White Seed: The Untold Story of the Lost Colony of Roanoke

by Paul Clayton

  Towaye endured his shame as the other braves eyed the corpse. He had known this Englishman but he had aimed to kill. Or had he?

  Wanchese threw the arrow to Towaye and turned to look down the deserted beach. “We go now,” he said, walking back toward the trees.

  The others started to follow.

  “Wait, Wanchese,” said Big Dog. “You must flatten his head. You don’t want him leaping out at you from behind a tree as you make your journey to the netherworld.”

  Bear Man smiled at Big Dog’s words. Towaye’s face was grim.

  Wanchese grunted indifferently as he unslung the heavy wooden club from over his shoulder. He ran at the body as if there were still life in it, flattening the head with quick powerful blows. Breathing heavily, he scowled down at the body. “He will jump out at no one now.”

  Wanchese tore three shiny glass buttons from the dead man’s garments and stood. “Now we go.”

  The shadows had grown long as they moved into the trees.

  Later, in the warm darkness of night, a native dugout canoe drew silently up beside the stakes of the fish weir the English had constructed. With hardly a sound, a half-dozen bodies slid into the still warm waters of the sound. Flint knives quickly sawed through English cords and strong arms pulled the wooden stakes from the mud, throwing them into the distance to slowly drift away on the current. Soon there was nothing sticking up above the water and the men climbed back into their canoe and silently paddled away.

  ***

  Sir Abraham’s large red face glared at the other Assistants around the candle-lit table. “This mischief with the fish traps is bad enough to warrant a raid,” he growled, “but this death, this ghastly murder… must be avenged!”

  “Aye,” said the gentlemen, almost as one.

  “And,” continued Abraham, “it matters not that we do not know the exact savages at Dasamankpeuc that did this thing. We must make an example of one of them, and now.”

  “Aye,” scowled Sir Mortimer. “This deserves maximum response. All the savages must be taught a lesson they will never forget. We should go tonight and burn their village to the ground.”

  Sir Phillip shook his head slowly, his brown cow eyes full of sadness. “Such a brutal murder. Where were the soldiers?”

  “There was one soldier assigned to keep an eye on Howe,” said Captain Stafford.

  “Only one?” exclaimed Sir Phillip.

  Captain Stafford ignored the little man.

  Governor White turned to Captain Stafford. “Why did he leave Sir George unprotected?”

  “He did not leave him,” said Captain Stafford. “Sir George sent him away, saying he would be along in a few minutes.”

  Governor White frowned. “God a mercy! ‘Tis not like Sir George. He knew the danger here.”

  Sir Phillip fanned his face with his hat. “‘Tis this hellish heat,” he said plaintively, “it affects the brain, English brains. Sir George was simply not thinking properly.” He turned to Captain Stafford. “But just the same, your soldier should not have left him alone.”

  “Aye,” said Ananias, “he should have stayed there despite Sir George’s wishes.”

  Captain Stafford slammed his fist on the table. “Enough of this quibbling. Treachery such as this deserves immediate maximum response. ‘Tis the only way to ensure that it never happens again.”

  “Nay, Captain,” said Governor White. “This calls for a response, but a measured one. As you must know, this is a revenge killing brought upon us because of the last incidence of maximum response when last we left this place.”

  “Aye,” said Parson Lambert softly. “Governor White has told me the whole story. ‘Tis their revenge.”

  “Revenge for what?” said Sir Charles.

  “Over a year ago,” said White, “when Ralph Lane was governor here in Roanoke, we were meeting in this very house when a shot was fired in the night. One of our own soldiers was shot trying to sneak back into the palisade. Savages were seen on the sound in a dugout canoe, making for the main. We pursued them in the shallop. As we drew near, one of them, a woman, jumped out and swam for shore. Captain Stafford boarded their dugout with his soldiers and killed the savage, taking his head for a trophy.” White looked at the captain. “Is that not so?”

  Captain Stafford said nothing, smiling coldly.

  Governor White went on. “Governor Lane and Captain Stafford arranged a meeting with the Roanokes at Dasamankpeuc to discuss the death, and the apparent theft of one of our own axes we had found in the savage’s dugout. Manteo the Croatoan and I went along with the Governor, Captain Stafford and his soldiers. As we approached their elders and their chief, Wingina, the captain and his men, upon an arranged signal, knelt and opened fire, killing a half-dozen of them.”

  The gentlemen broke into animated talk among themselves.

  “What matter is it?” said Captain Stafford. “They had to be taught a lesson.”

  “And what a bold lesson you taught them, taking their chief’s head and displaying it for all of them to see!”

  “Why were we not told this?” said Sir Mortimer.

  “You will have to ask Walter Raleigh that,” said White.

  “This is an outrage,” said Sir Mortimer, “to land us here where all this feuding took place and not have told us!”

  “Aye,” said White. “But they were not to land us here. Remember? We were supposed to be put ashore at Chesapeake, where the savages are friendly, and not a part of Powhatan’s tribe.”

  The gentlemen muttered among themselves.

  Governor White continued. “Gentlemen, with the exception of Sir George’s young son, no one mourns his death more than I. We were good friends. But let us use logic over feeling. Having spent some time here, I must tell you that the surrounding tribes can muster as many as a thousand bowmen to throw against us. We are but a hundred and fourteen men and we have twenty seven women and children to protect.”

  As if to emphasize White’s words, a child in the rear of the building began crying loudly. The men avoided each other’s eyes, looking elsewhere instead.

  “So yeh would have us do nothing then?” said Captain Stafford.

  “Of course not,” Governor White shot back at him. “We should go to Dasamankpeuc and demand that the savages that did it be handed over to us.

  The men were silent for a few moments as they considered the plan.

  “And you believe they will give them to us?” sneered Sir Mortimer.

  “I know not what they will do,” said White, “but we must try before we make war on them.”

  “Very well,” said Sir Robert. “I second your plan.”

  The men were silent for a few moments until Sir Phillip raised his hand. “Aye. I vote with the Governor.”

  Sir Abraham raised his hand. “Very well. But if it does not work we must punish them instead.”

  Ananias and Parson Lambert raised their hands. The young gentleman, Sir Anthony followed, then Sir Charles. Sir Mortimer did not move a muscle.

  Captain Stafford stared at White coldly. “It be a waste of our time. But I see I am outvoted.”

  Governor White pushed his chair back. “Then ‘tis agreed. We will go tomorrow. Manteo will, of course, accompany us as translator.”

  ***

  Under a boiling sun, John White, Sir Mortimer Reed, and Sir Abraham Bane moved slowly through the waist-high water of the swamp. They held the muskets they had been provided at chest height. Two soldiers followed behind them, keeping an eye out for any savages that might attempt to sneak up on them from the rear. A hundred yards ahead of them, the bulk of Captain Stafford’s force was already climbing up out of the muddy swamp and disappearing into another section of sun-baked pine forest.

  Sir Abraham stopped suddenly, hanging his head as he fought for breath. Governor White watched the surface of the swamp as they waited, thinking about the snake that Manteo had warned them about. A resident of the swamp, its bite was venomous; but worse, it was not content with fright
ening off those who stumbled upon it, but was known to chase after and bite them. White looked over at Sir Abraham and felt sorry for the big portly gentleman. So tired was he from the journey that he could not even utter an oath.

  “I believe that Manteo has got us going round in circles!” said Mortimer angrily. “I do not trust him.”

  Still breathing heavily, Sir Abraham could only glower in response.

  “Trust him,” said White. “He will get us there.” White had tried to talk the two gentlemen out of coming, knowing they would have a difficult time with the journey. And they would add nothing to the negotiations; their arrogance would only inflame passions. But they had insisted.

  “God in heaven!” Sir Mortimer said suddenly, ripping a leech from his belly. He lunged forward toward the bank. “I must get out of this.” Sir Abraham followed him wearily. John White and the two soldiers brought up the rear. They climbed up onto the bank and continued walking. They reached the village of Dasamankpeuc after an hour’s time.

  Governor White caught up to Captain Stafford as they entered the village. There were many more braves about than normal, which did not surprise White. They squatted in groups in front of the open-sided houses, watching the English men suspiciously.

  Captain Stafford turned to Sir Mortimer, who took stock as they walked along. “How many do yeh count?”

  “Over two hundred so far.”

  “Aye,” said Captain Stafford, throwing a look at Governor White, “they are expecting us.”

  Three Roanoke braves ran along the packed earth of the village square toward them. The men came to a halt and Governor White called Manteo to speak to them.

  Governor White and the others waited as Manteo and the braves spoke rapidly in the language of Powhatan.

  “What did they say?” Captain Stafford asked Manteo after the men grew silent.

  “They say Wanchese and his band killed Howe.”

  “Where is Wanchese?” asked Governor White.

  “They know not,” said Manteo. “They say he run away.”

  “Rubbish,” snorted Captain Stafford.

  Sir Mortimer’s reddened face scanned the open-sided houses suspiciously. “He is probably watching us at this very moment from one of their hovels.”

  “Aye,” Sir Abraham agreed, his face darkening with suspicion.

  “Manteo,” said Governor White, “take us to their Council.”

  Manteo and the Roanoke braves led the way to a large open-sided meetinghouse. Groups of Roanoke braves stood about, numbering over a hundred in all. Captain Stafford formed his twenty soldiers into orderly ranks. Then Stafford, Governor White, Manteo and the two gentlemen, Sirs Mortimer and Abraham, entered and stood before the headmen of the village.

  Manteo spoke to the Old Men and they bade the English to sit.

  “Tell them why we are here,” White said to Manteo.

  Manteo spoke rapidly to the Old Men. Although Governor White and the others could not understand their speech, they noted the hard expressions of the faces of the Roanokes and the angry tone of their responses. The discussion was over in a few minutes.

  “What did they say?” asked Governor White.

  “They say they know nothing of the murder,” said Manteo

  “Lying savages!” scowled Sir Abraham.

  “Captain Stafford warned you it would be a waste of our time,” Sir Mortimer said to White.

  “Manteo,” said Governor White. “Tell them what the braves told you. Tell them that they must turn Wanchese and his band over to us for punishment.”

  Manteo relayed the Governor’s words to the Old Men. When he finished the Roanoke elders remained silent, their faces masks of hate.

  Governor White wanted to shout at these foolish old men. They knew not what they were bargaining for. Manteo continued to speak, but the old men remained unmoved.

  “We are getting nowhere with them,” Sir Mortimer said. “We might as well go.”

  “Aye,” said Captain Stafford, getting to his feet. “We shall have to come back and try a different tact.”

  White shook his head sadly as they stood. They exited the meetinghouse. As they marched out of the village he could feel the weight of every pair of eyes upon them. They reached the edge of the swamp as the sun set behind the trees.

  “They are an insolent bunch,” said Sir Abraham as he maneuvered his large bulk gingerly down the bank. His face cringing with distaste, he waded into the swamp. “They will soon sing a different song.”

  “Procedures must be observed, sir,” commanded Governor White. “I insist on a meeting and a vote.”

  Captain Stafford laughed. “It might well be the shortest meeting we have had.”

  “So be it,” said Governor White emphatically, “but I still insist upon’t.” White silently cursed the day’s sorry outcome. He thought back to Lane’s revenge raid, and now poor George Howe’s abused corpse. Where would it end?

  Sir Mortimer started down the muddy bank and slipped, splashing into the water. The soldiers laughed as two of them hurriedly climbed down into the cool murky water to help him to his feet. Sir Mortimer spat as he looked up at White. “You will get your vote! And they will get their blasted reward!” Sir Mortimer angrily pulled away from the soldiers who were attempting to steady him, and waded into the swamp.

  Chapter 14

  The afternoon sun blazed like a hot coal as Ananias Dare and a party of twenty-five, heavily-armed Englishmen pushed the shallop into the surf. As the soldiers readied the sail, Ananias recalled their failed mission to Dasamankpeuc. The Roanoke savages had admitted no complicity in Howe’s death. That had not surprised Ananias. But the Roanoke elders had shown no sympathy toward the English for their loss, and that had sealed the savages’ fate. For with the exception of Parson Lambert, the vote for a retaliatory raid had been unanimous. Overhead, the shallop’s sail filled with a slap of sound and the boat moved swiftly out into the sound.

  Ananias glanced at Governor White as the shallop neared the green gloom of the mainland. His father-in-law’s heart was not in this. But Ananias’s was. He leaned more toward Stafford’s side in this than he would ever let on to the governor. With his and Eleanor’s baby coming, the savages must be taught a lesson just as Captain Stafford had said. After all, it was not only his little family that was at risk in this place; there were now four other English women who were with child.

  The shallop grounded on the sandy shore of the mainland. Ananias marched at the head of the column of soldiers with his father-in-law, Manteo and Captain Stafford. The soldiers clumped in close ranks behind them. Then they silently pushed through the swamp as Manteo followed a soggy trail visible only to himself. Clouds of mosquitoes pursued them hungrily and their clothing grew heavy with sweat. Several hours later, the sun set in the west and the day’s heat began to dissipate. Daylight gave way to dusk.

  The column halted and Governor White and Captain Stafford consulted with Manteo. Doubts began to assail Ananias as they waited. The raid was necessary, but he was a simple man, a tiler and brickmaker, not a soldier, and he wished the Assistants had not chosen him to go. His thoughts hovered about the unpleasant task before him like flies over a ripe fruit. Yes, this business must be done. But he had never killed before and he wondered if he could. As he rested, a woodpecker made a racket nearby. He waved away another assault by the ever-present clouds of hungry mosquitoes. The leaders finished their discussion and the troop began moving again. Ananias’s feet began to chafe in his wet boots. He wished this dark business were finished and they were on their way home again. The baby would come any day now and he wanted to be there when it did.

  Darkness fell as long, striated clouds sailed swiftly across a silver sky beneath a half-disc of moon. Cicadas ground out a steady rhythm as the boots of the men sloshed through the water and mud. Finally they trudged out onto dry solid land. They walked on and soon word was passed back that they had reached the village. Stafford’s large form appeared out of the darkness asking A
nanias and the others if they were ready. The village was just ahead. Ananias blew on the match of his musket, causing it to glow red like an angry one-eyed beast. They slowly crept forward.

  Ananias and the others looked across a clearing at a haphazard collection of huts. The soldier next to him whispered softly, “Wait for the order to fire.”

  Ananias nodded as they moved forward again. He saw nothing, heard nothing except his own breathing and his own footsteps. “Where are they?” he whispered anxiously.

  The others said nothing. They stopped and looked through the moonlight, waiting. As Ananias watched the blackness, worried thoughts of Eleanor and the baby filled his head.

  “Look there,” whispered a soldier to Ananias’s left.

  Ananias saw a dozen or more savages move into the village common. They stood in a large group. There seemed to be much coming and going as they evidently worked at something, but he could see nothing distinct. The savages appeared to be carrying bundles in their arms, and wore packs or baskets on their backs.

  “Get ready to fire,” came the whispered command.

  “Are they the ones?” Ananias asked the soldier beside him.

  The man said nothing, raising his musket. Ananias swallowed and raised his own musket. Overhead, the long wispy clouds raced across the sky, breaking the moonlight into pieces. His heart pounded in his chest. Something was wrong. The figures went in and out of focus. Ananias aimed at one individual. The pack on the savage’s back made a good target. He wondered vaguely whether ‘twas a basket or a sack of corn as his finger slowly sought the trigger.

  “Fire!” came the call, and the night erupted with flashes of fire and thunderous booms. At the very moment that Ananias’s musket erupted, kicking him painfully in the shoulder, the pack on the savage’s back seemed to move. Overhead the clouds passed, the light growing brighter, and Ananias saw another of the things on another savage’s back move slightly and he realized sickeningly that it was a baby or child. “Stop!” he shouted, but the muskets continued to boom, the figures still huddling together dumbly. Ananias saw one of them fall. “Stop!” he screamed, “there are women and children among them.”