ordained, John.” He paused, looked slowly from man to man. “Gentlemen, our situation is such that with all men engaged in building cottages and palisades, fishing and hunting, and defending the colony, we must rely on our women, as well as any youngsters old enough to help, to perform all other tasks . . . including water and firewood gathering, cleaning our dwellings, and preparing and cleaning up after our meals. Would that it were not so, but it is; for as we all know in our hearts, our situation remains desperately fragile . . . at least until John White returns; and with our diminished numbers, we cannot survive without extraordinary cooperation and effort from all.” He exhaled slowly. “And that’s enough dismal talk for one day. Let us adjourn and be about our tasks. Thank you all.”
Cloaked in cool, dry fall air, Emily walked toward the edge of the village closest to the Chesapeake camp. When she had passed the last cottage, she stopped to remove her mother’s crinkled letter from her apron pocket, unfolded it, read it again.
My Dearest Emily,
When you read this, you’ll probably be at sea, probably sick, and probably missing me and your brother as much as we already miss you. My dear, you are the joy of my life, and being parted from you is the most painful and difficult thing I’ve experienced, even more so than giving birth to you and your brothers. I love you, Emily, and I miss your willing, helpful hand, your cheerfulness, your humor, your intelligence, your loyalty, your honesty, your kindness. I haven’t told you often enough how much I love you, but I tell you now that I count the moments until I’m with you and your father again. No separation can dim the love I feel for you, and I pray you thrive and continue to be the fine young woman you’ve become.
I do not know what lies ahead for you in that new world, but I know you have the mind, the values, and the perseverance to conquer every challenge you face. I know you will survive, no matter what. Please remember everything I taught you about dealing with your father. You’ll need each other to survive and prosper. And in spite of how he sometimes affects you, remember that he loves you deeply. Second, I want you to remember that your chastity is your most wonderful possession. Nothing in your life is more important. It is the very essence of you, and should be given only to the one you love more than life itself: your husband, none other. I know you understand this. Now, dear Emily, I must go. I pray that God watches over you and protects you and that our family will soon be together again. Godspeed.
I love you,
Mother
She stared at the letter, fought the tears trying to rise in her eyes, unconsciously searched her apron for her locket. Mother, I miss you, want to be near you, feel your t
ouch, see your smile. Dear Lord, I know ’tis impossible, but I pray you’ll help me find my locket . . . somehow . . . someday . . . even if I have to walk and swim back to Roanoke to do so. Please, Lord. An image of her desperate fight for life at the massacre flashed through her mind. She folded the letter, kissed it, slid it back into the pocket; stared blankly at the forest, then looked at the deep blue sky dotted with small, puffy clouds. She focused on two, watched them slowly drift together then apart. Like people, she thought. We come together; then whether by death or happenstance, we inevitably drift apart . . . sometimes to be reunited, sometimes not. Pity ’tis so . . . quite painful . . . but a burden of humanity, I suppose. I miss you George, pray you’re with God. How wonderful and simple it would’ve been if everything had worked out for us at Roanoke . . . no murders, no massacre, harmony with the Savages, food. We would’ve fallen in love, married, had children—the first English children to be conceived on this continent—enjoyed all life has to offer . . . rather than the sorrows we now endure . . . and those that lie ahead. She gazed at two more clouds that were moving together. I wonder what makes clouds . . . beautiful, soft clouds . . . would that I could fly up and touch them, mold my own images, then quickly glide back to earth like a bird and admire my work.
She glanced at the twenty cottages in various stages of completion. Going up fast, she thought. Bark sides would be warmer than grass mats, but no time to make them now . . . perchance in the spring . . . mayhap even split rail siding. She closed her eyes, imagined a mature, thriving colony with permanent wood or brick homes, brick chimneys, and ten times the population they now had. ’Twill be exciting to be part of it. Prithee come soon, Mother. Her gaze then shifted to the Chesapeake village with its bark lodges, smoke wafting through smoke holes; women gathered in small groups, visiting with one another, skinning game, scraping hides, smoking fish and meat, cooking. No different from us. I wonder how many thousands of years they’ve done things that way . . . as we did before the Romans . . . I shall soon know how to do all of it. Strange, but even though their ways seem backward from ours, I think I shall enjoy learning them . . . in truth, the idea of it rather excites me. Perhaps I shall learn their language, as well. Yes—
