by Paul Clayton
“Have they procured ships?”
“No ships.” White looked nervously around his house, venturing nothing further.
Spencer pressed him, knowing there must have been more. “But, they must have plans for doing so. Did they discuss further meetings to plan a resupply?”
“Aye, indeed!” White’s face grew red with anger. “There will be more meetings. They like to have meetings. But twice I asked them about ships and twice they found something else to talk about.”
“We must contact Raleigh directly,” said Spencer.
“Where,” said White, “in El Dorado?”
Spencer looked at him in confusion.
“The gentleman is too busy,” continued White. “His attentions shift all over the globe these days. But not to Roanoke.”
“But the Company …”
“The Company?” said White disdainfully. “The Company was formed so Raleigh could hold on to his charter in case someone else decided to try and make a profit in Virginia. That is all. He has other things to take up his time now.”
White got to his feet. “That is enough talk for now. I have work to do.”
Spencer could not believe the old man was going to leave it there. “Surely,” he said as he got to his feet, “if they’ve sold eighteen more shares in the Company, they must be serious about the colony.”
White shook his head angrily. “Perhaps. And perhaps ‘tis all just a shadow show. Flat marionettes talking and gesturing behind a sheet of linen. Talk, talk, talk. Someday they will get around to procuring ships. But now they do nothing but talk.” White’s face had grown red. “And I have no more time for talk. I have work to do. Come back tomorrow.”
White opened the door.
Spencer calmly regarded him. Even if the old fool went off the deep end, he, Spencer, would continue to work the Company. There would be a ship going to Virginia eventually. And he would be on it, with or without White. He would see that girl hang before he took his last breath. “Good day, sir,” he said as he walked out.
April 23, 1589. Roanoke
Elizabeth sat in a chair before the hearth, wondering when the Master would come back. She hoped he would be drunk. Very drunk. Too drunk to hit her or climb upon her. But sober enough to stumble inside and collapse in his bed. She dreaded being alone when darkness came because that was when the wee ones came out. They watched her every move. Now and then she’d get a glimpse of them out of the corner of her eyes as they scuttled from one side of the cottage to the other. She got to her feet and went to the hearth. The Master’s gruel was warming in the covered pot off to the side and she had already swept the cottage clean. “Oh, Maggie,” she cried suddenly, wishing her friend would come to visit. “They’ll not keep me here much longer.”
She watched the fire begin to burn down, feeling a great sadness. The warmth and brightness was also fading fast from her own life. A large log cracked in half with a spray of sparks. More sparks tumbled down onto the hearthstones.
“The fire is dying,” she heard herself say. She put her head in her hands and cried. After her sobbing subsided she lay another log on the coals and began pacing. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of them dash behind a chest. She laughed as she hurried over and peered down into the dimness. “Got yeh this time,” she said triumphantly, “yer trapped.” She could not see the little creature clearly and was tempted to lean closer. But they would stick a needle in yer eye if yeh were foolish enough to get that close to them, the little devils. “Nay,” she said aloud, “I’ll not lean down into there.”
Elizabeth waited for the little devil to make a dash for his freedom. But he was too smart for that. She went back to stand before the hearth. “‘Tis cold,” she said. The cold was the other terrible thing about this place. A person sweat like a pig in the summer, but froze like a rat in the winter. She heard the scurry of little feet behind as the one she’d cornered made his escape. But this time she did not turn. “Yer cold too, eh?” she said. “Want to get near the fire, eh?” Elizabeth bent to get another log and realized there were no more. She went out to the woodpile and brought in an armful, dumping them before the hearth.
“No more cold,” Elizabeth announced. “We’ll be warm as bugs in a bed tonight.” She went out and got another armload of wood, dumping it noisily. “No more cold!” She threw five logs as thick around as her leg into the hearth. Soon the heat forced her back, the crackling flames licking at the uppermost stones of the hearth. She saw a rush of movement to her left but did not turn. “Yeh want more, yeh say?” Elizabeth threw three more logs into the hearth. Now the flames were intense, pouring up the chimney like a thick, orange pillar. A log popped noisily, spewing a shower of sparks onto the wooden floor. Elizabeth grabbed the broom and swept them into the hearth, catching the broom on fire. She pushed it into the hearth as a shouting reached her ears. She went to the door and opened it. Outside, people were shouting and rushing about. She closed the door and a moment later soldiers burst in and grabbed her by the arms. They pulled her outside where the bitter cold air assaulted her. “I’m dying!” she shouted as she struggled with the men. “I’m freezing.”
“Crazy woman,” a man shouted, “setting yer roof afire!”
Elizabeth looked up and saw the flames rising from the thatch up into the cold gray sky. More men were running over as others formed up a bucket line. Two men climbed up onto the thatch. They cursed as they swatted at the leaping flames with wetted hides. Someone grabbed Elizabeth roughly and spun her around. She cringed. The swag captain stood before her.
“Yeh hedge-born devil!” the captain cursed her. He turned to the soldier beside him. “Take her to the gaol.”
***
Maggie paced in the Dare cottage. Up in the loft, Eleanor lay sleeping with little Virginia. From outside came the dull racket of Mister Slade’s hammering. He and his helpers had been at work all morning making the gallows. T-shaped, it had four iron rings set in it to hang four at once. Maggie had gone out to see it earlier, one brief look being enough to unnerve her. The door opened, swelling the work sounds momentarily, as Ananias returned from the hearing. He closed the door and stood before the hearth, rubbing his hands. Eleanor came down from the loft and stood waiting. Maggie felt dizzy, dreading what Ananias would say.
Ananias’s voice was monotonal. “They will hang her as a Spanish spy.”
Maggie covered her eyes and sobbed as Ananias’s words burned in her head. Elizabeth was odd, perhaps even mad, but a spy? It was preposterous. She’d never given any indication nor clue to having been working for the Spanish crown. Maggie sank to the floor.
Eleanor knelt beside her, putting her arm around her. Eleanor cried up to Ananias. “How could they do this?”
Ananias shook his head sadly. “I know not.”
“God a mercy,” said Eleanor.
Maggie shut her eyes. Ananias came over and stood before her. “I am sorry, Maggie.”
She looked up at him through her tears. She did not blame him and she wanted to tell him as much, but she had no voice.
Ananias sighed. “‘Twas the soldiers’ testimony more than anything. Two of them swore they’d seen a ship coasting both before and after the fire. That made Captain Stafford’s contention that she was trying to signal a Spaniard more believable.”
No one spoke as Maggie’s sobs filled the little cottage. Finally Eleanor said, “When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
The day dawned with a hint of rain to come later. Maggie waited with the others in front of the gallows. All of them had been assembled on orders of Captain Stafford and the Council. A rope with a noose had been threaded through one of the iron rings, a chair standing on the dirt below it. Maggie started nervously when drums began beating out a cadence. A moment later marching soldiers came into view, turning at the first cottage. The drummers marched in front, then two ranks of soldiers, four across, then Elizabeth with Parson Lambert at her side, and then another two ranks of four soldiers bringing u
p the rear.
As the procession passed her, Maggie swayed dizzily. Eleanor put her arm around her to steady her. The procession came to the gallows and the soldiers stopped. A moment later the drumming ceased. Maggie sadly noted her good friend Elizabeth’s shapeless, deteriorating gown. What had once been a plump, smiling face was now thin and haggard looking. Elizabeth seemed surprised to see the crowd before her. A faint smile creased her face and she commented inaudibly to Parson Lambert. The parson nodded without a word and cast his eyes down.
The drumming started up again and another procession made up of Captain Stafford and the Assistant Governors came up. Stafford looked bright and menacing in his polished breastplate and helmet as he walked with his hand on the hilt of his sword. The Assistants had all dressed in their finest, but now shabby, clothes for the occasion. Master Dare and Sir Robert were not among them.
Captain Stafford called out a command and the drumming ceased. The crowd leaned forward to hear what was being said. Maggie could hear the voices but she could not make out their words, nor did she want to. Captain Stafford and Parson Lambert consulted briefly and then stepped to the side. Elizabeth’s eyes now began anxiously searching the crowd. When her eyes met Maggie’s, she smiled and turned to speak to Parson Lambert. Maggie tried to smile at her friend as tears filled her eyes. One of the soldiers lowered the rope down from the gallows and another fitted it around Elizabeth’s neck. A third helped her up onto the chair. Then the rope was hoisted till taut and tied off.
Captain Stafford approached and put his foot upon the chair. He spoke to Elizabeth. Maggie could not hear his words, but Elizabeth responded angrily. Then she laughed loudly and raucously, causing amused talk and smiles in the crowd. Elizabeth’s eyes found Maggie’s across the crowd just before Stafford pushed the chair out from under her. Maggie watched in horror as Elizabeth’s legs fought the empty air for a purchase. Maggie turned away as a soft murmuring came from the crowd and the soldiers laughed loudly. Eleanor took Maggie’s hand and led her back to the cottage.
***
At the southeast end of Roanoke Island, Manteo stayed hidden in the trees until he heard the voices of his friend, Bear Killer and his men as their dugout ground up onto the sand of the beach. He left his cover and joined them and they pushed the craft back out into the sound. Bear Killer’s men stood to paddle as Manteo sat silently in the prow of the craft. Bear Killer left him alone with his thoughts. A short while later when the sun was halfway to its zenith they pulled the dugout up onto the beach of Croatoan.
Bear Killer turned to Manteo as they walked. “Swift Deer has found the spoor of a bear, an old male who has left his territory. Today we will hunt him down and you shall make the kill.”
Manteo nodded. “Thank you, Bear Killer.” Manteo looked forward to the hunt as they wound their way through the village houses and drying racks. Manteo stopped.
“What is it?” said Bear Killer.
Manteo said nothing. They stood before the little house of Croatoan’s kweeyusuk, Red Stick. Manteo felt confused. He had a great affection for Parson Lambert and he believed in the teachings of Jesus, yet he still felt a pull toward the religion of his own people. And the longer White and the ships stayed away, the stronger this pull seemed to become.
Bear Killer looked at him for a moment then said, “I will wait for you at the house of Swift Deer.
Manteo nodded. He stared at the kweeyusuk’s house a moment longer before going in. The kweeyusuk spoke before Manteo’s eyes found him in the darkness.
“I have been waiting for you.”
Red Stick was a very old man, his eyes colored by pools of blue water. He had been old when Manteo went away with the English and Manteo wondered vaguely how many English years he was now.
“Sit down,” said Red Stick. “Why have you come?”
Manteo sat and felt a calmness come over him. “I have been visited by the same dream three times now. I hoped you could tell me its meaning. It is about a bad storm.”
“Yes. I know that it is coming.”
“You know?”
“Yes.”
Manteo was puzzled. “In the dream I am with some others and the water is getting higher and higher. The land is disappearing. We are getting ready to die. Then we change into fish and we swim away.”
A smile broke the set of Red Stick’s wrinkled face.
“What does it mean?” said Manteo.
“I do not know. You will have to ask your spirit guide.”
Manteo nodded. “I will do as you say.”
Red Stick nodded. “Have the Coat-Wearing People poured water on your head?”
“Yes,” said Manteo.
Red Stick seemed to study Manteo for a moment. “Their medicine man told the others here that they would go to a new world when they die. Is that so?”
“It is so,” said Manteo. “They will go to heaven.”
“Tell me about heaven,” said Red Stick.
Later, as he went out into the light, Manteo heard the old man laughing softly. He didn’t know if Red Stick’s laughter indicated genuine delight at the hope of heaven or if it was a taunt. Manteo frowned. It mattered not. He spotted Bear Killer in the distance and hurried off to join him and the others for the hunt.
Chapter 28
June 11, 1589. Roanoke
Inside the Dare cottage, a pine knot torch set in a cast iron sconce cast a flickering pool of light around Robert Harvey, Ananias Dare, and Parson Lambert as they sat at the table and smoked quietly. Mosquitoes and moths flew round the torch. Across the room, Eleanor Dare, Margary Harvey, and Maggie the serving girl sat before the glow of the dying fire with little Virginia. Eleanor worked at patching a thin child’s gown as she talked quietly with Margary. Maggie taught Virginia her letters from a hornbook.
The smoke-tinged air of the cottage was hot and sultry, while outside the mosquitoes were particularly thick this night. Robert’s mood was pensive, but hopeful. He had decided on a course of action and tonight he would begin to put it into motion. It would, of course, depend on the others for its success, and so he had asked them to come to discuss it.
Parson Lambert turned to him worriedly. “The others should have come by now.”
“They will come,” said Robert, “worry not.”
“They?” said Ananias. “I thought only Phillip was coming.”
Robert shook his head. “We decided to include Mortimer as well.”
Parson Lambert turned to Ananias to explain. “Since the death of his wife and son, Mortimer is less enamored of the Devon gentlemen and their gold hunting schemes. He has told me on several occasions that he thinks we should begin making plans to move north.”
Robert nodded. “Mortimer is haunted by his memories and he now longs to be far away from this place.”
“Aye,” said Parson Lambert sadly.
“Then you think they will vote with us?” said Ananias.
Robert turned to answer when a knock came at the door.
Sirs Mortimer Reed and Phillip Mattingly entered. They called out a greeting to the women and took their places at the table with the other men.
Robert began re-packing his pipe. “I have asked you two here because I wanted to broach my plan to you first.”
Phillip blinked thoughtfully as Mortimer nodded with interest.
Robert went to the hearth, lit his pipe, and sat down again. “Gentlemen, something has gone wrong, terribly wrong. We wait here for a resupply that should have arrived more than a year ago.”
“Aye,” said Phillip, as he and the other waited for Robert to go on.
“I propose that we send the shallop to bring back help for the colony.”
Phillip erupted in shrill laughter. “Robert! Surely you do not intend to cross the ocean in that little tub?”
“Not exactly,” said Robert calmly. “The shallop is easily capable of coasting north to the cod banks.”
Mortimer frowned, deep in thought. “And if it arrives there?”
“There will be ships there,” said Robert.
“Ships?” said Phillip as he laughed. He looked at Parson Lambert and Ananias. “And just who do you propose to send on such a fool’s journey?”
“I will go,” said Robert matter-of-factly.
Margary Harvey looked over at her husband in shock, but said nothing. Eleanor engaged her in quiet conversation.
“Surely you can not sail the shallop alone, Robert,” said Mortimer.
Robert answered quickly, having already considered the question. “I will take my man, Lionel, with me.”
“Such a perilous journey in such a baubling boat,” said Phillip, shaking his head.
“Husband!” said Margary Harvey. She glared at Robert in disbelief as she climbed the stairs to the loft. Eleanor followed her. Margary began sobbing softly.
Robert looked up at the dark of the loft. He regretted not telling her earlier but he had not anticipated her wanting to accompany him to the Dare cottage for their meeting tonight. He turned back to the men. “I wanted to get your support,” he said, “before I proposed this to the others.”
Phillip looked up as Margary Harvey’s soft sobbing continued. Eleanor could be heard trying to comfort her.
“I think ‘tis too risky,” said Phillip, “but I will not vote against it.” He looked at Mortimer.
Mortimer’s brow compressed into worry lines. “Methinks an overland trek north to Chesapeake makes more sense. But if you insist on going I will not oppose you. But do not expect me to accompany you.”
“Of course not,” said Robert. He glanced up at the loft. Margary’s distress saddened him but a feeling of hope and resolve suffused that sadness. He would get her and his little son on a ship for England or die trying. “Good,” he said. “It is settled.”
“Should we not be on our way then?” said Phillip. “The Assistants’ meeting will soon start.”
“Aye,” said Mortimer, getting to his feet. “We will see you there.”
After the two men went out, Robert, Ananias, and Parson Lambert sat and smoked in silence, each man alone with his thoughts. Up in the loft, Margary had stopped crying and Eleanor could be heard talking to her in a whisper. Robert cast a look up at them. “Gentlemen,” he said finally, “‘tis time to go to the meeting.”
