by Paul Clayton
The firing sputtered to a stop and Ananias heard a voice shouting. It was Governor White.
“Stop! For God’s sake!”
Ananias rushed forward with the others. What he saw sickened him. Two savages lay dead and unmoving on the ground, one woman and an old man. The remaining women and old men wailed in fear and mourning. Ananias saw a few faces that he recognized from the trip to Manteo’s village of Croatoan. He went over to where John White and Captain Stafford stood and said, “They are from the village we visited.”
“I know, I know,” said John White. He turned to Captain Stafford. “They are not Roanoke people!”
“What are yeh talking about?” said Stafford.
“They are Croatoan people, from Manteo’s village!”
“What the hell be they doing here?” Stafford shouted.
“I know not,” said White hoarsely. He called to Manteo over the crying and shouting of the Indians. “Manteo, what in God’s name has happened? Why are your people here?”
Ananias watched Manteo kneel and speak rapidly to an older woman who was wailing over the dead man. After a moment Manteo got to his feet. “They hear that Roanoke people abandoned this village. Wanchese and Roanoke people say they should come here and harvest corn left in fields. They no hear of the killing of Sir George.”
“That Wanchese,” said Captain Stafford, “he be a clever devil!”
“God help us,” said Governor White sadly. “He has made fools and killers of us all.”
Ananias went back to where a small crowd of savages crouched around a figure on the ground. A little girl of two or three lay on her back. Her shoulder was covered in thick blood and she looked up at Ananias fearfully. She attempted to sit up and Ananias gently pushed her back. “Nay, you must lie still,” he urged her. Behind him, Governor White and Captain Stafford argued. He called to his father-in-law. “Governor White! Come quickly.”
As White knelt beside him, Ananias said, “Help me tend to her. She is losing much blood.”
White probed the girl’s wound with his fingers and she cried out in pain.
Ananias saw the blood pulse from her wound, catching and reflecting the moonlight. “I did not know they were children,” he said in a panic, “I thought they were packs upon their backs!”
“Say no more,” said White, “no one knew.” White tore a sleeve from his shirt. “Let us wrap it round her shoulder.” As they worked, Manteo shouted angrily at someone in the language of Powhatan. White called back to him, “Enough, Manteo. What good does it do?”
Ananias needed no interpreter to hear the sadness and anger in Manteo’s reply. Ananias looked down at the girl. She and the others had been sacrificed by Wanchese, he realized, to poison English relations with the friendly Croatoans.
Despite the bandage they’d applied to the girl’s wound, the bleeding would not stop and Ananias and White were soon covered with blood. Governor White stood and Ananias remained kneeling over the girl, stroking her hair, and trying to calm her.
“Manteo!” A loud, strange-sounding voice emanated from the blackness. Ananias looked around as everyone ceased their talking. There was only the crying of the survivors.
“You have learned well, Manteo,” the strangely-accented voice said in English.
Manteo looked around angrily.
Ananias called to his father-in-law. “Who is it?”
“There is only one savage around here who speaks English that well. ‘Tis Wanchese. He was taken to England as a child along with Manteo, but he went back to savage ways.”
Manteo shouted angrily into the surrounding darkness in his own language.
The voice laughed derisively. “Yes, Manteo, you have learned well. Now you are an Englishman!”
Manteo fired his musket in the direction the voice seemed to be coming from.
“Hold yer fire,” said Captain Stafford, “yer only wasting shot.”
A shrill voice laughed in the distance and then was gone.
Ananias looked back down at the girl. She was dead, her empty eyes staring up him. He got to his feet and stared up at the fast-moving clouds overhead. He tried to purge the image of the girl’s face from his mind, but could not.
***
Dim daylight came through the only window in the loft and the many cracks and holes in the walls and roof of the newly finished cottage. Two candelabra of five candles each supplemented the poor light as John White stood at his easel. His subject, a strange specimen of fish, lay stretched out on a table before him. Four feet in length, its arrow-like body indicated great speed in the water. Its head was most odd, the eyes sticking out from the sides on stalk-like appendages. Behind White, the maid, Maggie, cleaned the cottage and put his things in order as he painted.
As White worked, his thoughts normally would have been peaceful, but were, instead, troubled. Captain Stafford had gone off with a couple dozen of his soldiers and two of the Devon gentlemen, Anthony Stewartson and James Duncan. They were again attempting to get the tribes living east of Dasamankpeuc to trade for corn. Despite the fact that the bulk of the soldiers remained here, White had not liked the idea. There was, of course, the constant, but unlikely possibility of the Spanish finding them here. But after the deaths at Dasamankpeuc, the threat of a savage attack was even greater. Because of Manteo’s involvement, Tookemay and her council had forsworn any retaliatory killings, but would all their warriors hold to this? And what about that savage Caesar, Powhatan? The clever, dictatorial savage leader might be able to turn the Croatoans against them after this. There was simply no telling what might happen. Because of this, White had insisted that the fort be immediately rebuilt and fortified.
There had been much grumbling from the men and soldiers, but after six days the palisade walls of the triangular fort had been strengthened and plastered with clay, making them resistant to savage fire arrows. At each corner of the fort they had built up the earthworks, constructed watchtowers, and positioned heavier ordnance. The big house, which had served as the former Governor’s house and now doubled as church and Assistants’ meeting house, and the storehouse, both in the center of the fort, had been re-plastered with clay. Twenty-one cottages in all had been constructed along the fort walls, affording the families and soldiers a little more protection and privacy. But despite all of this, Governor White was still uneasy. He angrily recalled Fernandes’ refusal to take them to Chesapeake. The Portuguese navigator’s greed for Spanish prizes had put them all at great risk. And before he had been so brutally killed by Wanchese and his band, Sir George had suspected secret plotting among Sir Abraham Bane and the other Devon gentlemen that involved Captain Stafford and others as well. Perhaps Fernandes was involved. White realized that as soon as another ship called here, he had better put a letter aboard for Raleigh, alerting him to these developments. And he would tell him about the treachery of the Portuguese navigator. White was certain that Raleigh would have him dance at the end of a rope for what he had done to them.
Maggie came over to stand beside him. “‘Tis a hideous looking thing, m’Lord.”
White looked at her and said nothing. Although Maggie was young enough to be his daughter, he felt a strong attraction to her, whilst she evidently looked upon him more as a father-like protector, than someone she would bed with.
“What is troubling you, m’Lord?” she said. “Is it what happened to the fish traps?” Manteo had supervised the construction of a second fish weir and again the savages had come in the night and destroyed it.
White shook his head. “Nay, child. We have already begun work on a fishing net and we will soon fish in the sound from the shallop.”
“Are we still in danger?” Maggie asked.
“There is always some danger here, child,” White said with a frown, “but, we have done much to lessen that danger.”
“What about Manteo’s people? Will they attack?”
White shook his head. “I think not. I am more concerned for Manteo than I am worried about his people att
acking us.”
Maggie nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, he does seem crestfallen these days.”
Below someone pounded on the cottage door. “Help!” came a cry. Footsteps ran off.
White put down his brushes as Maggie headed for the ladder-like stairs. “Do you think ‘tis Indians?” she called back to White.
White’s forehead was a mass of worry lines as he answered. “I know not. But I had better get out there.”
White grabbed the musket propped against the hearth and they went outside into the cool air. He saw a man scrambling up the bulwark and followed him, calling back to Maggie, “Get inside the big house. Quickly.”
Maggie hurried off.
White climbed to the ramparts and looked out across the fields. The thin fog he’d seen when Maggie had entered the cottage had thickened and now obscured the ground completely. He realized with alarm that it could hide a thousand native bowmen under its thick wool. There should have been an alert.
He turned to the guard next to him. “Who raised the alarm?”
The man’s eyes met White’s. Beneath the morion helmet, White recognized him as the knave Maggie had come over seas with, the one called Thomas Shande. She had pointed him out to him on the ship.
“I know not, sir,” said Thomas. “I heard a shout and then they was gone.”
White noted a look of hostility on the young man’s face. Another soldier climbed the bulwark and peered out at the fog.
“Do you see anything?” White asked him.
“There is nothing, m’Lord,” said the man. “And down the line they have not heard nor seen anything. Whoever that was what raised the alarm better have a good reason. Captain Stafford sanctions no crying wolf. There be a whipping in it for the simpleton for sure.”
White turned his attention back to the fog. Someone called him. It was Maggie, standing at the bottom of the bulwark.
“What is it?” he called down to her.
“Eleanor’s baby is coming! That was Ananias. He is all aflutter. Come quickly.”
“Clod-pated fool,” said the soldier, “raising the alarm like that for a birth.”
White silenced the man with a look. He scrambled back down the bulwark and hurried to the big house.
Chapter 15
Lionel hurried across the common. Maggie had asked him to fetch the parson for the birth of Eleanor Dare’s baby. Earlier that day the goodwife’s screams had stopped him in his tracks and he had doubted that she would survive the birth. As the goodwife’s screams echoed in his head, he thought again of the soldiers’ raid on the savages’ Roanoke village. A man, a woman and a child had been killed. He hoped it had not been Peenaysheesh. He had forgotten her complete name. And if she were safe, what would be the result of the raid? Would he and the other English still be welcome in the Croatoan village?
Lionel knocked on the parson’s door.
The little man opened. “What is it?”
“A birth, Master” said Lionel. “Eleanor Dare. It does not go well.”
The parson called in to his wife and then he and Lionel were hurrying back across the common.
“Will we be returning to the village of Croatoan soon, Master?” asked Lionel.
Parson Lambert answered without turning around. “Aye. Several of them wish to be baptized. And would you like to go?”
“Aye. That I would.”
“And what is her name, Lionel?”
“Master?” said Lionel.
The parson smiled kindly at Lionel.
“She is called, Peenaysheesh.”
“Ah,” said Lambert, “a pretty name. But we shall have to find her a good Christian one.”
Lionel nodded happily.
Maggie cringed as Elizabeth probed poor Eleanor Dare’s belly. Eleanor’s eyes were clenched in pain as she lay on the table moaning. Maggie had assisted at other births and she knew something was wrong with this one. Nearby, Parson Lambert was attempting to calm Ananias, who paced back and forth nervously. Lionel hovered near the doorway with his son sitting on the floor at his feet.
Maggie felt as if they’d been ministering to Eleanor for days instead of hours. “What is the matter with her?” she asked Elizabeth.
“The baby is the wrong way round.”
“God a mercy!” said Paulina, the serving girl. “‘Tis the end of her.”
“Shut up and hold her,” said Elizabeth. “Take her legs.”
As Paulina grasped Eleanor’s legs firmly, Maggie asked Elizabeth, “Do you know how to save her and the baby?”
Elizabeth turned to her. “In sooth, child, I only know how to try and turn the baby. Now, she is going to fight me mightily so you must take her arms.”
Maggie hesitated.
“Now, Maggie.”
Maggie grasped Eleanor’s wrists tightly.
“Pull ‘em back over her head,” said Elizabeth, “and don’t let go, no matter how much she cries.”
As Maggie did as she was told, Eleanor came out of her pain-induced fog and looked at her as if she had betrayed her. “‘Tis all right, Mistress,” Maggie said, “all will be well.” Eleanor was on the verge of replying when Elizabeth began pushing on her belly. Eleanor shrieked like an animal being slaughtered and tears welled in Maggie’s eyes. A shout came from the door. Governor White’s face was contorted in anger as he looked in at them. Eleanor shrieked and cried out for help.
“Stop!” White commanded Elizabeth. “Take your hands off her!”
Elizabeth looked up, her face reddening as Governor White started over. Ignoring him, she continued her firm manipulation of the uncooperative thing in Eleanor’s belly. Eleanor now shrieked like a woman possessed by devils. Governor White’s eyes found Maggie’s and she cried with anguished guilt, but continued holding Eleanor’s arms. Governor White seemed suddenly to know not where he was as he stared at them and Maggie’s heart went out to him.
“Stop this!” White shouted. He grabbed at Elizabeth, attempting to pull her away.
Elizabeth fended him off, calling to Ananias. “God a mercy, m’Lord, take him outside!”
Ananias grabbed Governor White from behind. “Sir,” he coaxed, as he attempted to wrestle the governor backward. White’s strength was magnified by his rage and Ananias could hardly move him. He called to Lionel for help.
Together they pulled Governor White toward the door as Eleanor’s screams filled the hall. “Harlot from hell,” White roared at Elizabeth, “unhand her!” Lionel and Ananias wrestled him out the door and closed it.
***
That afternoon in the big house Governor White held his granddaughter in his arms as Ananias and Paulina watched him anxiously. Eleanor slept nearby, her face tranquil. White felt foolish about his earlier behavior, but his discomfort was mitigated by the delight he now felt holding the writhing, feather-weight, child in his arms. He handed the child back to Paulina and looked at Ananias. “How fares she?” he asked.
“She is well,” said Ananias, nodding nervously.
White again recalled his earlier, irrational behavior and felt foolish. He looked at Ananias. “Have you decided on a name for the child?”
Ananias smiled haggardly. “Eleanor and I have long talked of it. We will call her, Virginia, in honor of our Queen and our colony.”
White nodded appreciatively. “Congratulations, Ananias. You will make a fine father, I am sure.”
Ananias tried to smile. “Thank you, sir.”
White exited the big house, coming out into the bright light of day. He spotted Maggie and the corpulent midwife he had abused so grievously earlier in the day, talking in the center of the common. As he approached them, anxious to apologize for his earlier behavior, the midwife saw him and hurried away. White increased his steps but the woman never turned, disappearing into James Duncan’s cottage. He walked over to Maggie.
Maggie smiled nervously, then cast her eyes down.
“I am sorry about this afternoon, Maggie,” White said. “I pray that you and she will forgive
me.”
“Of course, m’Lord,” said Maggie. “You were grievously upset. You thought she was harming your Eleanor.”
White nodded. “Aye. I could not quite control myself. But there is more to it than that.”
“What is that, m’Lord?”
White indicated a set of steps leading up to the rampart. They walked over and sat on the bottom one. Above them three soldiers looked out over the fields toward the sea.
White turned to Maggie. “My wife was your age when she died in childbirth.”
“I see,” said Maggie. “And you were brought back to that day, eh?”
White shook his head. “Nay. That is not what I was thinking about.” White looked up at the soldiers, softening his voice. “When Eleanor was a child of three I had set up a studio in London to work. I would leave her with the maidservant, an old woman named Samantha. Eleanor was a frail, tiny thing then.”
Above, the soldiers laughed softly at something.
“Go on, m’Lord,” said Maggie.
White looked at his feet. “Well, when I would return to my house in the evenings, Eleanor would act strangely, clinging to me with all her might. She was having trouble falling to sleep.” White frowned in remembered concern. “Many’s the night I had to sit with her till sleep took her. This went on for all of a fortnight. Well, one day I finished my work early and went straight home unannounced. I heard a commotion as I approached the door and let myself in. This horrid woman, this Samantha, had Eleanor backed into a corner. She stood over her, screaming and striking at her arms and back with a leather switch. Eleanor was paralyzed with fear and shaking uncontrollably.”
“Why in Heaven’s name did the woman hit her?” said Maggie.
White shook his head. “She said something about Eleanor putting her hands into the pudding.”
“For the love of God,” said Maggie.
“She had no right!” said White, shaking with anger as he remembered. “Eleanor had welts on her backside. When I think of all the other beatings and torments she must have suffered at the hands of this hag.” White shook his head. “I was so caught up in my painting, obsessed really, that I never…”
