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

by Paul Clayton

  White looked in Maggie’s eyes and said in almost a plea, “But Eleanor never said anything about it to me. How could I know?” He looked down at his feet.

  Maggie watched her Master clench his fists anxiously. “She was probably afraid to, m’Lord.”

  White said nothing.

  “What did you do, m’Lord?” said Maggie

  “I sent the wench packing.”

  They fell silent for a moment. Then White said, “Maggie, ‘tis a good thing I wore no sword then, for if I did I would have run her through with it.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Eleanor is such a kind, loving woman, sir. Rest assured her treatment so long ago has not affected her poorly.”

  White looked at the soldiers up on the ramparts. “Aye. Thank God.” He looked back at Maggie. “Please try and explain my anguished behavior to your friend, Elizabeth. When I saw her standing over Eleanor, and heard her screams, I could not control myself. ‘Twas as if she were again three years old and I had failed to protect her.”

  “You must love her very much,” said Maggie.

  “Aye. That I do.”

  Maggie and White fell silent. On the rampart above, the soldiers’ talk rose to excitement. One of them leaned out over the palisade timbers to point at something. “A sail,” he cried.

  White and Maggie got to their feet. Soldiers and common folk began gathering in the common, talking excitedly.

  “‘Tis the Lion,” shouted a soldier, “returned from hunting for Spanish prizes.”

  White began walking off. “Maggie, I must go.”

  “Worry not, m’Lord,” she called back. “I will talk to Elizabeth and make her understand.”

  White nodded and started up the stairs.

  ***

  Ananias Dare shifted uncomfortably in his chair as sweat trickled down his spine. Parson Lambert droned out the Lord’s Prayer, almost putting him to sleep in the heat. Ananias resented having to attend these Assistants’ meetings and he resolved to talk to his father-in-law about it. He did not belong and they were a waste of his time, since Raleigh’s Devonian gentlemen always voted in a block anyway. The Devonians could barely contain their contempt for Governor White and himself, and he despised them in return. He sighed deeply. He should be back at the cottage in case Eleanor or the baby needed something.

  Parson Lambert’s prayer came to an end and the men stirred wearily. Governor White raised his hand in signal and the three sailors from the Lion entered and faced them. There was a moment of silence before Governor White addressed Fernandes’ first mate, a tall man with a scar running from his nose to his ear.

  “When will you sail for England?”

  “In three weeks’ time, favorable winds permitting.”

  “Is Senor Fernandes coming ashore?” asked Phillip Mattingly.

  “No, sir. He remains on the ship.”

  “Hah,” scoffed Anthony Stewartson. “The scoundrel knows better than to set foot upon this island after what he has done.”

  “Aye,” White agreed. “Now, the most important thing for us to do is to apprise Raleigh of the tenuousness of our situation.”

  “Governor White,” said the first mate, “perhaps you would like me to take you out to the Lion where you could present your concerns directly to Fernandes to be relayed to Sir Walter Raleigh.”

  White scoffed. “No matter how emphatically we convey our predicament to Senor Fernandes, as soon as he spots a prize on the open sea, our concerns leave his head as quickly as sailors disembarking ship for an ale house.”

  Ananias noted the anger on the faces of the first mate and the other sailors at the gentlemen’s laughter at this.

  “And when he arrives in England,” said Robert Harvey, “I doubt our concerns will be his highest priority.”

  “Aye,” said White, “we shall have to send a representative back.” He addressed himself to the first mate. “You may go now. We will contact you later.”

  After the sailors left, Sir Abraham spoke. “So now we must choose someone to go back with Fernandes and make our case before Raleigh and the Virginia Company?”

  The others nodded in agreement, but said nothing.

  Ananias looked around, wondering who would be sent, more likely one of the unmarried gentlemen, probably Sir Phillip.

  One of the younger Devonians, James Duncan, turned to Sir Robert. “You know your way around court. You would be a good candidate.”

  Sir Robert looked at the younger man with angry amusement. Sir Robert and his wife had just given birth to their son, John, and the idea that he would now take his family to sea was absurd. He would never leave them alone here.

  “Pray pardon?” said Sir Robert. “After I have spent my fortune to get myself and my wife here? I came out here to be a planter and I shall be one.”

  “Well, someone must go,” said Sir James.

  “Aye,” said Sir Robert, “and you are the perfect candidate, for you have no family to worry about while you are away.”

  Sir James’s face reddened as the others laughed.

  “There is a better candidate,” said Sir Mortimer.

  The other men looked at him expectantly.

  “We could send Governor White.”

  Ananias watched his father-in-law’s face turn crimson.

  White was speechless for a moment as he looked at Mortimer Reed. “Certainly you jest, sir,” White said.

  “Nay. I propose without humor, Governor,” said Sir Mortimer, a wry smile on his face.

  As Governor White glared at Sir Mortimer, Ananias realized that Sir Mortimer had obviously planned this out with the other Devonians and this discussion was a sham. But it would not work.

  Ananias shook his head, not believing the turn the discussion had taken. “Well,” he said to the other gentlemen, “he wouldn’t be the Governor then, would he?”

  Captain Stafford guffawed. “Of course he would. He would just be gone for a little while, that be all.”

  Abraham Bane weighed in, “I ask you, gentlemen. Who would have our interests more at heart? With his own daughter and granddaughter here… Truly? Is there anyone else with more reason to see that we are quickly and continually resupplied?”

  “And he could see to Fernandes’ punishment first hand,” said Sir James. “We do not want Senor Fernandes in charge of any more convoys.”

  Governor White scowled angrily. “Enough! Waste no more of our time with such talk.”

  Ananias’s mind reeled at Sir Abraham’s arrogance. He could not believe his ears.

  Sir Mortimer smoothed his mustache with his fingers. “Imagine the Governor showing up at Sir Walter Raleigh’s door, having left his colony on the other side of the globe.”

  Sir Phillip’s high-pitched giggle erupted at this.

  Sir Abraham addressed the other Devonians as Governor White and his supporters watched in angry fascination. Captain Stafford watched with unbridled amusement. “Perhaps Sir Walter Raleigh would not object if we drafted a letter for the Governor to bring with him. The letter could state that we all entreated him most passionately to go because we felt that he alone could best represent our interests.”

  “Brilliant!” said Sir Mortimer. “With such a document no one could ever question Governor White’s motives.”

  John White could listen to it no more and stood angrily. “Enough!” he said. “Under the rules of the charter you would need a unanimous vote to impose this upon me. And you do not have that. So, please, waste no more of our time.”

  The men were silent as White sat back down.

  “Aye,” said Sir Mortimer. “Governor White is right. We do not have the votes to compel him to go. But we have enough votes to compel another one of us.”

  “Ah,” said Sir James, “but who?” He looked around the table.

  “Aye,” said Mattingly, “who?” He looked nervously around.

  Again John White could not believe his ears. This had all obviously been planned and scripted earlier.

  “There is
one candidate,” said Sir Abraham, “who satisfies the very same criteria for our sending Governor White. Indeed, he qualifies for this mission even more.”

  “Prithee, sir?” said Sir Phillip with obvious delight. “Who is it?”

  “Ananias Dare,” said Sir Abraham.

  “Go to!” said Sir Phillip with mock surprise.

  John White’s heart pounded in shock and anger as he looked around the table. How could they even suggest such a thing, days after Ananias’s daughter was born? White scowled darkly as he looked at his son-in-law. The lad looked like he would fall down in a faint.

  Sir Abraham went on. “Dare will do everything humanly possible to ensure the safety of his wife and newborn daughter.”

  “Wiser than Solomon you are,” said Sir Mortimer, almost coming out of his chair. “Aye, it all applies.”

  Captain Stafford smiled with silent satisfaction.

  “Enough,” said White. He knew that, with the exception of Parson Lambert and Sir Robert, they would all vote with Sir Abraham, blast him. He addressed himself to Sir Abraham. “I will go and Ananias will stay and tend to his wife and child. But by my honor, I will stay in England no longer than is necessary, returning with the first convoy.”

  Sir Abraham’s voice took on a soothing tone. “Of course, Governor.”

  White stood. “Draw up the document. I shan’t be gone for more than a year.” White looked around the table. “Ananias, Sir Robert, Master Lambert, come with me please.”

  Chapter 16

  August 27, 1587. Roanoke

  The air in the big house was thick with the heat and moisture of late afternoon and it seemed to Maggie to have slowed down time itself. She wiped at her brow as she stood before the children. Fortunately they held up to the hot weather better than their elders. But another thing wore more upon them. They all knew of the cruel death of young George Howe’s father at the hands of the savages. Sir George’s handsome son, George the younger, sat in the rear. Numb with grief, he could look no one in the eye, nor could he mouth his lessons. The other children avoided looking at him. Even his most recent admirers, Thomas Reed and Charles Colpepper, were solemn and tentative around him.

  “Thirty days hath September, April, June and November,” the children intoned in chorus, “February eight and twenty alone, all the rest thirty and one… ”

  Maggie stopped her pacing before the children and smiled sadly, “Children, that will conclude today’s lesson.”

  As Maggie headed for the front door of the big house Governor White and Ananias came out of the offices at the rear carrying a chest. Maggie warmed at the sight of Governor White. Because of her chaste behavior, his attentions to her had become less amorous and more kindly and she enjoyed her employ with him and the Dares. Now it was the captain, a few of the gentlemen, and the soldiers, Thomas Shande was the worst, whose eyes she would occasionally feel upon her like damp garments. She followed the governor and Ananias down the steps and outside.

  “Is someone moving out?” she said.

  Before White could reply, a baby’s cry floated across the compound.

  “Is that little Virginia,” queried White, “or perhaps ‘tis Margary Harvey’s little babe?”

  “I will go and see,” said Ananias, hurrying off.

  White smiled at Maggie. “I was like that for a time too, when Eleanor was a child.” White’s look grew serious. “Maggie, I am going back with the ships.”

  Maggie was taken aback. “Back to England, m’Lord?”

  “Aye,” said White. “I must see to some business and then I will return.”

  Maggie felt the loss already. She could not imagine being in this strange place without the kindly Governor close by. Tears threatened to overcome her. “I will miss you, m’Lord.” She smiled bravely.

  Governor White and Maggie sat down on the steps leading into the big house in the late afternoon sunlight. Governor White began packing paints, pigments and tools inside one of three chests. “I will have them buried for safekeeping,” he explained to Maggie, “and reclaim them when I return from England.”

  Even though the ships would not sail for another two weeks, Maggie could not shake off the sadness that began to weigh upon her.

  Governor White closed and locked one of the chests. “Well, Maggie. This should keep my things safe and dry.”

  Maggie could find no words as Governor White began packing another chest. A cool breeze washed over them as Ananias came up the common carrying a stack of the Governor’s drawings. He placed them on a step. “This is the last of it, sir,” he said.

  Governor White nodded as his son-in-law walked back into the big house. He took his pistol and ball and powder bag from the table and laid them carefully in the chest.

  “Can I help you with anything, m’Lord?” said Maggie.

  White smiled slightly and shook his head. “Nay, child, just sit with me.”

  Maggie watched as White carefully wrapped up his paints and brushes and laid them in the chest. She felt that each one was a memory and a kindness, and that when the chests were locked and buried she would be unable to conjure them up again. The clomp of heavy boots and the click of claws came from inside the big house. Captain Stafford and one of his mastiffs bounded down the steps behind them, followed by one of the captain’s lieutenants. Stafford’s breastplate and sword clattered, his leather jerkin and belt squeaking as he wrestled the big excited dog to a sitting position.

  “Stay, Quirinus,” he commanded, but the big dog got to its feet and pulled against the lead.

  “Quirinus,” said White, “one of the gods of ancient Rome.”

  “Aye,” said Stafford. He turned to his Lieutenant. “Take him back to the storehouse.”

  Captain Stafford turned back to White. “Jupiter, Quirinus and Mars. Three of the finest dogs in all of England, with hearts of iron.”

  White nodded. “Except that they are no longer in England,” he said.

  Captain Stafford turned to Maggie and smiled. “Aye,” he said.

  Maggie drew back reflexively, her heart nervously skipping a beat. Captain Stafford was a handsome man, but he made her uneasy and the why of that was a puzzle to her.

  “Captain,” said White, his voice revealing some tiredness, “what is your business here?” The governor continued his packing, Maggie was comforted to see that he was unaffected by the other man’s physical power.

  Stafford again acknowledged Maggie with a quick look. “I came out to see if yeh needed any help.”

  “Nay, Captain,” said White. He continued packing, not looking at the other man as he lay some unused canvases at the bottom of a chest. Stafford picked up one of White’s sketches and inspected it. Maggie could feel tension slowly growing between the two men; it was like the strange air before a summer rainstorm.

  Captain Stafford turned the sketch so that Maggie could see it. It depicted a naked, completely-tattooed, man carrying a spear in one hand and the severed head of his enemy in the other. “This is most unusual,” Captain Stafford said to her. “This savage appears to have English features.”

  Maggie blushed and said nothing. White looked up from his work. “That is because he is an English man.”

  “Do this be some kind of joke?” Stafford asked, “Do it be a caricature?”

  White shook his head. “Nay.”

  Maggie watched the exchange with growing concern. She was struck by how small and frail Governor White appeared next to Captain Stafford. “What kind of man is it, sir?” she asked the governor.

  “He is an ancient Briton, or Pict,” said White, “so called because of the pictures they painted upon themselves. They lived in England before Roman times.”

  “He reminds me of the people of Manteo’s village,” said Maggie. “They were marked up like that too.”

  “They are similar, aren’t they?” said White.

  “Are yeh suggesting that this… ” Stafford waved the sketch. “That there be some connection between man-eating savages and us E
nglish?”

  “I am not suggesting it,” said White, “the evidence suggests it.”

  Stafford stared at the sketch a moment longer and put it down with a scowl. “Rubbish.”

  “What is the connection, Governor?” said Maggie.

  “‘Tis quite simple,” said White, “either we came to their lands many lifetimes ago, or they to ours.”

  Captain Stafford winked at Maggie and she cringed. “The savages have no ships to cross the ocean,” he said.

  “They have their canoes,” White countered.

  “Cross an ocean in a canoe?” Stafford bellowed.

  “They are unsinkable, man,” said White. “And there is evidence of their having crossed.”

  Again Stafford’s laugh boomed across the common. “Yeh be quite the story teller, sir.”

  White put down a handful of his brushes. “I met a French sailor in a London alehouse who told me a story. When he was a boy working on a fishing cog, they came upon a strange, long craft at sea with six brown men in it. They wore only skins over their privities and their bodies were marked up like that. Their hair was decorated with feathers and they were almost dead from lack of food and water.”

  “I be surprised,” Captain Stafford chided, “they did not eat each other, as is their savage habit.”

  White ignored the comment. “The French took their craft in tow and brought them into harbor. Four of them were dead when they arrived, but two lived.”

  “What did they find out, sir?” said Maggie. “Where were they from?”

  White shook his head. “They spoke an unintelligible tongue. They were taken to a local lord’s estate, fed and clothed properly. For two days the Frenchmen interrogated them, using signs and having them make marks and maps on paper. But before the Frenchmen could learn much, the survivors ran away.”

  “What became of them?” said Maggie.

  “One was killed whilst being captured,” said White, “and the other was never found.”

  Captain Stafford stood. “Well, upon my word! Savage, tattooed Englishmen… man-eating savages crossing the ocean in their canoes… I believe I have heard it all tonight.” Stafford bellowed out a laugh.