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

by Paul Clayton

  “Where is Thomas?” she asked when he finished.

  “I sent him on an errand. He will soon return.”

  Maggie took the cup Master Spencer handed her and turned to go.

  “Wait,” he said. “Pour another.”

  She did as he asked and again he drank it slowly, regarding her all the while. He smiled and her breathing slowed somewhat. She looked over at the door, wishing Thomas would come. “Perhaps I’ll not be seeing him today,” she said.

  “Wait,” said Master Spencer. He handed her the cup. “If yeh go he’ll be mopin’ about the rest of the day.”

  Maggie nodded.

  Spencer leaned over his drawing table. “Take that heavy flagon off yer shoulder, girl, and take a proper rest. I’ll not steal yer beer.”

  She smiled and set the flagon on the floor. As Spencer went back to work, she turned to look at a painting of horses running through a pasture on the far wall. After a while the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise up. She turned. Master Spencer had stopped his work and was staring at her.

  “So,” he said, straightening up, “yeh fancy Thomas, do yeh?”

  Maggie blushed. She glanced over at the door. “He’s a good lad,” she said. “We talk.”

  Master Spencer came closer and Maggie could see that he was breathing heavily.

  “That is all, ‘tis it?” he said. “Yeh do not lift yer skirts for him? Only talk?”

  Elizabeth was patting Maggie’s hand. “Take it easy, girl. Yer fit to be tied! Take a breath and calm yerself.”

  Tears passed Maggie’s tightly clenched eyes. In the dim lamplight, she could barely make out her new friend’s features.

  “There, girl, there,” said Elizabeth. “Now. Tell me what happened next.”

  “The master forced himself on me.”

  “Did it… go all the way?”

  Maggie nodded.

  Elizabeth frowned with concern. “There, there. Then what happened?”

  “Thomas returned and saw us and beat him badly.”

  Maggie watched Thomas hoist the master’s unconscious bulk over his shoulder as she began wiping the blood from the floorboards. Thomas’s steps receded and she worked quickly, sweat running down her brow and into her eyes. As the day’s light slowly dimmed, the sounds of hammering came from below. She called down the stairs but received no reply. Finishing, she sat exhausted. Not long afterward, hurried footsteps thumped up the stairs. Thomas opened the door. “It is done. Let us away now!”

  “We ran away,” said Maggie.

  “To where?” said Elizabeth. “I would not know where to hide.”

  Maggie shook her head as if she still could not believe her own story. “We took up with a thief, you know, a cutpurse, and he took us on the road with him.”

  “A cutpurse!” said Elizabeth.

  “Aye,” said Maggie. “He led us across Devon and finally to Plymouth. Some horrid man tracked us at every turn and we barely managed to stay a step ahead of him.”

  “What ever happened to this cutpurse?” asked Elizabeth.

  Maggie pointed to the mattresses across the cabin. “He sleeps over there.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes grew large as she stared into the dimness. “God in Heaven! There be not much difference ‘tween a cutpurse and a cutthroat.” Her eyes narrowed. “Would he be the one with the pointy little beard?”

  “Aye,” said Maggie. “He is not a bad man. He has an idiot son named Humphrey, who traveled with us. But I know not where he is now.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Girl, yeh have had a time of it. Now yeh must get some sleep.”

  They went over to their mattresses and sat down.

  Sometime in the night Maggie awoke to laughter and cursing as a dozen ruffians, several of them holding lamps, burst into the cabin carrying half a dozen unconscious men. Maggie and the others sat up on their mattresses, shielding their eyes from the light.

  “Pressmen,” Elizabeth whispered to Maggie. “They harvest the alehouses and gutters for seamen.”

  “Look ye,” called a sailor, “we have brought more gentleman planters for Raleigh’s Virginia.”

  The pressmen and sailors laughed. “Where do yeh want ‘em?” asked the press gang boss.

  The sailor pointed not far from where Maggie and Elizabeth were sitting. “Put ‘em over there with the rest of the gentlefolk planters.”

  This brought more guffaws of laughter.

  Maggie looked away from the probing eyes of these vile and brutish men. She knew she had better stay well away from them for the duration of the voyage. Two pressmen dropped a man onto the mattress next to Maggie’s. The man did not stir and Maggie could smell the stench of drink and vomit on him. Other men were roughly dumped on vacant mattresses.

  The pressmen left, slamming the doors shut. Iron bolts clanged in their locks. Elizabeth got to her feet and went over to the man next to Maggie. They lifted the drunken man’s head off the deck and onto the mattress.

  “He be an old man,” said Elizabeth. “They be wastin’ their time dragging the likes of him aboard.” Crusted blood fused one of the man’s eyes shut. His hands were bruised and bleeding from brawling. “I’ll get some water to clean his face,” said Elizabeth.

  “Aye,” said Maggie, “I’ll get some cloth.”

  Seemingly moments after she had gone back to sleep, someone was shaking Maggie awake. Elizabeth leaned over her as pale morning light filtered down through the hatch cover.

  “Maggie, girl,” she hissed, “wake up! ‘Tis your master, the Governor.”

  Maggie sat up and saw the white haired gentleman waiting discreetly at the entrance to the cabin. She stood and smoothed her skirts. Going over to him, she curtsied. “God give you good day, m’Lord.”

  Governor White nodded slightly. “I wanted to introduce myself,” he said.

  Maggie sensed the Governor was a good man, however it was not long before his eyes began taking silent measure of her and she felt herself shrink into her gown.

  “My daughter Eleanor and her husband Ananias will arrive on board later today,” Governor White said. “I will fetch you to meet them.”

  “Aye, m’Lord,” said Maggie, curtseying.

  Chapter 2

  Maggie had just come back down from enjoying the breeze up on the deck when Elizabeth approached her in a state of excitement.

  “They found the imp in the hold right below us,” she said.

  “Who?” said Maggie.

  “The idiot son of yer friend,” exclaimed Elizabeth. She leaned close and whispered in Maggie’s ear, “the cutpurse.”

  Maggie nodded, already worried. Would Lionel’s master now put him and his son off the ship? Lionel had protected her and Thomas and gotten them this far. He was a good man, despite his livelihood.

  They went in the cabin and sat on their mattresses. Maggie saw Humphrey’s familiar pointy head and thin-lipped face watching her from across the expanse of plank decking. He sat at Lionel’s feet like a loyal dog, his wooden ball in his lap. Lionel sat with his knees drawn up, no doubt planning his next move.

  Elizabeth frowned. “Poor thing… to have to go through life with a face like that.”

  “How did they find him?” Maggie asked.

  Elizabeth pointed at the darkened hatch cover at their feet “One of the girls heard him down there mewing like a kitten. The men lifted the cover off and climbed down to him.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Imagine, after being down in the dark all that time, when they bring him up he’s smilin’ like the divil and holdin’ on to that ball like it were made a gold.”

  “Aye,” said Maggie, “he loves to play with it.” She sighed. “I knew Lionel would never leave him behind.”

  They both turned to look over at Lionel’s mattress. It was now empty.

  “Lord above,” said Elizabeth, “gone already?” She shook her head. “The sailors already got wind of it and they’ll find them. Poor divils.”

  “I pray not,” said Maggie.


  “Maggie!” Thomas stood with several men over by the main overhead cargo hatch. He waved at Maggie to come over. “I must see what he wants,” Maggie said, getting to her feet.

  A small crowd had gathered beneath the latticework of the hatch cover. The men had dragged several chests over, pushing them together to make a platform. Thomas and some others stood upon them, looking up through the openings. Maggie slipped through the crowd to get closer.

  Thomas called down to her. “‘Tis the savages. Come up and see!” He extended his hand and pulled her up beside him. Maggie saw two men walking up on the deck. Their skins were dark and their hair long and black as night. The larger of the two carried a long musket.

  Thomas took Maggie’s shoulder and pointed. “See the bigger of the two? A sailor has told me he lived with the great gentleman, Sir Walter Raleigh. He is called Manteo. The smaller savage is Towaye. He is still wild.”

  Maggie stared up in awe. The savages had stopped and now talked softly in their strange language. The smaller of the two was, indeed, more wild looking. Although he wore breeches and a shirt, he was barefoot and a green feather hung from his long hair. He gestured as he talked, his movements sharp and agitated. The tall one seemed more comfortable in his fine clothes. He was handsome in an exotic way and moved slowly and gentleman-like. Despite his youth, Maggie saw wisdom and strength in his copper-colored features. She watched with the others, unable to take her eyes off them.

  Manteo and Towaye walked across the oaken beams of the ship’s waist, the sun shining down brightly on them. Despite the promise of change and new adventures, Manteo’s thoughts about going back to his village were not all happy. He remembered that sad time when the white English people had first come to his village. They wanted some boys to take back to England with them so they could teach them their language and learn the language of the Croatoans. Sadly, the Council had decided to send Manteo and Wanchese. Manteo’s mother, who was the chieftess, or Weronsqua, of his village, did not countermand the order, despite his pleading. The crossing of the big water was stormy and frightening and the English had treated Manteo and Wanchese badly, locking them up like animals. That had all changed, however, when they left the ship and went to the house of Raleigh. Raleigh had angrily denounced the ship captain for his treatment of Manteo and Wanchese, and had taken them into his house where he treated them well and taught them English ways. Manteo had grown to like Raleigh and the English. Wanchese, however, had never forgiven the English, and on their first trip back to Roanoke, had run away. Now he roamed the forests of Virginia, the English’s sworn enemy. Towaye had been captured by Drake and his men and brought to England only the year before.

  Manteo and Towaye came upon the basket-like hatch cover on the deck. Towaye paused and knelt on one knee to peer into the darkened hold. Manteo’s brow furrowed slightly as he waited for the young brave to satisfy his curiosity. When Towaye had been brought by Drake to the house of Raleigh, Towaye had refused to live in the house and had instead slept with the horses in the stable. Manteo knew that in time Towaye would change. He would come to see that the English were not demons, and he would allow them to adopt him as Manteo had.

  Manteo’s thoughts flew back to Roanoke and Wanchese. Wanchese was lost to the English forever. He had what the English called a black heart, and would never make peace. But Towaye was different. He would come around.

  Manteo smiled at the memory of Towaye caressing the large head of one of Raleigh’s magnificent horses. At least the boy had forgiven the four-leggeds for being English and befriended one of them.

  Manteo called to the younger brave in their Algonquin language. “Come, Towaye. We stay in a cabin forward on the ship.”

  “Look,” said Towaye. “Something moves down there. People! Who are they?”

  “Just people,” said Manteo.

  “War captives?” said Towaye in amazement.

  “Not war captives,” said Manteo patiently, “not gentlemen and ladies. Common people.”

  “Common people?”

  “Yes. Common people are different. If you had not spent all your time with Raleigh’s horses you would know these things.”

  Towaye cast a quick angry look at Manteo. “No! Towaye does not wish to know English things.”

  “You will learn, little brother.” Manteo began walking off. “Come. Let us go below.”

  Towaye followed reluctantly.

  ***

  “William Morton is one of the bravest men walking this earth! And I personally chose him to hold Fort Raleigh!” Sir Richard Grenville’s voice rose above the din in the little cabin on the Lion, causing several gentlemen to turn. His face glowed red as a coal and his eyes stabbed into John White’s. “Are you impugning my judgment, sir?”

  “Never, sir,” said John White, the newly appointed Governor of Sir Walter Raleigh’s City in Virginia, “I was having trouble hearing you.” White moved his hand to indicate the eight or nine potential Virginia-investors standing about as they loudly discussed Raleigh’s latest venture. White chastised himself for having been foolish enough to express surprise at Grenville’s having left behind only fifteen soldiers to guard the fort at Roanoke. Like most gentlemen, Grenville was troublesome and vainglorious, and White comforted himself with the knowledge that he would soon be away from such men and among the natural people of the Eden-like New World.

  “You will pick up Captain Morton and his men at Roanoke,” Grenville continued over the talk of the other men, holding White’s eyes, “and then proceed north to the Bay of Chesapeake.”

  White nodded. “As you wish, sir.”

  Grenville scowled. “Excuse me now, for I have other business.”

  Grenville’s reproach had made John White feel less like a Governor and gentleman and very much like the member of the Painters and Stainers’ guild that he was. Beardless, with a full head of silver hair, he soothed himself with the scene before him, drinking in the bright colors in the gentlemen’s rich clothing, the cut of their outfits, the bearded faces, the eyes: calculating, merry, or drunken -- they would pose a challenge to his artistic skills and his hands fairly trembled at the urge to grab up brush and palette and record the scene. But he wasn’t here to paint. He was here to sign up anyone that could be enticed to invest in Sir Walter’s city in the New World, or better yet, to go and live there as gentlemen planters. Later, when they were safely inside the new fort they would build at Chesapeake, he could indulge his painterly urges.

  White’s daughter Eleanor and son-in-law, Ananias Dare, entered the little cabin. Eleanor was now six months pregnant and Ananias hovered protectively close to her. Ananias smiled slightly as they came up. A brickmaker and tiler, he, like White, had been elevated to the status of gentleman by Raleigh, a reward for going to the New World to rule in his name.

  White took Eleanor’s hand and kissed it. “How did you sleep last night, daughter?”

  “Very well, father. Thank you for asking.”

  White smiled at Ananias as the gaily-dressed gentlemen talked in two groups a few feet away. Used to humbler folk, White shared the discomfort he detected in Ananias and Eleanor. Sir Richard Grenville had moved to the other side of the cabin and was now speaking to Captain Stafford who would be in charge of security at the colony. The Captain had evidently taken a leave from interviewing common people on the above decks. White watched the eagle-eyed Stafford craftily take silent measure of the other men. Along with his security duties, Captain Stafford would also sit on the board of Assistant Governors, which would govern along with White. White had served with Stafford at Roanoke two years earlier and believed him much too suspicious and cruel for further duty in the New World. He had told Sir Raleigh as much, to no avail.

  Sir Richard called to White. As White led Eleanor and Ananias over, Captain Stafford went back above deck. Two gentlemen now stood with Sir Richard. The others congregated in a tight knot on the other side of the cabin.

  White bowed slightly to Sir Richard.

  “
John White,” said Sir Richard, “these gentlemen wanted to meet the new governor of Raleigh’s colony.”

  One of the men was middle-aged, short and portly. His companion was a young gallant, bright-eyed with enthusiasm.

  White indicated Eleanor and Ananias. “My daughter, Eleanor, and my son-in-law, Ananias Dare. They will also be going to Virginia.”

  The portly man nodded, turning to the others, “If Governor White is willing to take such a fair and fragile flower with him to Roanoke, a safe place it must be, eh?”

  As Eleanor smiled demurely, White recalled Drake’s hasty evacuation of him and the other English from Roanoke Island two years before. The apparent theft of an iron axe by the savages had led to what White believed to be a gross overreaction on Captain Stafford’s part, making their continuance on the island untenable. The memory of Captain Stafford coming out of the forest with the savage chief, Wingina’s, severed head held high for all to see, still haunted White’s dreams. “Nay, sir,” said White, “I know Roanoke like I know my own parish. But we shall not be going there.”

  The man raised his eyebrows and turned to Sir Richard for explanation.

  “They will land in Roanoke to pick up the soldiers that I left there,” said Sir Richard. “Then they will proceed to the Bay of Chesapeake. That bay can shelter even the stoutest of our ships and the lands there are fertile and boundless.”

  “I wonder whether enough plowmen can be induced to go over,” asked the young gallant.

  Sir Richard nodded. “Many tradesmen and yeoman have already signed on, and even as we speak, up on the abovedecks, my men are signing on more. Gentlemen, I assure you, Walter Raleigh’s ships will not venture out of harbor until we have more than enough men.”

  This seemed to alleviate the man’s concerns and he smiled.

  “What sort of crops do well there?” asked the portly man.

  Sir Richard gestured to White. “Governor White will explain all of that to you, for I must be off now.”

  The men bowed slightly as Sir Richard left. They turned back to White.