by Paul Clayton
“There’s another!” Robert heard a soldier say. He looked up, his body stiff from the confines of the boat and the assault of the cold wind.
The soldier pointed to the main. “Sir, two savage dugouts have put out from the mainland!”
Robert scanned the horizon. The dugouts, if that was what they were, were now mere flecks upon the surface of the sound. He wondered if they might be from Manteo’s tribe. He turned to Mister Smedley. “When is it time to haul in the net?”
“Not for a while, sir.”
“They be coming our way, sir,” one of the soldiers called over to Robert.
Robert took another look and a spasm of dizziness shook him. “Better ready your muskets just in case.”
The dugouts drew closer and Robert saw that they were very large, each one manned by over a dozen savages. Some were visible as they paddled standing up. However, they were still too far away to determine their intent. He turned to Mister Smedley. “You had better begin getting that net in.”
“Aye.”
As Smedley and the men began pulling on the lines, Robert turned back to look at the savages. The dugouts were fast closing the distance between them. The faces of the paddlers were now visible, chiseled with grim determination. Robert frowned. The savages were still a mystery to him and he wished he had asked Manteo to accompany them on this trip. These could very well be his kinfolk.
“I don’t think they be friendly, sir,” one of the soldiers said as the dugout continued to approach. As Robert stared at the savages he thought worriedly of the colony’s mistaken attack on the innocent Croatoan savages at the abandoned Roanoke village. The Croatoans had been their only allies here. If they made the same mistake again enemies would surround them. “They could be Manteo’s people,” he said.
Robert turned to Smedley. “They’re closing. Is that net in?”
“Nay!” Smedley called back. Robert watched him and two other men struggling with the nets. They had hauled in much line but the net still had not broken the surface of the sound. “Blast it,” Robert said. “We cannot maneuver quickly enough trailing that!”
As Robert watched, the savages that had been seated got to their feet and began nocking arrows into their bows. “Fire warning shots,” he called.
Two of the soldiers’ muskets boomed thunderously, momentarily engulfing the shallop in acrid smoke. Robert coughed, struggling to keep his feet.
Undeterred by the spouts of water kicked up by musket balls, the savages continued to come straight on. “Get that damn net aboard!” Robert shouted.
At a signal, the savage bowmen released a flight of arrows. They arced up, then moments later, splashed into the water all around the shallop. Two shattered loudly, but harmlessly against the wood of the shallop.
Smedley and the others continued hauling on the lines, keeping one eye on the arrows that now flit about the shallop like angry birds.
Robert pulled his sword and moved unsteadily toward the rear of the shallop. Like a giant hand, the net was holding them back for the savages. It must be jettisoned. More arrows rained down with a clatter.
“Blasted beggars!” shouted one of the soldiers. Mister Smedley turned, an arrow protruding from his chest. He sank to his knees, his eyes closing in pain. A soldier laid him on his side on the boards. Robert gripped the rail as the soldiers fired another volley of musket balls. Acrid smoke enveloped the shallop. When it cleared Robert saw that one well-aimed shot had turned a savage’s face into a bloody mess, knocking him out of the lead dugout and into the choppy water. Undeterred, the savages continued to come on. Robert estimated they would close the distance in another few minutes.
Robert trod unsteadily past Smedley and the soldier standing over him. “Stand back,” he commanded the men still attempting to haul in the ropes. Robert hacked at the ropes as the shallop rolled dizzily in the swells. First one, then the other, gave way, and the shallop leapt forward like a horse struck by the whip, almost throwing Robert overboard. The savages shrieked and unleashed another flight of arrows. One of them struck a soldier in the neck and he fell to the boards with a muted, gurgling scream. A savage paddler tumbled backwards as a shot found its mark and another leapt up to take his place, but to no avail. Now that the net was gone, the shallop quickly drew away. Several minutes later, the shallop was a league beyond range, and the dugouts had turned about and were heading back for the mainland. Sir Robert made his way over to the soldier kneeling over Mister Smedley. “How is he?”
The man shook his head. “Dead.”
Robert looked back in the stern where another man lay on the floorboards groaning in pain. One of his mates pulled a blood-smeared arrow shaft from his buttocks. “The point remains inside him,” the man said. “‘Tis how they fashion their arrows.” The other soldier lay unmoving on the boards, apparently dead with the arrow still lodged in his throat.
Sir Robert cursed under his breath. They had got off easy, thank God. But now they had no fishing net. He turned away to look toward Roanoke Island. Many people had gathered on the shores to watch their encounter. Robert shook his head slightly. The loss of the net troubled him deeply. But, White should return soon. He might be a poor leader, but he would do everything in his power to bring back supplies and help. Then they could finally make their move to the safer lands of Chesapeake. “Take us back in,” he called to the helmsman.
October 15, 1587
Lionel Fisher walked along the beach at the head of the column. Three of the serving girls, Elizabeth, Paulina and Maggie, walked behind him, Maggie pulling Humphrey along by the hand. Manteo, Slade the carpenter, and ten heavily armed soldiers brought up the rear. One of the soldiers was the knave, Thomas Shande. Thomas noticed Lionel watching him and scowled back with disgust. Saving the boy’s plaguey hide had been a mistake, Lionel realized. He should have given him to that jackanapes constable that had dogged their steps all the way from London.
Lionel turned his gaze to the forest. Many of the trees were now bare and skeletal. Captain Stafford and the metallurgist, Bergman, had gone off to the mainland again with the soldiers. It was said that they were looking for gold-bearing ore. Lionel did not believe there was any gold here. That was why the Spaniards ignored this place. The real treasure was under their feet in the form of arable farmlands, or grazing land for sheep. The savages had much more land than they had need of. And the land in Chesapeake, where they would eventually settle, was said to be even more fertile. It would produce much bounty if enough muscle and sweat were brought to bear upon it. Lionel wanted a piece of it someday, a big piece.
Lionel looked back at his son, Humphrey. Even after he had paid off his indenture and was entitled to land here, who would he have to help him work it? Not Humphrey. It would take more than Lionel’s own two hands to draw a living out of the land. He thought of the savage woman, Peenaysheesh, and hoped she was safe. The parson had promised Lionel that he would bring him along when he next went to Croatoan. But when would that be?
Humphrey smiled dumbly. Lionel sighed and chased the thoughts of the woman, farm and hearth from his head. Humphrey was his life, his duty, his millstone. He turned round to watch the tree line warily.
Maggie looked at the sea as they walked along the beach. The air was chilly now, with the threat of cold rain and snow in it. She knew there would be no ships until spring, but still she could not keep from searching the gray expanse expectantly. The colony still had enough grain for their bread, although they were often short of meat and fish. This day she and the other servants were going to dig for clams and catch crabs and other sea creatures for their masters’ tables. They carried wooden hoes and shovels over their shoulders and cloth sacks in their hands
Maggie marveled at how far they’d come since running away from London. Lionel cut a fine figure as he walked at the head of the group in the fine set of clothes Sir Robert Harvey had given him. Lionel had devoted himself to Sir Robert as his servant, and the gentleman now put great stock in him. Lionel even wore a s
word with the Harvey crest stamped into the hilt. And he carried a musket too.
The salt air was full of the promise of shellfish and full bellies, and Maggie smiled as she glanced at her friend, Elizabeth, who walked along beside her. Elizabeth was humming a ditty. Although Elizabeth never spoke about life in her master’s cottage, Maggie assumed it to be a peaceful one due to the older woman’s eternal cheerfulness. The only thing that dampened the pleasure of the outing for Maggie was the presence of Thomas. Ever since the departure of John White, Thomas had been watching her, following her from a distance. Despite the lie she told him about Governor White having asked for her hand, she felt his eyes on her wherever she went and it bothered her greatly.
Maggie again searched the horizon for a sail. When they did spy a sail, would it be friend or foe? Even though Maggie didn’t want to, she sometimes thought about the Florida massacre of the French. They were in similar straits here, very vulnerable in this faraway place. How long had Governor White been gone now? She calculated in her head, realizing it had been only three fortnights. She wondered what he was doing at this very moment, picturing him supervising a small army of dockworkers as they carried provisions up the plank of a fine ship for the return voyage. Then she imagined him in a noisy alehouse at the end of the day, sitting down to a meal and a glass of wine amid the clatter of wooden and pewter platters and cups, the cacophony of conversation and laughter. She missed the noise of London the most-- all those people, all that movement and activity. Although the Dares had moved into Governor White’s cottage with her, her life was painfully quiet. She prayed she would soon get used to it. Indeed, she must, for she could never go back.
“Could the Governor be home in England now?” Elizabeth asked as they walked along.
“I was wondering that too,” said Maggie. She turned to look at Lionel.
“‘Tis possible,” Lionel called back, “if they had a good following wind.”
Manteo overheard and called out, “Worry you not, Maggie Girl. Governor White good man. He come back soon.”
Maggie hoped the Croatoan was right.
Elizabeth stopped suddenly. “What is that?” she said, pointing to the forest. “I saw something move in there.”
They stopped and Lionel and the other men peered at the forest.
“I saw something in the trees,” said Elizabeth.
“Worry not,” said Manteo, “‘tis nothing.”
“Worry not?” said Elizabeth, glaring at him. She turned to Maggie. “I cannot help but worry after the likes of those two that came Sunday past.”
Maggie cringed at the memory of the two savages from the village of Powhatan, the Mamanatowick, or great savage king, who had recently paid a call on the colony. Their odd markings and costumes had frightened Maggie. One had worn a sort of skin cloak festooned with the carcasses of small black birds. A soldier who had been a part of the first colony to stay at Roanoke had told Maggie that he was a native priest or conjurer.
“Could there be savages in the woods?” Maggie added worriedly.
“I know not,” said Lionel quietly as he squinted and searched the tree line.
“No savages,” said Manteo. “Birds in tree, maybe. Deer, maybe. No savages.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed as she watched the tree line. “How can he be so sure?” she said to Lionel.
Manteo turned to her. “If they be savages, you no see. That I know.”
“We must go on,” said Lionel. “Captain Stafford has already patrolled the island and he has men out on watch right now. You have naught to fear. We will keep a sharp eye.”
They walked on.
“What did the two savages that came to the fort want?” Elizabeth asked Lionel.
“Copper. Sir Robert said they put great stock in it. Powhatan uses it for money to pay his bowmen.”
“Do they make it into pence?” joked Paulina.
Lionel smiled. “They pound it into round plates and hang it about their necks, or decorate their houses with it.”
“Powhatan want muskets,” said Manteo. “Powhatan big man, have many braves, much feared.” Manteo waved his arm towards the mainland. “All across-the-water-people, Accomac, Weapmeoc, Secotan, Mangoak -- all fear Powhatan.”
“Well,” said Lionel, “we shan’t be staying here but one winter at best anyway. Then we move on up to Chesapeake.”
They walked on in silence until Manteo pointed out a place where sandbars had trapped the waters of the sound, forming a pool. Elizabeth walked into it first, turning to look at the others. “The last bunch out here found more clams than they could carry.”
“Well, let us see what we can find,” said Paulina. She pulled her skirts up and waded in. After sitting Humphrey down in the soft, dry sand, Maggie waded into the pool and began digging. The waters were warm after being heated by the sun all day.
Lionel and Manteo took up positions further up the beach as the soldiers headed toward the tree line.
After he had taken up his position in the trees with the other soldiers, Thomas watched Maggie and the others in the distance. He saw Lionel approach Maggie and speak with her, and his bile rose. Lionel’s master had given him a blue cloak embroidered with the Harvey family crest in the front and back. Now the former cutpurse and actor strutted about like a popinjay. Thomas would take his own buff soldier’s jerkin over such a vain and gaudy garment any day.
Finally Lionel walked away and Maggie joined the others. She bent at the waist, digging her hands down deep into the sandy muck as she probed for clams. Thomas turned to the soldier beside him. “I will return soon.”
Maggie heard the slosh of feet behind her and turned. Thomas smiled at her hopefully. She looked round for the others. Lionel and Manteo were specks up the beach in the distance and the other women were a stone’s throw away, heads bent as they worked.
“Hello, Maggie,” Thomas said.
She nodded, but said nothing.
“How have yeh been?”
“I am well, Thomas. Thank God.” She said nothing more, hoping he would leave her be. Instead he stepped closer.
“Maggie. I have something to tell yeh.”
She looked at him.
“When the captain took us off to get corn, some of us split off and went elsewhere.”
“What do you mean?” she said.
Thomas looked around, making sure the others were still out of earshot. His eyes narrowed. “I mean, Maggie girl, that there be gold to the west, in the land of the Mangoak savages, and we be going to find it.”
Maggie frowned. “What are you talking about? Master Dare has never said anything of gold, nor has Sir Robert to my knowledge.”
Thomas shook his head dismissively. “That be because they know nothing of it. But the Devon gentlemen do. And they mean to find it.”
“I believe it not,” said Maggie. “When Governor White returns we will go up to Chesapeake.”
Thomas smiled. “Nay,” he said. “There be nothing there but more savages and clams.”
“Aye, clams.” Maggie dug down into the compacted, wet sand. “I’ve work to do, Thomas. Leave me.” Maggie’s fingers found the smooth roundness of a clam. It seemed to hold itself tightly down in the muck. In her annoyance, she pulled too hard on it and its shell collapsed. She withdrew her hand. The cut on her finger gushed blood and the sight of it made her feel faint. She knelt down.
Before she could protest Thomas knelt beside her and took her hand.
“These shells be sharp, Maggie. The savages make their arrow points with them. Here, let me make a bandage.” Thomas grew excited as he began tearing at his sleeve. “Maggie, when we find the gold I’ll be rich! We can go back, maybe live in the Low Countries.”
Maggie felt weak and could only shake her head. She looked back at the others. “I will never go back.”
Thomas stuck her finger in his mouth and sucked at it. “Yeh need a man to take care of yeh.”
Maggie pulled her hand away. “Stop!”
Thomas squeezed her breast, moving close to kiss her.
“Thomas!” Revulsion filled her and she pushed him away. He fell backward, landing on his bottom in the shallow water.
“Doxy!” he cursed, as he floundered about, finally finding his footing. He moved closer, his face twisted in anger. “Maggie. Yeh be mine! I will have yeh again, one way or the other.”
Maggie glared at him in anger, at a loss for words.
“Mistress bleeds. I will help.” It was Manteo, seeming to have come out of nowhere. He reached for her hand.
Thomas scowled at him. “Be off, yeh annoyous freak. Yeh have no business here.”
Manteo drew closer. “What say the young gentleman?”
Someone came running up. Lionel splashed through the knee-deep water. He glared at Thomas. “What are you doing here? You are supposed to be hither in the tree-line keeping an eye out.”
Thomas scowled. “I was. Maggie cut her hand and I came to her aid, ‘twas all.”
“You were told not to leave your post. Get back now or I’ll see that the captain gives you a whipping!”
Thomas glowered at him and walked off.
Manteo looked briefly at Maggie before turning to walk back to where Paulina, Elizabeth and Humphrey were taking a rest on the dry sand.
Lionel watched Thomas as he walked back toward the trees. “That knave bears watching. He is nothing but trouble.”
“Aye,” said Maggie. “Only trouble.”
Chapter 18
October 15, 1587. The sea west of Ireland
John White slept, racked with pain, the rocking movement of the Hound inside of him now. A dull thud reverberated through the timbers of the ship. The sound reached him deep down in the well of pain he floated in and he slowly came to consciousness. They were adrift somewhere in the northern sea with nary enough men to sail her. At Roanoke the capstan had killed six strong men, breaking up three more who died shortly thereafter. A storm killed another when a spar broke and caved his head in. Then the winds died. Most of the water and beer went bad, leaving only three barrels. As if it knew of the men’s vulnerable state, the vermin chose this time to proliferate. Rats scurried about boldly and swarms of roaches crawled everywhere. White found so many weevils in his gruel that he took to eating it in the dark of the hold in order to get it down. Despite all of this, they made headway until the bloody flux struck. One by one the sailors were felled, too weak to keep their feet, let alone trim the sails and steer the ship. The steward died. Then the pilot spied a mermaid in the sea. He leaned over the rail to talk to her and fell overboard. After that, only White, Captain Spicer, William, the bo’son, and his mate, a foreigner named Franz, and a few sailors, White knew not how many, had managed to keep the ship on course and then the flux struck them too.
