by Paul Clayton
“Aye,” said Ananias. Together the Englishmen and Towaye got Manteo to his feet and down off the ramparts.
June 25, 1590. The Island of Dominica in the Caribbean Sea
John White walked along the beach recalling his conversation of the night before with Spencer. Spencer’s big head had blocked the light of the candle, giving his silhouette a spectral look as he repeated what he had heard the sailors say. Their privateering here on the island had been so successful that the sailors were flush with riches. Now all they wanted was to return to England and spend it on whores and drink.
But would Captain Cocke give in to them, White wondered. He spied a fallen tree at the edge of the jungle and headed for it. Sitting down, he watched the waves collapse and run up onto the white sand. The surge and sigh agitated him with its false promise of peace. How could he know peace? They had been here almost three months now, but it seemed like three years. And White’s strength and purpose had left him. He no longer shaved. He seemed incapable of the slightest task, wanting only to walk the beach and stare at the sea.
A cry sounded behind him. He turned his head, listening closely. A child sobbed. The image of a girl’s tear-stained face came to him. Was it Eleanor’s or Virginia’s? He could no longer tell. He broke down into tears, muttering, “God, God, God!” Had he been a blasphemer, praying for the girl, praying that he could slake his lust with her? “Fie! God in heaven,” he cried, “let me bring them home, let me bring them all home…” He saw himself and the girls in a carriage, the clop clop of the horse’s hoofs echoing in his head as they rode to church. Verdant fields rolled by as a rare glorious English sun shone down on them. Then, the image began to fade, despite his efforts to hold it. The crashing of the waves seemed to batter it, the surf sound smothering the clop clop of the horse. Like the morning fog, the image evaporated until his head was empty again of all but pain. Time seemed to stop. A gust of wind mussed his hair. He sighed and got to his feet. His brain was a burnt cinder now, incapable of offering him direction. Fortunately his feet knew the way back to camp.
He entered the tent.
“I was just going out to look for you,” said Spencer, rising from his bed where he had been sitting.
White frowned, too tired to respond.
“Captain Cocke wants to see us in the shack.”
They approached the command shack, made out of sailcloth and spare timbers from the ship, topped with a palm leaf roof. Coils of rope, empty hogsheads, and shot lay scattered about in the sand. A tough-looking, saber-wearing sailor Cocke employed as his personal guard sat on a wooden box just outside. Knowing White and Spencer on sight, the guard nodded at them to enter.
Captain Cocke and his first mate studied a chart spread out on the table before them. Cocke nodded a greeting. Cocke had a scar on his forehead, caused, according to whichever story one chose to believe, either by a cudgel-wielding Spaniard as Cocke climbed aboard a caravel, his saber clenched between his teeth, or, by a cook pot thrown in a fit of anger by his wife. White had heard other rumors that Cocke’s wife was a shrew and that he spent as much of his life at sea as possible to be away from her. Whatever the case, White knew Cocke to be a strong man, much stronger, he grudgingly admitted, than himself. He had to be to deal with this crew of brutes and cutthroats. But White also found him to have a civilized core, and the man seemed genuinely sympathetic to his plight.
“I have some news for you, Governor,” said Cocke, stepping back from his chart. “I wanted to tell you in person.”
White remained expressionless. He knew from Cocke’s tone what was coming. They were either going back to England, or to another island, like fishermen going to another reef where the fish were more plentiful. That would mean tearing down the camp and setting it up somewhere else, months of work. “Aye, Captain,” White said wearily, “what is it?”
“We sail for Virginia tomorrow.”
White blinked in disbelief. “For Virginia?”
“Aye,” said Cocke, giving White a look of mock sternness. “Now perhaps you will stop harassing my men.”
White attempted to smile at the well-meaning jibe, but his face seemed numb. “Thank you, sir,” he said finally as the images of those he loved slowly formed in his head.
“Have your things packed up by first light,” said Cocke.
Outside, White and Spencer walked slowly back to the tent. White heard shouts and laughter, which he assumed to be the sailors’ reaction to the news.
“How long to sail to Roanoke?” said Spencer.
Before White could answer, Spencer grabbed his arm.
“Are you mad, sir?” said White, red-faced.
Spencer said nothing as a gang of sailors ran by on their way to the shallop.
“What the devil?” said White.
Spencer pointed to the lookout in the palm tree up the beach. The man was waving a red cloth vigorously, the signal that a sail had been spied.
“God in heaven!” said White, “Another prize? We will never get there!”
They watched the longboat begin to make its way out to the Hopewell, eight oars dipping rhythmically into the sea.
“I will get there,” Spencer vowed, “come hell or high water. Soon I will have her!”
The cold steel in Spencer’s voice chilled White. He turned to him. “What is your true interest in the girl, sir?”
Spencer’s face was flushed. “I have already told you, sir, to bring her back and claim my bounty.”
White’s heart was pounding. “Your true interest, sir?” he pressed.
Spencer laughed harshly. “I suppose I can tell you now. I have come too far to be turned back. My interest is to see the girl hang.”
“Hang? Are you mad?”
Spencer’s face turned hard, almost primitive, White thought.
“She and her mates murdered my brother and hid his body in a hogshead of claret.”
“That is impossible,” said White. “I know Maggie. She is incapable of such a thing as murder.”
“That is something a court will have to decide.”
White shook his head in wonder. He could see that Spencer was not mad, and he meant every word he said. But he must be mistaken. There had been some awful mistake. “Sir, you are most grievously wrong, terribly wrong.”
“Nay, sir. I have a witness putting her in my brother’s shop the day he disappeared. Then she and her accomplice fled. She is every bit as guilty as he.”
“Then all this business about an estate in Ireland is nothing but lies?”
“Aye, lies. All of it. Would you have brought me this far if I had told you the truth?”
“Nay,” said White. “And you shall go no further with me. Stay away from me now, for I no longer wish to set eyes upon you.”
White turned and walked back to Captain Cocke’s shack. He felt his strength returning, fueled by his anger and worry. When they finally returned to Roanoke Maggie would fall into the hands of this brute. The thought of having brought her jailer all the way from England with him was too much to bear. It weighed on him like a millstone, threatening to crush him.
A number of sailors milled about outside Cocke’s cabin. White entered and Cocke looked up.
“Do not look so down in the mouth, Governor,” said Cocke.
White could not share the captain’s good mood. Cocke might be excited by the impending chase, but not he. Before White could say anything, Cocke went on.
“The ship they spied is not a Spaniard. She is the Moonlight. And we sail in the morning as I have already told you.”
White nodded. “Thank God! Captain, I no longer wish to travel with Mister Spencer. Please see to new accommodations for him.”
Cocke nodded. “Getting on your nerves, is he?”
White nodded, grim-faced.
“I will put him on the Moonlight,” said Cocke.
“Thank you, sir.” White walked out to pack.
June 30, 1590. Roanoke
As the sun set, Margary Harvey, little Joh
n Harvey, and Alice Peenay cast long shadows as they walked the short distance to the Dares’ cottage. Margary wondered if perhaps they all should have waited till dark, and she prayed that none of the soldiers would pay much attention to them. Widow Bane and the others were to come after dark. Margary could hardly believe they were finally leaving this place. But they were, thank God. Manteo had returned and would be their Moses, leading them to safety. Margary looked about nervously, but saw no soldiers. The common had been full of them all day, with their drunken hoots and carryings on. But now they evidently were sleeping in the dark corners of the big house like the rats they had become. Their absence was a blessing, for she had been on pins and needles the last few days, the least little noise or shout causing her to jump.
Margary, little John and Alice entered the Dares’ gate. They knocked at the cottage door and were let in.
Robert and Ananias looked up from where they sat, smoking their pipes. Lionel Fisher and the young savage, Towaye, who looked more wild than ever, were seated nearby on stools.
“Margary!” said Robert, getting to his feet. Little John left his mother’s side and went up the stairs to the loft. Ananias called up to Eleanor to come down.
In the middle of the room, Manteo the savage lay upon a pallet on the floor. His eyes were closed, his face swollen with bruises and colored in places with white paint of some kind. Margary’s heart sank at the sight of him. How could he possibly help them when he himself looked close to death? She said a prayer that he would rally. Now the Croatoan village was their only hope. Margary recalled what Maggie had told her about how plump and healthy-looking the little Croatoan children appeared, while Margary’s little John was now a mere bag of bones. Margary tried to picture her little boy healthy again, with apple-red cheeks, but she could not. They must get to Croatoan. And if an English ship finally did come, it would come from the south, so hopefully they would spy it. She prayed that they would get away safely.
Manteo opened his eyes, startling Margary. Alice Peenay went to him. Speaking in their language, she began ministering to him.
Robert approached Margary. “We will let Manteo rest until ten of the clock. Then we go. Parson Lambert is rounding up the others.”
“Will he be strong enough?” asked Margary. Before Robert could answer, Eleanor called out as she came down the stairs, her eyes like two coals in the gauntness of her face, “Good even, Margary. Soon we will away.”
Margary smiled bravely. “Aye. Thank God.”
They sat and talked quietly as they waited. As ten of the clock approached, a knock sounded. Margary and Eleanor looked at the door worriedly. Ananias opened it and Parson and Mary Lambert entered, along with their son, William, and the widow Bane. They carried their things in cloth bundles.
Lambert went over to Manteo. “Are you feeling better, Manteo?”
“Aye.” Manteo sat up and slowly got to his feet. “We must go now,” he said, almost drunkenly. “Powhatan warriors come soon. Where is Maggie?”
Parson Lambert called to Robert and Ananias. “Are the others ready?”
“Aye,” said Robert.
Parson Lambert looked back at Manteo. “Captain Stafford has locked Maggie in the gaol. She tried to kill him.”
The Croatoan’s face darkened as he stared at his knees silently. He shook his head and looked at Parson Lambert sadly. “I take you all to Croatoan. Then I come back and get Maggie.”
“Very well,” said Parson Lambert. “Let us bow our heads in prayer. Oh Lord,” he intoned, “please deliver us from this place of sin and suffering. Use your servant Manteo to guide us to a new land where…”
A knock came at the door.
“Take us to a new world,” Lambert continued, “Oh Lord, where the rivers flow with milk and honey …”
A heavy hand pounded on the door and Captain Stafford’s bellow burst upon them, “Open up or we will break the door down.”
Upstairs, Virginia began wailing. No one moved as someone pounded on the door so fiercely that it shook the frame of the cottage. Ananias unlatched the door and opened it. Stafford, Goliath, and four other soldiers pushed past him and came into the cottage. More waited in the garden, holding torches aloft.
“Well,” said Stafford, “look who has come to visit us. ‘Tis Manteo and Towaye.” He turned to Ananias. “I thought there be an awful lot of coming and going here today.”
“Captain Stafford,” said Ananias, “we must leave the island. The Powhatans are planning an attack.”
Stafford scoffed. “They are always attacking. And always we run them off like hares.”
“This is different,” said Lambert. “Manteo has told us that Powhatan has enlisted the help of many other tribes and that he will soon launch a large force against us.”
“Nay,” said Stafford. “If there be any treachery afoot, I’d wager it be the Croatoans that be plotting against us. They and their spy, Manteo.” Stafford turned to his giant sergeant. “Take the savages to the gaol.” He looked at the men and women. “The two of them will hang alongside the girl in the morning. Ye will assemble at first light to witness it.”
After Stafford and the soldiers left, Ananias closed the door wearily. Margary attempted to comfort Eleanor, who began crying bitterly.
“Everyone,” said Lambert, “we must not lose hope.”
On the other side of the cottage, Robert Harvey watched them kneel to pray with the parson. Eleanor continued to cry along with the children. Robert felt empty, devoid of all feeling. The stablemaster’s boy had triumphed and now Powhatan and his savages were on the way. Stafford was a fool and too crazed to listen to reason. He and his men could never defend the fort against a full-scale attack. Robert looked at his wife. Margary’s eyes were red with tears as she prayed, clutching John tightly to her. The boy looked at Robert and smiled. Robert had to fight the emotion that threatened to boil up inside. If he believed they could really reverse Stafford’s triumph with the utterance of a prayer, he would kneel forever after with the others. But all their praying had gotten them nothing. He thought of his father and how he had gone to his death rather than forsake his faith, and shame came over him. Father, forgive me… and God, deliver us!
Lionel stood before Robert, interrupting his thoughts. “I can get them out,” Lionel said quietly.
“Lionel,” said Robert, keeping his voice low so the others would not hear, “are you mad? There is nothing we can do now.”
Lionel’s face reddened. “Aye, if there are soldiers guarding the gaol. But if we can somehow entice them away for a short while, I can open that cell.”
“How?”
“I was in the trade, sir,” said Lionel. “I never wanted you to know that, but I suppose it matters not now, does it?”
“Can you really get them out without a key?” said Robert, feeling a twinge of hope.
“Aye,” said Lionel. He bent and picked up a nail from the floor. “In the right hands, this can be a key. I started to tell the others, but I lost heart.”
“Waste not our time with that,” said Robert. “We must get them out tonight. Come outside and we will have a look around.”
Chapter 44
Maggie had not gone to Manteo when Stafford and the soldiers pushed him in the cell out of fear of inflaming them. But now, in the darkness, it did not matter, and she leaned against him as Towaye sat silently off by himself. Maggie felt at peace. The horror of what was soon to happen to her had receded to a far corner of her mind. Outside all was quiet. The soldiers had gone into the big house to drink their boose and sleep. Maggie fell asleep. She awoke sometime later to hear Manteo speaking softly in his own language.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Someone is outside,” he said.
Maggie cringed. Every night soldiers had come to peer in at her, terrifying her with their threats.
Manteo and Towaye moved toward the door, listening quietly. A tiny metallic click echoed in the outer chamber and the door creaked slowly open. Two d
ark figures entered and stood before the barred door of the cell. Maggie could not identify them. She thought of the soldiers that had hung about all the time and what they had promised to do to her, and her heart began pounding. She moved back further into the darkness.
“Maggie? Manteo?” It was Sir Robert’s voice. “We have come to get you out of here.”
He spoke softly to someone and she heard Lionel Fisher answer. There was a scratching sound, then a solid metal click. The cell door swung open.
“Come. The soldiers are all in the big house, drinking and carrying on. Hurry!”
Outside in the darkness, the air was still full of the heat of the day. They walked quickly to the Dare’s garden. Maggie made out the figures of the others assembled there -- Eleanor and Margary, carrying their sleeping children, Lionel and his wife, Alice, Mister Slade and his Croatoan wife, Sarah, Widow Bane, her girl, Mary, Goodwife Mary Lambert, clutching her little William tightly to her. As they waited in the dark, Eleanor told Maggie how the women had kept their children awake for all hours and then given them a tea Alice Peenay had made to help keep them asleep. Manteo and Towaye approached with some swords they had gotten somewhere. Manteo gave one to Sir Robert and then he and Towaye distributed the rest to Ananias and the other men.
“Come,” Sir Robert’s voice called softly in the darkness, “‘tis time to go.”
Manteo and Towaye led the way, with Sir Robert and Ananias following closely behind. They moved toward the wall. Maggie looked over her shoulder anxiously but saw no soldiers. They climbed the steps to the ramparts and waited while Sir Robert and Ananias began securing the rope ladder to drop it down on the other side.
Manteo’s whisper pierced the stillness. “Someone comes this way.”
“Where?” said Sir Robert.
Maggie saw Manteo point to the common. At first she saw nothing. Someone coughed. Then she briefly saw what looked like a solitary figure moving slowly along the common.
“Everyone… down!” Sir Robert ordered.
As they crouched down a child started crying and then stopped abruptly as if a hand had been placed over its mouth. Maggie’s fear built as the dark figure changed its course and headed for them.
