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

by Paul Clayton

  August 13, 1590

  It had rained for the entire week since they had left Hatteras town. Manteo’s visage was as inscrutable and dark as the skies overhead as he and Maggie followed the trails north. Several times Maggie had tried to engage him in conversation, but he had ignored her. After walking in silence for most of the morning, she decided to try again.

  “Manteo,” she said to his back, “have you changed your mind? Are you afraid we will run into Powhatan’s men?”

  “No,” he said, without turning around or slowing his pace. “Powhatan long time gone. But if some stay I see them before they see us. I worry about ghosts. Many bad deaths mean many ghosts on the island.”

  When they neared the abandoned village of Dasamankpeuc, across from the island of Roanoke, they stopped and began building a shelter. They crawled into it as darkness came. Maggie felt a deep coldness from the dark, dripping forest and wanted Manteo to take her in his arms, but he did not touch her. As she drifted off to sleep she tried to imagine what their child would look like but no image would come to her.

  In the morning Manteo went off on his own while she waited in their hiding place. He returned to tell her that he had found a small, abandoned dugout that would take them over to Roanoke Island. Later that morning Maggie sat in the middle of the dugout as Manteo stood and paddled behind her. She watched the low expanse of Roanoke grow closer. The gray-green landmass seemed to exude menace as she recalled their last days there. Manteo said nothing as he dug his oar powerfully into the waters of the sound. Maggie felt the thrusting of Manteo’s oar strokes like a reprimand. There was power and anger in them, each one pushing them closer to Roanoke and -- what? She knew he did not want this, but he knew he could not stop her from going back. She must go back. Why? The vision of the ship filled her head. She wanted to turn to Manteo, to comfort him with a look. But she could not. Instead, she kept her eyes on the looming island.

  August 14, 1590

  Under gray woolen skies, the Hopewell and Moonlight sailed slowly northward past the barrier islands, through one rain squall after another. The sailors observed John White pacing the deck, pausing occasionally to grip the rail and search the low sandy islands for signs of life. God and nature yielded nothing to his eyes, nor to the sailors’. Finally, at early evening, the two ships anchored three miles off the island of Hatarask. The storm had lessened in intensity, but occasional gusts of wind still drove raindrops hard against the wood of the ship like shot.

  Captain Cocke and first mate, Chandler, came up from the below-decks to stand at the rail and quietly study the low, long, tree-dotted, sandy expanse of Hatarask. To the north, the darker green of Roanoke could be seen through the narrow channel of Port Fernandes. Despite the distance, Cocke and Chandler could detect the dirty brown of the water where it ran furiously through the channel.

  Cocke spoke softly. “‘Tis impassable now. It would overturn a boat before they got halfway through.”

  “Aye,” said Chandler evenly. He looked at the gray sky. “She’s breaking up, but it will be one more day, I’ll wager, before we can take a boat through.”

  Cocke nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “Why haven’t they come out or shown themselves?” said Chandler.

  “I know not,” said Cocke. “I will have the gunners fire off the aft cannon.”

  “Aye,” said Chandler. He squinted as he searched the shore. “What do you think we will find there?”

  “I trust we will find over a hundred healthy colonists,” said Cocke, “with lots of fat babies among them.”

  “Aye,” said Chandler. “Look!” He nodded to his left. Governor White, who had disappeared below deck when they anchored, now emerged onto the waist to stare out at the islands.

  “E’en if he died,” said Chandler, “still, he’d be there, looking out for them.”

  “Aye,” said Cocke, “in sooth, he has waited a long time for this day. Blast this weather though! It will cause him to wait much longer.”

  Chandler shook his head as he looked at the Governor. “But can he? Methinks if we do not take him in soon he will jump into the sea and swim.”

  Captain Cocke smiled.

  “Ahoy,” the lookout called down.

  Cocke and Chandler looked up at him, cocking an ear.

  “Smoke rising to the northwest.”

  Cocke and Chandler strained their eyes, spotting the darker smoke against the gray expanse of sky. It rose quickly in a thin column that was then blown off to the southwest.

  Governor White came up to them. “Do you see it?” he said.

  “Aye,” said Cocke. “That is where the fort is, is it not?”

  White nodded. “That is their signal.”

  Cocke turned to Chandler. “Have the men fire the aft gun three times.”

  Chandler walked off.

  “When can we go in?” said White.

  “We will see what the weather holds tomorrow,” said Cocke. “I fear the way the tide runs through the channel. ‘Tis too dangerous.”

  “Prithee, sir,” said White, “let us go. I have been through when ‘twas more agitated than that.”

  “That may be,” said Cocke, “but my boys have not. I will wait and see what tomorrow brings.”

  White turned away to stare back at the island. “Did you hear that?” he said.

  “Sir?” said Cocke.

  “It sounds like a child’s cry,” said White. He looked at the stairs leading down to the belowdecks.

  Cocke frowned pensively. “Sometimes when the wind gusts through the shrouds it makes an almost-human sound.”

  “Nay, sir,” said White, “‘tis not the wind.” He looked at Cocke accusingly. “Are you sure that none of your men has brought a child aboard the ship, from the Spaniards that were captured?”

  Cocke shook his head slowly. “There are no children on my ship, sir, I assure you.”

  Before White could reply the cannon boomed. White looked around as the sound echoed off the island. Then he headed for the stairs.

  ***

  In the gathering shadows of early evening, Manteo and Maggie dragged the heavy canoe up onto the beach of Roanoke as far as they could. Manteo began breaking branches off trees and laying them over the canoe to hide it. Maggie watched him for a moment, then moved into the forest, leaving the sound of Manteo’s activity behind. She sensed the forest’s awareness of her and Manteo. The animals had stilled themselves and the trees were listening expectantly. Even the wind seemed to have paused to watch them. She looked around worriedly as memories flooded back to her. There was no danger here from Powhatan’s men. She knew that Manteo would not have brought her if there were. Powhatan’s braves would long ago have picked over the things she and the others had abandoned back at the fort. They would have already had their victory dances over the bodies of their fallen enemies. They would be long gone. Despite this she was full of apprehension, sensing danger behind every tree and bush. Unable to overcome the feeling, she went back out to Manteo. He was laying a large green bough of pine over what remained to be seen of the dugout. As she watched him work a sharp crack of sound seemed to race across the sound from the mainland.

  “Is that cannon fire?” she asked Manteo.

  Manteo did not stop what he was doing to listen, nor did he look at her.

  Maggie heard another sharp crack of sound. “There! You see. ‘Tis a cannon.”

  Manteo stopped and looked at her. “No cannon,” he said. He shook his head. “‘Tis thunder. Only thunder. We go now.”

  Maggie frowned as she followed him back into the forest. Just before the trees closed around them she heard a third boom in the distance. Manteo said nothing and did not turn to her. They walked for a while and came to a fork in the trail. Manteo paused. “Let us go to the beach first,” he said, “to that place where last we were.”

  She nodded and they went to the east.

  Chapter 46

  White carefully climbed down the chains of the Hopewell and into th
e boat waiting below. He sat beside Captain Cocke so that they could consult. The boat from the Moonlight rode the waves not ten feet away. Spencer stared across the water at White but White would not meet his look. At Cocke’s order, the men unshipped the oars and began pulling for shore. It would be a long haul, over two miles to the outer island of Hatarask, then an additional mile or so across the sound to Roanoke. The weather was overcast, the air cool. The men pulled hard at their oars and the two boats moved steadily landward. When they were halfway to Hatarask the helmsman called out, pointing to the south. A column of gray smoke could be seen rising from the southeast part of the island.

  “Perhaps ‘tis a native village,” said Cocke.

  “Nay,” said White. “No natives live on this island.” He decided that the smoke was coming from a small hill called Kendrick’s Mountain. “It may be a signal. We must go see before we go on to Roanoke.”

  Cocke scanned the length of the island. “I suppose they no longer have a boat or they would have sailed out to meet us.”

  White said nothing as the men continued to pull steadily. They could now hear the waves crashing on the beach.

  Captain Cocke ordered the boats to put in on Hatarask. He formed up a column, putting half a dozen men with charged muskets at the point, and as many in the rear, and they marched south to find the source of the smoke. The sand was thick and damp, and walking was difficult. White soon tired, but pushed himself on. The day warmed and they grew thirsty, but there was little water, just a cup per man. Captain Cocke had told White that they would come upon a spring but they found none and the island appeared to have long suffered from lack of rainfall. They continued trudging down the sandy beach until noon. White was calculating in his fevered head that only another three or four miles remained till they would reach the end of the island when, inexplicably, the men in the lead turned and went over to the edge of the woods and sat. The others followed their example as they came up. White noted with disgust that Spencer was sitting with them under the trees and appeared to be on quite familiar terms with them, talking conspiratorially and laughing.

  “Why are they stopping?” White demanded of Cocke.

  Cocke turned to Chandler. “Go see what is the matter.”

  As Chandler talked to the men, White wiped the sweat from his brow, breathing heavily.

  Chandler returned.

  “Well?” said White impatiently.

  “They simply want to rest.”

  Cocke said nothing and White grew angry. “If I can go on, surely so can they.”

  “When they are rested we will all go on,” said Chandler.

  White looked at Cocke, hoping he would order the men on their feet.

  “We will let them rest for half of an hour,” said Cocke. “Then we will go on.”

  White waited by himself under a lone, withered pine tree. He was troubled by everything that had happened since they’d arrived, and the waiting wore on him greatly. Why had his people not sent out a boat? Why had they not answered the signaling cannon fire? And why was a signal fire burning on the south end of Hatarask and not on Roanoke? White had very much wanted to go straight through the channel to Roanoke, but the possibility existed that there was danger at the fort and the colonists were trying to warn them off. He looked over at the others. They were only twenty men, and who knew how many savages might be about.

  Finally Captain Cocke got to his feet and the others followed his example. The smoke had long disappeared as they again began trudging down the beach. As White walked, one scenario after another flickered in his mind, some hopeful, others terrible. The sea side of Hatarask curved slightly and they came in view of Kendrick’s Mountain. Captain Cocke, Chandler and White climbed the small grass-covered hill. They surveyed the surrounding land, seeing nothing unusual among the sparse trees.

  “Perhaps ‘twas savages,” said Cocke.

  “Aye,” said White, nodding. Inwardly he cursed himself for insisting that they investigate the smoke. They should have instead gone on to Roanoke, perhaps sending three or four men here to investigate the smoke. Now they had wasted half a day.

  A sailor shouted, breaking into White’s thoughts. The man ran up to them, throwing an angry look at White as he addressed himself to Captain Cocke.

  “We found the source of the smoke.”

  “Lead on,” said Cocke.

  A few moments later White, Cocke and Chandler came up to where a dozen men crowded around. A rotted log smoldered on the ground. All around, the grass was blackened from fire and much heat still rose from the red ember-encrusted log, but no smoke.

  “Lightning has struck it!” said Chandler.

  White’s disappointment turned to anger at the looks the sailors were directing at him. He said nothing, however, knowing how much they needed these men to get to Roanoke.

  One of the sailors, a particularly big lout, lamented, “All this walking for naught!”

  Cocke and Chandler ignored the man. Another man speculated, “Perhaps the savages set the fire, to draw us off.” “No,” argued another, “anyone could see ‘twas lightning what done it.” The men argued among themselves. Finally Cocke said, “we will go back to the boats and row across the sound to Roanoke.”

  “Ho,” said the big lout jokingly, “and we shall arrive after they have all gone to bed and locked their doors.” He looked at the angle of the sun and frowned.

  Captain Cocke ignored him. “Let us go.”

  The sun burned hotter as they walked back up the sandy beach. As the day grew long so did everyone’s thirst, and the men grew more angry and sullen. White found himself out in front of the column as the men continued to slow and amble along behind as if out for a Sabbath stroll. The sun had disappeared behind the mainland by the time they reached the boats.

  The sailors flopped down and lay in a bunch on a shaded patch of sand. White stood with Cocke and Chandler, looking at the Hopewell and Moonlight lying at anchor.

  “Why are we waiting?” said White. “I thought we were to go across.”

  Chandler ignored White as he spoke to Cocke. “We should spend the night on the ships and go across tomorrow.”

  Captain Cocke frowned in thought. He nodded. “I agree. ‘Tis too late. Tell the men.”

  “Wait,” said White angrily. He looked at the two men. “Three years I have been away from them. Three long years I have waited!”

  “Then surely you can wait another day, sir,” said Chandler, walking off.

  As the men rowed back to the ship, White sat in the stern, staring back at Hatarask. The sky had turned a palette of colors, from orange to deep violet. A beautiful sight, White knew, a painting, but now he felt only pain and sorrow. Why could he not get to his people? If there really was a God, then why did He torture him so? What was his sin? Pride, perhaps? He tried to imagine Eleanor’s face but could not. Instead he saw in his head a girl of three years. Whose face was it though? Eleanor’s or Virginia’s? He could not say. His mind was too pain-wracked to give him the answer. The girl was sad, her amber eyes downcast. White closed his own eyes but the face remained before him, torturing him with its sad loveliness.

  ***

  On the western shore of the island of Roanoke, Maggie and Manteo left the forest where they had hidden themselves and came down onto the beach. Overhead, the clouds raced toward the mainland like villagers rushing to the town square at the unexpected tolling of the bells. Maggie did not recognize anything about this beach from the night they escaped from the captain and his men. It had been very dark and she had been frightened. Now she wondered if Manteo had perhaps taken the wrong trail and they were in the wrong place.

  “Are you sure this is the place?” she said.

  Manteo nodded. He pointed to something protruding from the sand that fluttered in the wind like a downed butterfly or moth. Maggie walked over and saw that it was a bit of crude cloth, brown kersey. A few feet away a finger of bone protruded from the sand. Manteo came over to stand beside her.

 
; “I thought there would be more,” she said.

  “Animals take them,” he said. “Some taken alive to Powhatan town, tides take some too.”

  Maggie frowned, trying not to think about what the captives had undergone before they took their last breaths. She had heard enough stories of the torture to know what would happen.

  Manteo moved away to kneel beside what Maggie had assumed to be the bleached remains of a horseshoe crab. It turned out to be a human skull. Manteo peered at it pensively.

  “Let us bury them and be gone,” she said.

  In reply he went off and returned with a stout piece of driftwood. Wordlessly he used it as a hoe, digging a hole in the damp sand. She looked about for more bone or cloth fragments.

  ***

  The Hopewell and the Moonlight maneuvered closer to the barrier island of Hatarask and anchored in the early hours of the morning. The Hopewell moved so vigorously at anchor that the sailors had to help White climb down the chains and into the longboat. White grimly assessed that, just as Chandler had said, the seas were indeed higher this day than they had been the day before. The weather was worsening, not improving, as White had hoped. But fortunately, Captain Cocke had not given in earlier when Chandler had come from the sailors who had asked that they not attempt a landing today.

  The longboats pushed off and the oarsmen dug their oars deep into the dark water. There was none of the usual banter as they slowly made their way toward land. White’s boat and the boat from the Moonlight moved in parallel for a time, and as the waves lifted and lowered them, White had a brief glimpse of Benjamin Spencer. The man had a smile on his face! What was it for? A vain show of bravado? Arrogance? Or a clumsy attempt at reconciliation?

  The seas grew more agitated as the boat drew nearer to the island and White forgot about Spencer. A cross current caught the boat and twisted it dizzily, turning White’s thoughts to his people. His worry over them was now a sharp thing in his chest, hurting him. Why had no boats come out? Why had no cannons fired in answer to their own? Why?