by Angela Hunt
White walked toward the Indian, raising his hand to show that he intended no harm. “Governor Lane wishes you to go in peace,” he said, nodding gravely to the warrior. “You are Manteo’s people; you are our friends. We wish you no harm.”
The brave turned and spoke to the others grouped behind him. White waited while the men of the group conferred.
“I fear some of our company have showed themselves too fierce.” White jumped at the low voice in his ear, then turned to see Thomas Hariot by his side. Hariot had learned well the Indian techniques of soundless movement.
“What if they ask the reason for this?” White asked, keeping his eyes to the ground. “How can I explain that Lane fears a conspiracy?”
Hariot stroked his beard as he studied the conferring Croatoans. “Our governor’s foretelling of an uprising may be but a self-fulfilling prophecy. We have slain some people, in some towns, for offenses that we might have easily borne. Perhaps this is the worst we have done so far. Verily I tell you, John, we may yet see the villages banding together to rise against us.”
“Let us pray ‘tis the worst we shall ever do,” White answered, glancing at the dead and dying around him. He lowered his voice: “For if those in the interior of this land hear and believe that Englishmen cannot be trusted—”
“Hallo, Governor!” A joyful cry echoed from the woods, and White recognized the Irish accent of Edward Nugent, one of the governor’s servants. “Look at what we have brought ye!”
The man with Nugent held something aloft as the men entered the clearing, and John White felt his gorge rise. From the man’s hand dangled Pemisapan’s severed head.
A forceful slap on the back jolted White back into the present. “Begging your pardon, governor—” Roger Bailie stood beside him, his wispy blonde hair blowing in the breeze.
White blinked, remembering when and where he was, and managed a weak smile. “What is it, Roger?”
“I’d like to be in the landing party,” Roger said, pointing to the arquebus tucked into his belt. “I’m ready for anything that might come against us.”
After his recent thoughts, the sight of a gun in mild Bailie’s belt was too much to bear. “I need you to remain behind, my friend,” White said, placing his hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “I trust no one else to look after my niece and my daughter. You’ll do it, won’t you?”
Frowning slightly, Roger Bailie agreed.
FOURTEEN
Jocelyn found the coastline of Virginia largely disappointing. The long, sandy coast of the barrier islands stretched uneventfully until it disappeared into the horizon. Much of the land had been cleared by fire or washed clean by tides, and she saw little of the wild forest she had expected. Inwardly, she rejoiced that this was not the place where they would settle permanently.
Determination lay in the jut of her uncle’s chin as he marched across the deck and commanded forty of the planters to go ashore. They would seek out the holding party left by Grenville, he explained to the men assembled on the deck, and learn from them about the state of the country. He was curious to learn about relations with the Indians, particularly since Ralph Lane’s men had left soon after an English attack that killed the high chief Pemisapan.
“After that, gentlemen, we will return to the ship and sail on to the intended site of our City of Raleigh. I have written orders from Sir Walter to accomplish our goals in haste.”
The men cheered and a few women wiped the corners of their eyes with handkerchiefs, but Jocelyn kept her eyes glued upon the tall figure of her husband. Thomas had volunteered to go ashore with the other men, and for a moment an irrational fear seized her. What if savages waited even now on Roanoke Island? What if this day should prove her to be a widow without ever knowing what it was to be a wife?
Roanoke Island lay behind the strip of barrier islands, safely tucked away from the eyes of Spanish invaders, but the shallow waters surrounding it were no more than six feet deep. The Lion could not venture through the narrow inlet Fernandes pompously referred to as “Port Ferdinando,” so the smaller, more maneuverable pinnace moved into position abreast of the Lion to make the journey. Once the ships were joined by a gangplank, White’s valiant men marched resolutely aboard the pinnace, a musket on each shoulder. Thomas Colman alone carried no weapon, and Jocelyn was not sure if she found his conviction against weapons admirable or foolish. Her uncle admired and respected the savages, but even he carried a arquebus in his belt and an musket in his hand.
Once the landing party was aboard the pinnace, the women and remaining passengers crowded the leeward side of the ship and waved farewell as the sheets of the pinnace bellied taut and pulled the ship through the narrow inlet toward Roanoke. Suddenly the Lion’s bosun called to the seamen aboard the pinnace: “Captain Fernandes orders that these men not be brought back aboard ship. All are to be left on the island of Roanoke.”
From his place on the bridge, Fernandes’ dark, hawkish face broke into a confirming smile while Jocelyn’s head spun. Left there! What could Fernandes be thinking? Forgetting her place, Jocelyn whirled and ran toward the captain’s bridge as the men on the pinnace jerked angry fists toward the captain of the Lion.
“Master Fernandes, you are sorely mistaken!” she yelled up at the captain. She gathered her skirts to ascend to the bridge, and by the time she reached him, the pinnace was nearly out of sight.
“Do not worry, Mistress Colman,” Fernandes said, his eyes toward the pinnace in the west. “I will allow your uncle and mayhap your husband back aboard to supervise the collection of the other passengers. I assure you I am not interested in pirating your supplies and trunks of woolens.”
“But Sir Walter’s charter specifically commands that our colony be established at Chesapeake!”
His reply seemed rehearsed: “‘Tis late in the year, and the storm season approaches. ‘Tis risky for us to sail further north.”
“‘Tis risky for us to remain here!” Jocelyn forced herself to lower her voice, for she knew things the other passengers did not. “My uncle has told me that Ralph Lane massacred an Indian chief before he left. The savages in this area were violated, and may not be friendly to us—”
Fernandes cut her off with a shrug. “Do you doubt the power of English sovereignty?” A stream of bitterness ran through his words. “Surely a handful of English could stand against a forest full of ignorant savages. Grenville’s fifteen will no doubt be full of boasts.”
She lowered her voice further. “Sir, I will be surprised if Grenville’s fifteen men still live. You must take us to Chesapeake.”
He looked at her then, and the derision and hatred in his eyes startled her. “Your uncle and people like you,” he said, his voice warped with malice, “have ordered me around long enough. I am the captain of this ship, and I refuse to carry you vainglorious English any further. You will disembark here, you will build here, and the devil take any of you who would rather drown in the sea.”
“You only want more time to chase Spanish treasure!”
He did not deny her accusation, but smiled, his neat row of teeth startlingly white against his dark moustache and beard. “You are too much like your uncle,” he said, moving toward the sanctity of his cabin. “Troublesome and stubborn.”
Jocelyn sputtered in helpless fury as the door to his cabin slammed shut, then she sank onto the wooden deck and raked her fingers through her hair. There was nothing she could do. Now she would have to find the courage to tell Eleanor and the others to gather their things. They would soon be moving to Roanoke Island, the spot her uncle expected to find littered with the bones of fifteen Englishmen.
FIFTEEN
A whirlwind of emotions stirred John White’s soul as the pinnace drew near Roanoke Island. Except for the horrible days following Lane’s attack on the Indians, Roanoke had been a happy place for him. He knew well the surrounding country; many of the neighboring savages were his friends. His eyes caressed the familiar strip of beach and thick stand of trees, and he wo
rdlessly raised his arm and pointed the sailors toward the best beach for anchoring the boat.
Silence lay upon the island as the small ship approached; the absence of sound had almost a physical density. The quiet lap of waves against the shore and the quickened breaths of his fellow travelers were muffled by the strangely thickened air. Nothing stirred on land or upon the ship until the bow of the pinnace struck hard in the sand and heavily booted feet jostled against the wooden deck.
Standing at the bow, White hesitated before turning to face the men behind him. What would he tell them? Fernandes had openly defied his authority as governor by declaring that the colonists should remain on Roanoke Island, and White’s pride urged him to demand the planters be carried on to Chesapeake. But another voice in his head reminded him that Roanoke was familiar, it was near Manteo’s home, and much of the work involved in building houses and a fort had already been done.
His daughter’s face, swollen and tired, flitted across his mind. Eleanor’s time was near, and would it not be better to have the first Virginian child born in a proper house, rather than aboard ship or in a hastily-constructed Chesapeake hut?
Whatever happened, he must not let his people think he had been cowed by that cursed Portuguese. He composed his face into stern lines and turned to face his men. “Grenville left fifteen men here; we are to find them,” he announced, placing his hand on the arquebus in his belt. “But search no farther than this island. If you come upon any savage, stand with your weapon drawn, but do not fire unless his intentions are undoubtedly hostile.”
The men, sallow-faced and serious, nodded as one.
Summoning his courage, White led the men up the beach and down the trail that led to the remains of “the New Fort in Virginia,” built and named by Lane’s party. The earthworks had been partially razed down by the elements, but the star-shaped wooden fort and the wattle and daub houses outside the walls still stood. Two buildings within the fort, formerly used for storage, had been burned, but the blackened hulls remained.
White gazed wordlessly at the sight. Melon vines had overtaken the lower floors of all the buildings, and a small herd of deer stopped grazing among the vines and lifted velvet brown eyes to stare at the interlopers. Unafraid, they lowered their heads for a last bite before turning to amble away.
Behind him, the flintlock of a musket clicked, and White held up a restraining hand. “Do not fire,” he said, not even glancing over his shoulder. “The noise will travel to the ears of the savages. Our advantage persists as long as they are ignorant of our presence.”
George Howe’s pale round face was streaked with perspiration and his hands trembled upon his musket. “Is there anything to fear?”
“Not yet,” White answered, his eyes expertly scanning the interior of the fort and the standing trees beyond the clearing. When he was convinced they were alone, he motioned for the men to fan out, and they walked carefully through the area surrounding the fort. Grenville’s fifteen apparently had not been here in some time, for all the fire pits had been washed clean by rain and not a single house had been kept clear of the encroaching vines and weeds.
The sea breeze blew a cloud in front of the burning sun, and White sighed in gratitude. The heat could bake a man inside his doublet . . .
“Governor! Here lies a man!”
The line broke, and all hurried toward Ambrose Viccars, who stood white-faced and pointed to a bleached skeleton in the sand. The crushed skull lay above the tattered uniform and rusted breastplate of an English soldier, but between the elements and the area’s wildlife, most of the unfortunate soldier’s bones had been spirited away.
“One of the fifteen,” White murmured, watching in fascination as a spider peered out at them from one of the clean sockets of the skull. “We must see if others lie nearby.”
“First we must bury this man,” Thomas Colman interrupted, his voice booming like thunder over the group. “‘Tis our Christian duty and I must insist that we see to it immediately.”
“It can wait,” interjected Ananias Dare, “for if we find others, ‘twould be more convenient to hold a common burial.”
White glanced uneasily between the two men, both of whom were now related to him. “Reverend, do what you must with these bones,” he directed, gesturing toward the skeleton. “Ananias, direct these men to fan out and search for others. Be wary. And Thomas—” White turned to Colman again. “When you are done with the burial, bestow a blessing on each of these houses. Unless Simon Fernandes proves willing to carry us forward to Chesapeake, I expect we will occupy them before nightfall.”
Later that afternoon, as the men continued to scour the island for signs of the living or dead, John White called his son-in-law and Thomas Colman to his side. “Would that my brother were here,” he fumed, squatting in the shade of the large house that had once belonged to Governor Lane. “He would guide the decision I must make regarding Simon Fernandes. Robert was never a man of action, but he always knew his mind.”
“Your decision should be simple,” Ananias spoke up. “You are the governor appointed by Sir Walter Raleigh. Mutiny, if need be. With Fernandes in chains, the crew will have to sail us to Chesapeake.”
“It is not that simple,” Thomas interrupted, his dark eyes flashing. “You have not mingled with the seamen, Ananias, and I have walked often among them. They respect their captain, and would not support us in a mutiny. ‘Tis more likely they’d pitch us and our goods into the sea, for their hearts are set on capturing the treasure Fernandes has promised. We should be grateful the captain brought us this far.”
“Chesapeake is a better land, with a better harbor,” White said, thinking aloud. “But there’s no gainsaying that the savages there are more hostile. Here we are among Manteo’s people, and have an ally—”
“You told us Lane mistreated the Indians here,” Ananias retorted. “And if we stay, we will surely reap the consequences of Ralph Lane’s folly!”
“Would you have your wife give birth aboard the ship in view of a hundred eyes?” White flamed into anger. “At least here my daughter would have a roof over her head!”
“What of the others, sir?” Thomas said, the deep baritone of his voice cooling the fevered temper of both men. “All would be subjected to hardship if forced to remain aboard ship much longer. Perchance there is a compromise, gentlemen. Why not winter here on Roanoke, and move northward in the Spring? Then we will have a better idea of our situation, our women would be settled, the savages befriended.”
White rocked back on his heels, mollified. The minister spoke the truth. And as long as ‘twas known that John White had agreed to stay at Roanoke for the good of the colony and not because of the wiles of Simon Fernandes, all would be well.
“That shall be our plan, then,” White said, rising . He nodded toward the others and brushed his hands. “We will settle here immediately, put in a quick corn crop, secure peace with our savage neighbors, and move toward the Chesapeake before planting time in the Spring.”
He strode confidently away from the house, only dimly aware of the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between the two men he left behind.
At White’s command, Ananias lit a smoky signal fire on the beach and the remaining passengers aboard the Lion knew ‘twas safe to join the others. Fernandes ordered the Lion’s shallop to be lowered to the water so supplies and passengers could be ferried ashore. The men went first, then the shallop returned for the women. Jocelyn held Eleanor’s hand as they negotiated the narrow plankway between the ship and the small boat.
“Faith, and wouldn’t you know the baby’s kicking,” Eleanor said, laughing nervously with one hand on Agnes’ broad shoulder and the other extended backward to Jocelyn. Behind Jocelyn, Audrey squealed fearfully with each step and steadfastly refused to look down at the water beneath her feet. Jocelyn tugged at the dead weight of Audrey’s hand and idly considered slapping the silliness out of the girl. Servants were supposed to be a help, not a hindrance.
Once
all seventeen women were safely aboard the shallop, the small boat pulled away from the side of the Lion and passed through the narrow inlet between the barrier islands. To the left and right of the boat were stretches of sandy, grass-strewn shore dotted with the tallest trees Jocelyn had ever seen. Such trees were rare in England except on wealthy estates, for daily fires had consumed many of England’s forests.
The island of Roanoke rose as a mountain of tall trees rising from the gray-brown water, and Jocelyn gasped at her first sight of it. Gnarled oaks bent low to the ground behind the shoreline, limbs growing askew as if cowering before the force of ocean winds. As the boat neared the point of landing, a group of men waved in greeting and hurried forward to lend a hand to the women who would have to wade through the water to reach shore.
While her cousin and the servants twittered nervously and lifted their skirts to avoid the water, Jocelyn stepped confidently to the side of the boat and spurned a grinning sailor who offered to carry her to shore. She turned and stepped instead into the cool saltwater and felt the sea cover her boots and tug on her suddenly heavy skirt.
While Audrey squealed in the distance that she did not want to get wet, Jocelyn awkwardly trudged forward. The discomfort of wet clothing was of no importance. Being home was all that mattered.
While the other women waited in an anxious knot on the beach, Jocelyn followed the wide trail of footprints in the sand and came to the fort. Inside the wooden walls she found her uncle pouring over a sheaf of papers with Ananias Dare.