by Angela Hunt
“Goodnight, Jocelyn,” he called from the doorway. “Do not forget the apothecary.”
“I’ll go now.” She threw on her cloak and left the house, hurrying for the apothecary’s house on the next street. The fire would wait.
THREE
In his office near the docks of Portsmouth, John White sat at his desk and interviewed a new group of prospective colonists for the City of Raleigh. It had required all of Sir Walter Raleigh’s considerable persuasive powers to convince Queen Elizabeth to grant the charter for the Virginian city. That she did so at all was a miracle, given Ralph Lane’s disastrous attempt, and the charter spoke remarkably of the virgin queen’s devotion to the handsome and articulate Raleigh.
The grant of arms allowed for the establishment of the “City of Raleigh” in Virginia, with John White, of late from Virginia and Lane’s colony at Roanoke, as Governor. Twelve assistants were also appointed to act as White’s council to assure the development and prosperity of the city. The queen would not allow Raleigh to leave her side long enough to make the trip, so Raleigh invested his rapidly dwindling fortune and allowed White to set about the task of enlisting colonists for the venture.
White gazed out to sea and scratched his chin as he recalled his impassioned boasting that he would have no trouble enlisting one hundred fifty willing colonists. In the first month of his recruiting efforts, he realized he had spoken prematurely. Eleanor and Ananias had signed on readily enough, and nine of the assistants pledged their lives and fortunes to the venture. The three remaining assistants would to remain in England and vowed to do all in their power to accrue supplies and the required financing for the colony’s supplies.
George Howe, one of the Virginia-bound assistants, signed on with his eleven-year-old son, but his wife refused to join the expedition, saying only that she would join her husband and son when she had received word that they had arrived safely and had not “been swallowed by the sea.” Despite the many victories of English ships in the great western ocean, many of Her Majesty’s subjects were still not convinced that giant sea monsters or worse did not arise from the deep to periodically swallow ships whole.
As the departure date began to draw close and more families had not signed on to the venture, John White sent letters to the prisons, villages, estates, and the homes of gentlemen. Commoners, middling folk, the second or third sons of noblemen who would inherit nothing in England, were urged to sign on to discover riches and wealth in Virginia. Anyone willing to invest a bit of capital to outfit themselves for the harsh terrain would be guaranteed five hundred acres of virgin land outside the City of Raleigh.
Gradually, one by one, the prospective colonists came. By mid-March John White’s list included the names of scores of single men who had little to leave and nothing to lose by journeying to Virginia, as well as two prisoners released from Colchester Castle. These two, jailed for stealing, had agreed to become lifelong indentured servants for the privilege of life in Virginia. But John White needed families to make his colony survive.
Last month he had posted a notice that families who emigrated to the City of Raleigh would receive five hundred acres per person, up to two thousand acres per family. And, he was pleased to note, the notice had apparently worked. In England, where both land and employment were increasingly scarce, the prospect of unlimited land and forests was undeniably appealing. Fifty men now stood outside the small building that served as his temporary office, and John noted with pleasure that quite a few were dressed in the richly embroidered attire of gentlemen. If any of them represented England’s fine families, the success of the venture would certainly be assured.
By three o’clock that afternoon, John White and his clerk were hard-pressed to contain their enthusiasm. Among the forty men who had signed their names and pledged their capital were twenty heads of families. Seven families, including Ananias and Eleanor Dare, had reserved a place for their maidservants as well. Women, White knew, stabilized a community, and the more women on board his ships, the more solid his city would be.
White looked at his watch and nodded to his clerk, who shut the door and pulled the parchment blind over the window. It had been a good day’s work, and Raleigh would be thrilled with the news. “Take a letter, I pray you,” White said to his clerk as he stood to stretch his long legs. “To Sir Walter Raleigh, London.”
A rap at the door interrupted his thoughts, and White frowned. The clerk paused, his quill poised over the parchment, and White was tempted to ignore the knock. But if yet another prospective colonist stood outside, perchance ‘twould be folly to refuse him entrance . . .
White strode to the door himself and threw it open. A tall and straight man stood there, clothed in black hose and a somber black doublet, a cloth cap in his hand. He was a well-favored young man, handsome in appearance, with a narrow face, a broad pair of shoulders, and a reserved, guarded manner. Despite his unkempt hair and less-than-elegant clothing, an air of unmistakable dignity clung to him.
The man blinked in surprise at the sight of White in the door. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I am seeking the Honorable John White.”
The young man’s voice was striking, White thought. Deep and resonant, it seemed ill suited to his lean body and somber expression. For a brief moment, White had the fleeting impression of proud humility, then he remembered his resolve to recruit colonists and forced himself to nod pleasantly.
“I am John White. What business brings you to the docks, sir?”
The man pointed over his shoulder with a slender finger. “The notice, governor. I would like to journey to this City of Raleigh. If God can find a place for me there . . .”
White opened the door farther and lifted his hand in welcome. “We shall see what God can do, my friend. If you will just give my clerk your particulars, all will be arranged.”
The clerk sighed noisily and set aside his parchment as he pulled forth the register. “Name?” he asked, visibly annoyed at the impertinence of the latecomer.
“Thomas Colman. Reverend Thomas Colman.”
From his desk against the wall, White raised a finger. “You are an ordained minister?”
“Yes.”
“Anglican?”
“Precisian.”
“Ah, a Puritan.”
The young man cleared his throat with a cautionary lift of his hand. “We prefer to simply be called ‘the godly.’ We follow the Bible, and no earthly creed except it be of God.”
“I see.” White smiled and tented his fingers, thinking. It wouldn’t do to have a Catholic priest in the city of Raleigh, because at least half of Elizabeth’s court supported the idea of Virginian colonization simply to balance the influence of Catholic Spanish settlements in Florida and New Spain. An Anglican priest would be ideal, but none but an aging cleric had signed on for the journey, and most were too caught up in the politics of the English church to venture into the unknown. Mayhap this independent Puritan minister would be an ideal choice for the spiritual leader of the colony. He was young, certainly not over twenty-and-nine or thirty, and could be molded to suit the colony . . .
He nodded for the clerk to continue.
“Are you married, Reverend Colman?”
“Widowed.”
“Children?”
“One son. But he will remain in England.” The minister shifted uncomfortably, then ventured a quick glance at White. “I’m not irresponsible, sir. My son lives with his aunt.”
“Quite understandable, Reverend. But I can assure you that many children are making the journey. Though it may be indelicate to speak of it, my own daughter is with child and plans to give birth to my grandchild in Virginia.”
The minister shook his head. “My son will remain here. My wife’s sister has agreed to rear him.”
“Your age, sir?”
“Thirty.”
“Are you of gentle birth?”
“No.”
“Have you skill in a trade, sir?”
“I am a minister of
the Gospel.”
White waved a hand to interrupt. “I don’t mean to discredit your holy calling,” he said, shifting his weight on his stool, “but we are in need of men with skills. Are you familiar with farming? Brick making? Woodworking?”
Something akin to a pale blush crept along the young man’s cheek. “I have been called of God to save the souls of men, sir. Surely there is no greater calling, nor one that requires greater skill. I do not know what God would have me do in Virginia, but I stand ready and willing to minister to the souls of all men.”
White sighed and nodded for the clerk to continue. Though the colony would certainly need someone for spiritual guidance, he would have preferred that the man be able to build a house or firebricks.
“What vices have you?” the clerk went on, reading questions reserved for men and women of the working class. “Gambling? Drinking in excess? Fornicating? Have you run away from any master or army?”
“I have none of those vices and am not running from any man,” Thomas Colman replied firmly. White noticed with approval that a flash of steel rang in the man’s voice. The question had offended him. Good.
The clerk glanced over his notes, then looked up. “There only remains the matter of your subsidy,” he said. “You are required to deposit two hundred pounds or its equivalent to pay for your portion of the journey. You will also be required to bring certain tools and articles of clothing with you when you report to the ship.”
The minister shuffled his feet uneasily and looked at the floor. White leaned forward in curiosity and lifted an eyebrow. Surely the man had not hoped to journey to Virginia without investing something of himself to insure the colony’s success.
“I do not have two hundred pounds,” Colman said finally, his voice brimming with conviction. “I pray you will make an exception since I may be caring for the spiritual needs of my fellow travelers both aboard the ship and in the colony.”
“There are no exceptions,” White said, rising . ‘Twas too bad that the minister had no skills and no subsidy. He would have made a fine addition to the group of colonists; Eleanor would certainly have welcomed the prayers of a clergyman as her baby’s time approached . . .
“I must go to Virginia.” Thomas Colman remained rooted to the floor in front of the clerk’s desk and gestured toward the clerk. “Hold, sirrah, don’t cross my name from your list. Surely there is some way—perchance I may serve on the ship’s crew. Mayhap I should talk to the captain.”
“No, you wouldn’t want to work among those seamen, they’d eat a man like you alive, Reverend,” White answered, nodding in grudging admiration for the man’s persistence. “They’re a rough lot, and bound to their mistress the sea, not to God.”
He came closer and studied the young man intently. Tall and straight, Thomas Colman was slim but powerfully built, his face marked by serious dedication. Intelligence and an aloof strength lay upon him like a protective shield, and John White sensed that this minister was an honorable sort, gentle in spirit if not in birth, tenacious, the sort who would make a good husband and father—
An idea whipped abruptly through his thoughts, and White felt himself grinning. Surely this was a heaven-sent opportunity. He looked away for a moment to smooth the triumphant smile from his countenance, then turned back to Thomas Colman with a suitably grave expression on his face.
“As God has willed, Reverend Colman, a sponsor is willing to outfit and subsidize one godly and worthy man on this journey. If you meet with his specifications, he will pay your subsidy price and outfit you with whatever you need. He had not anticipated that we would recruit a minister, but perchance God knows that we will have need of you.”
A gleam of interest flickered in Colman’s dark eyes, and White had to suppress another smile. Ah, like a moth to a flame, he is drawn . . .
“This patron—what are his specifications?”
“Very few,” White dismissed the question with a wave of his hand, determined to dangle yet more attractive bait in front of this prospective catch. “If you are the young man he seeks, in the City of Raleigh you will own a house, one thousand acres in your name, and as a clergyman you will be recognized as one of the gentry. The royal Garter King of Arms will confer a coat of arms upon you even before we leave port.”
Ah, the fish was nibbling at the bait. This young minister would never have such treasures in England, not if he lived a thousand years and accomplished ten thousand mighty deeds.
“What must I do?” The bony knuckles whitened on the cap in his hand.
“Our patron has specified that the recipient of his gift be a man of honor and virtue. He must be kind, gentle, and follow God with all his heart, as I believe you do. And he must take as his wife a very lovely and sensitive girl, the daughter of a gentleman in London.”
The light in the minister’s eyes flickered and died; he replaced his cap upon his head and bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir, for your time, but I cannot marry.”
“Why not?” White slipped from his stool and hurried to block Colman’s exit from the office. “You, sir, are too quick with ‘I must’ and ‘I cannot.’ Listen to what I have to offer before you make your decision.”
White placed his hand on the minister’s back in a fatherly gesture and lowered his voice so the clerk would not hear. “The girl is my own niece, seventeen years old, beautiful in every way, and virtuous. If you will promise to woo and win her, without divulging our conversation and your promise to me, we can conclude our agreement. I ask only that the marriage take place before the ship lands in Virginia.”
White held his breath for an answer as the minister’s eyes deepened in speculation. “And if I fail? If she will not marry me?”
White reflected. He knew his unconventional niece, ‘twas very possible that she could harden her heart against marriage. But surely the girl could be won by this handsome man.
“She will marry. Her cousin and I will convince her ‘tis best.”
“No.” The minister held up a hand. “She will not be trifled with. She must make her own decision and choose this marriage of her own free will.”
“If she refuses, my patron’s offer is withdrawn, and you, sir, will be on board my ship without having paid for your passage. Would you then have me throw you overboard?” White leaned against the door and thrust his hands behind his back. A pox upon him, this was a very strange and deliberate minister! I’faith, the man should have been a merchant, for he drove a hard bargain.
Colman lifted his dark brows. “I must go to Virginia. Hence, if the girl will not marry me, or if you judge that my efforts have been less than sincere, I would be willing to give my service in whatever capacity you choose.”
White moved toward his desk. “Agreed. If the girl will not agree to this marriage, you shall serve fifteen years as my indentured servant.” He pulled a sheet of parchment from the desk. “And after fifteen years you will walk away with nothing but your freedom. No land, no wealth, no wife.”
Thomas Colman’s brows rushed together in a brooding knot over his eyes as he considered the stiff penalty for failure, then he nodded soberly. “Draw up a document, and I will affix my signature,” he said, his voice surprisingly toneless for a man who had just agreed to win a beautiful wife and vast fortune. “I will do whatever I must to leave England.”
FOUR
The apothecary paused outside the door of Robert White’s London house. The man had been slowly dying for nearly a year, and the apothecary knew both the local surgeon and physician had given up hope for his recovery. Through countless bleedings and purges, the man had rallied, then failed again as the consumptive disease ran its bloody course.
The wizened man knocked at the door, then made pleasant conversation as White’s lovely daughter led him back into the bedchamber where the frail scholar reclined upon tattered pillows. The stench of death lay heavy in the room. White’s bony hand waved the daughter away, and when he spoke, the apothecary had to lean close to hear.
�
��I want a mixture to make me sleep,” White said, phlegm rumbling in his lungs and throat. “A deep sleep, mind you, with no waking for at least five hours. Something that can be stirred into a drink, and swallowed easily.”
The apothecary nodded. “Is the pain so great?”
White made a brave attempt at a smile. “‘Tis immense,” he said, his eyes shining like dark globes in the narrow sockets of a skeleton. “Pray deliver it tomorrow, and place it into my own hand, not my daughter’s.”
“It will be done, Master White,” the apothecary answered, struggling to hold his breath so he would not inhale the thickened odors of the room. He bowed, then hurried out of the house.
“Supper is ready, Papa,” Jocelyn called, carrying a bowl of pottage into the bedchamber. She lay the bowl on the bed while she arranged her father’s pillows so he could sit upright, then she held the spoon and fed him the watered-down pottage. She tried to smile and keep her voice light as she chatted about the day’s events in their part of the city, but after a dozen spoonfuls her father’s frail hand pushed the spoon away.
“‘Tis enough, Jocelyn, I am not hungry,” he said. The sight of his weary smile through cracked and bleeding lips brought tears to her eyes.
“Would you like me to read to you?” she said, turning away. “Something from Aristophanes? Sophocles? Marcus Aurelius?”
“No Greeks or Romans today.” His head fell upon the pillow. “But if you could find something in the Scriptures . . .”
His eyes closed, and Jocelyn fumbled for the leather-bound Bible by his bed. The “Bishops’ Bible,” as ‘twas called, was a beloved translation of the Scriptures authorized for the Church of England. Jocelyn let the book fall open to a well-worn page and began reading:
And you, who were dead in trespasses and sins; wherein in time past ye walked according to the curse of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience . . . But God who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins has quickened us together with Christ, for by grace ye are saved . . .