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

by Paul Clayton

  They walked quietly out the door.

  On their way to the big house they passed through a large group of soldiers that had gathered on the common. They were louder than usual and Robert suspected that some of them may have been drinking. It was rumored that they were now using Bergman’s medicine distillery to make spirits from corn and berries.

  Robert noted how poor they looked. Their clothing was in even worse shape than his own, and now, with the heat, many of them went about bare-chested. He thought ominously of White’s grandiloquent description of the colony as Raleigh’s new city that they would build together. What had White said so long ago? That the soldiers were the bricks? In sooth, Raleigh’s city had been planted in the wrong location and was not even half-finished. And, ominously, the bricks were already dangerously loose and unstable.

  Ananias looked around at the soldiers, concern on his face. “You should have a third man for the voyage,” he said to Robert. “Perhaps we could draw lots to see which one of us goes with you and Lionel.”

  “Perhaps,” said Robert absent-mindedly.

  Suddenly a fight broke out among the soldiers. One of them jumped backward to avoid a blow and knocked into Robert. The soldier quickly doffed his cap as the others watched to see what would happen.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, lordship,” the man said drunkenly.

  Robert noted the leering smile on the man’s face and staunchly walked on. After they had gone a few paces a loud guffaw broke out. “Base beggars!” said Robert. “When a ship finally does come, there are two or three I shall personally give a good whipping to.”

  They entered the big house.

  James Duncan, Charles Colpepper, and Captain Stafford regarded them gravely. Mortimer Reed and Phillip Mattingly nodded a greeting as Robert, Ananias and Lambert took their seats.

  “Captain Stafford,” said Robert, “your soldiers are in need of more discipline.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Stafford tiredly. “They need pay, clothing, shot and powder too, and I have little of those. But discipline… Aye, I can provide that.”

  “Please see to it then,” said Robert.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Gentlemen,” said James, looking around the table, “Captain Stafford has proposed another expedition west to secure more corn for our larders. Are there any objections?”

  The men were silent.

  “I have decided,” said Captain Stafford, “that it be time for the other tribes to help us in our hour of need.”

  “Aye,” said Charles. Mortimer and Phillip nodded in agreement.

  “And,” said Captain Stafford, “there be areas further west that I mean to explore.”

  “Very well,” said Robert, “but if you bring back no corn I must make another trip to Croatoan for some.”

  “Aye,” said Captain Stafford as the other gentlemen nodded in agreement.

  “I wish to make a proposal,” said Robert. He looked at Mortimer and Phillip but the two gentlemen would not meet his eye. “Gentlemen, if no ship calls here before winter, it will be very bad for us. I propose that we send men in the shallop to get help.”

  “What?” scoffed James. “You would jeopardize our only boat on a brain-fevered scheme like that?”

  “To sit here forever and do nothing is the height of foolishness,” retorted Robert. “They will sail north to the cod banks. There are ships there.”

  “What if they are intercepted by the Spaniards?” said James.

  “Aye,” said Captain Stafford, “or the savages. And while they be gone, what are we to do when we must go the mainland, swim?”

  Robert frowned. “The shallop could go to the banks and return in two months’ time.”

  “So you say,” scoffed Captain Stafford, “but you cannot be certain.”

  Robert angrily noted Phillip’s and Mortimer’s reluctance to take part in the discussion. What had gotten into them?

  Charles frowned. “Robert,” he said soothingly, “this is too drastic. We have been here two years. Surely there will soon be a ship.”

  “Aye,” Ananias agreed, “but when? We should consider sending the shallop for help.”

  “Not consider,” said Robert, “we must send the shallop. I demand a vote.” Robert saw things clearly now as he looked round at the others, a mild form of madness had taken them over. Was it their yearning for gold? Or perhaps their ever-present hunger was clouding their thinking. Whatever the reason, they could not see the precariousness of their situation clearly.

  “Very well,” said James Duncan, “you shall have your vote. All who are in favor of sending the shallop for help, raise their hand.”

  Robert, Ananias and Parson Lambert raised their hands. None of the other men moved. Robert felt his bile rise as he stared across the table at Mortimer and Phillip. Phillip swallowed guiltily and finally raised his hand in favor.

  “Mortimer,” said Robert, “you have not spoken. What say you?”

  Mortimer shook his head gravely. “I have changed my mind. You may be willing to risk your own neck in such foolishness, but we cannot risk losing the shallop.” He turned away angrily.

  James frowned gravely. “Just as I thought. Such a risky venture could never garner a majority.”

  “Aye,” said Charles. “That settles it.”

  Strangely, as Robert stared at the others, his anger and disappointment began to leave him and a cold, steely resolve took its place. If these men were crazed or craven enough to allow their families to rot here, so be it. But he would get his own family out.

  “Thank ye, gentlemen,” said Captain Stafford. “Now, if ye have nothing further I would like to begin planning my expedition to the west.”

  July 21, 1589

  Powhatan stared at the young men sitting before him. The cronoccoe, Wanchese, met his eye, unafraid and filled with the power of his youthful manhood. Wanchese and his five braves had just returned from Dasamankpeuc. What they told him was disturbing -- the English were still receiving corn from the Croatoans. This after his emissaries had told them that trading with the English would displease him. Powhatan’s anger was great. If not for the distance of the Croatoans, their men would now be dead, their women and children his slaves, and their village burned to the ground. But he would have to wait for that. The English might come to their aid and he did not want that. He still had hopes of trading with them for their shooting sticks. Instead, they offered him more bells and pretty beads, things that would not help him in the war he would someday wage against the Rattlesnake People to the west. He had to wait. The time would come.

  “How much corn did they get from the Croatoan?” Powhatan asked Wanchese.

  “We counted forty baskets,” said Wanchese.

  “Forty?” Powhatan could not conceal his surprise.

  “Yes, Mamanatowick, enough to keep them alive for three, four moons.”

  Powhatan frowned. “Very well. It is time to begin making things more painful for the English. But do not confront them openly. Take your men back tomorrow.”

  ***

  In the big house, Maggie watched over the children as they recited their verse. They were doing well with their lessons, despite all the troubles. She, on the other hand, was feeling poorly. Sometimes she would hear the happy strumming of George Howe’s lute in the morning quiet, or Sarah Hill’s unmistakably bright, singsong voice in the drone of the other children’s recitation. Once, Maggie turned suddenly to the children and saw Humphrey’s smiling misshapen face in their midst. But the worst was the memory of Elizabeth’s hanging, her mad laughter, and her feet fighting for a purchase in the air. Maggie had thought she’d heard Elizabeth’s laugh the other night. It had so unnerved her that she had had to step outside to compose herself.

  Footsteps scratched up the stairs and Eleanor Dare entered. She had lately been relieving Maggie in the afternoons, freeing her to do her other chores while Margary Harvey tended to little Virginia as well as her own son, John.

  Maggie left the big house and
joined the queue in front of the storehouse. Sir Robert Harvey and Parson Lambert had returned the day before with a boatload of corn from the Croatoans. As she waited she said a silent prayer of thanks. If not for Manteo’s people they would all have starved a long time ago.

  Four soldiers, Thomas among them, stood behind the table where Captain Stafford was parceling out the grain. Maggie cringed at sight of Thomas. She long suspected he had had something to do with Humphrey’s disappearance and death, but she knew not what it was. The soldiers talked quietly, laughing occasionally. Maggie’s ears were abused by their laughter. It seemed foreign. She had not laughed since -- . since she could remember.

  “Yeh know what I heard,” the man in front of Maggie said to another man, “they say the bloody Spaniards have attacked and conquered all of England.”

  “I can not believe it,” said another.

  “Then where are the ships?” said the first man.

  The other man frowned and said nothing.

  Maggie pulled her clothes about her. Such talk gave her a chill. Another rumor had a great plague wiping out all of Europe. That too was possible, she knew, but she didn’t want to believe it. There must be ships on the way back to them, she told herself firmly. And more likely than not they would call before winter.

  Maggie felt awash in her clothes. They no longer fit her well and she was constantly pulling them about her. She was always hungry now and the ration of corn they received and the small tidbits that Manteo managed to find in the forest surrounding the fort did nothing to relieve the constant ache in her belly.

  Maggie stole a look at Thomas as he talked with the other soldiers. With his helmet and his coarse ways, he now fit in well with them. Maggie thought of how she had lain with him back in England so long ago and revulsion filled her. That could not have been her. It must have been someone else.

  The line moved forward and Maggie stood before the table. Captain Stafford smiled at her and she cringed. She placed three sacks on the table. “Rations for myself and for two more.”

  “Two more? For who?”

  “For Lionel Fisher and his wife,” she said. “Lionel is sick with the flux and his wife knows not the language.”

  “‘Tis a waste of our corn,” said Thomas, “giving it to a savage.” The other soldiers grumbled their agreement. “Let her eat the grass round the fort.”

  “Quiet, fool!” said Maggie.

  “Listen, doxy …”

  Captain Stafford pushed Thomas away. “Keep a civil tongue in yer head, boy.” He turned to Maggie. “I’ll give yeh their rations.” Stafford leaned closer and said softly so that only Maggie could hear. “Yer gettin’ too thin, girl. A pretty girl like you needs to keep her shape.” He began scooping corn into the sack.

  Maggie’s skin crawled at the man’s nearness and his words. She wanted to get away from him quickly but she was determined to get their corn first.

  Stafford smiled at her as he filled the sacks. His smile seemed an abomination, freakish and unnatural. She looked away nervously and saw Thomas and the other soldiers staring at her coldly.

  Stafford pushed the sacks toward her and his hand grazed hers. Cringing at his touch, she looked down at the sacks. Something about the captain’s hands revolted her so thoroughly that she immediately looked away. She grabbed the sacks, turned away, and hurried out of the storehouse.

  Chapter 29

  After the sun came up, Sir James Duncan waved to the soldiers on the ramparts above as he went through the gate and headed for the woods. The soldiers had recently stopped cleaning out the cottage that was used as a necessary house and consequently, the air there made his sickness worse. And now he no longer had the wench, Elizabeth, to empty his close stool. So today he would empty his bowels behind the two trees just in front of the fort as he had for the past three days. The bushes scattered here and there between the fort and the woods had grown back but none were large enough to conceal a man. And he could see the soldiers, and they him, until he ducked down to do his business, and so it was safe.

  James walked quickly, feeling a greater urgency than usual, perhaps because of the miserable supper of cold roots and corn pone he’d had last. Before the wench had gone mad she would often vex him but at least she could cook, making even the most miserable meal palatable. James glanced toward the sound, hoping to see a sail towering above the trees. He scowled, knowing it was a foolish thought. Of course there was nothing. There never was. The woods remained a tangle of gray with the green of the occasional great pine sticking up. He was ready to go back to England. When a ship finally called, and everyone thought one would in summer, he would get himself aboard it, gold or no gold. He had had his fill of Raleigh’s New World garden paradise.

  James dropped his breeches and squatted down. He thought he saw something move in the bushes off to the left but decided it was a bird alighting. Finishing, he stood. As he tied his breeches, something hard slammed into his arm, like a swift punch. With horror, he saw the wooden shaft of an arrow imbedded there. His arm now hung uselessly and he could feel the additional weight of the arrow. He ran toward the fort, his arm swinging wildly and uselessly about. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a savage aiming his bow at him.

  “To arms! Arm!” he shouted at the fort. “The savages are attacking!”

  Another arrow slammed painfully into his buttocks. He stumbled, but kept his feet and ran on. Looking behind, he saw three savages following him at an unhurried trot. “Dear God,” he cried as he looked at the distant fort. A handful of soldiers were watching him. A puff of smoke issued impotently from one of their muskets, followed by a thunderous boom. An arrow landed in the ground at his feet, digging itself into the dirt. He was halfway to the fort when another arrow struck him in the back. He staggered, feeling his strength quickly running out of him. He collapsed, his face pounding into the earth. He heard something behind and managed to turn his head weakly. The savages seemed to have disappeared.

  “Arm yourselves,” he said into the dirt as waves of pain rolled through him.

  Two soldiers ran out of the fort. One pointed his musket at the now-deserted approaches to the fort. “See to him,” he said to the other.

  The other soldier knelt down to the gentleman. “He is dead.”

  The soldiers grabbed the gentleman’s arms and dragged him through the gate.

  ***

  Lionel Fisher and Peenaysheesh left the cottage. They were to join the others hoeing in the fields. As they walked, a sweet smell teased Lionel’s nostrils. “We-yass,” said Peenaysheesh, using her word for meat. Indeed, to Lionel it smelled like a stag. He looked at Peenaysheesh and she pointed toward the big house as being the source of the smell. Instead of going to the gate, they walked toward the big house to investigate. There were only soldiers about, the other common people being out in the fields. As they drew closer, the soldiers that were resting in the shade got to their feet and approached them.

  “Where you be going?” said one of them.

  “I smell meat,” said Lionel. “Someone is roasting a stag.”

  “You smell nothing.” The soldier stepped before Lionel, blocking his path.

  Another came over. “Everyone’s to be in the fields,” he said. “Why are you hanging about here?”

  Lionel took his wife’s hand. “Come.”

  “She can stay,” said one of the soldiers. Guffaws of laughter ensued.

  Lionel glowered at them as he led Peenaysheesh back toward the gate.

  Later, as the sun blazed down from a cloudless sky, Lionel and the other common people hoed and weeded the new corn plants. Lionel’s brow ran with sweat. It trickled down and burned into his eyes, blurring his vision. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and watched the distant tree line warily. Despite the broad-brimmed hat he wore, the harsh New World sun threatened to burn his eyes to cinders. It had already turned his face and arms a golden brown. Peenaysheesh frequently remarked on the change, finding it to her liking. She worked beside him now, as
did Slade the carpenter and his Croatoan wife, White Deer. Peenaysheesh and White Deer talked quietly in their language. Off to the right near the woods, a half-dozen soldiers kept guard, their muskets over their shoulders. Manteo stood alone in the middle of the field. He was, Lionel realized, keeping a surreptitious eye on Maggie, who worked not far away.

  Lionel watched the trees as he worked. After Sir James had been killed whilst he shat, there had been dozens of savage sightings by the people tending the corn crop. People were afraid to leave the fort, seeing savages in every bush and tree. But they must if they were to have corn to eat, and roots and shellfish.

  Lionel thought wistfully of the roasting stag he and Peenaysheesh had smelled earlier. Now they lived like Adam and Eve after their fall from grace, wandering about in search of food. If only a ship would call. Lionel turned to look at the sea and spat. Governor White, where in Hades was he?

  Weak from his constant hunger and a bout with the flux, Lionel could hardly lift the hoe. Their first corn crop had been poor and their rations pitifully small, supplemented only by whatever game Manteo could catch. This crop would enable some of the people to survive the winter, Lionel thought. But not all. Even in the summer’s heat there were still many people sick with fevers and flux.

  Lionel glanced again at the sparkling waters of the sound and thought of Sir Robert’s idea to sail the shallop to the cod banks. The plan had been voted down the month before. Initially he had been angry with Sir Robert for having expected him to go. But now, with no ships having called here, and the season of storms fast approaching like a door swinging closed, he wished they would vote on it again. To go would be to finally do something for Peenaysheesh and the child she was carrying.

  But what if a ship called after they’d departed, an inner voice tormented him. He thought of salt pork, biscuits, and pease porridge and began to salivate. He had never imagined he would miss such things. Perhaps there would even be livestock -- mutton and capons, and fresh bread. He thought sadly how now he often dreamt of food and drink. If a ship did come, there were many that would want to be on it when it sailed back to England. And if that happened, who would be here if he and Sir Robert sailed the shallop to the banks and returned? He would have to make some kind of arrangement with the parson for Peenaysheesh, just in case.