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

by Paul Clayton

  The other savage looked over at them as he spoke excitedly to Manteo. Maggie sensed that something was wrong. Manteo came over

  “He say somebody hide here earlier. Not Croatoan men.”

  “Where is Lionel?” said Maggie.

  Manteo pointed in the direction they had been going. “Up there,”

  “He’s lying,” said Elizabeth.

  Manteo looked at her curiously.

  Maggie tried to ignore Elizabeth’s comment but she was beginning to worry just the same.

  Manteo and the other began walking again and Maggie and Elizabeth followed them through the silent woods. They walked for another while without talking. Maggie and Elizabeth stopped. Manteo and his friend walked on for a moment until they realized the women had stopped. Manteo came back.

  “What?” said Manteo

  “We have gone too far,” said Maggie. “Perhaps we should go back.”

  Manteo vigorously shook his head. “No go back. Up here.” He pointed.

  “Prithee, Manteo, I ...” Maggie looked over at Elizabeth but Elizabeth stared at her feet, silent once again. The other savage pointed impatiently in the direction they’d been going. “We go now,” said Manteo.

  Maggie nodded wearily. She was beginning to grow afraid. They walked on and she prayed: Dear God, Where was John White? She imagined him stepping out from behind one of the trees, a fatherly smile on his face. For a short while she had felt safe in his care. Where was he now? And why was God not answering their prayers?

  Maggie smelled wood smoke. She soon spied a savage house ahead with many baskets of corn and squash stacked outside. They drew closer. Inside a fire burned, smoke wafting through the many holes in the roof. Maggie was surprised to see Parson Lambert and Sir Robert exit the cottage. Another Englishman with a barrel chest and long, almost apelike arms exited. Maggie recognized him as Mister Slade, the carpenter. Then Lionel and two savage women exited. Half-dozen savages remained inside, children among them.

  “Ah,” called out Parson Lambert, “‘tis Maggie and her friend. Now we can begin.”

  Maggie turned to Lionel. “Begin what?”

  Lionel smiled. Maggie was struck with the fact that she had never seen him smile. “The ceremony,” he said.

  Parson Lambert stood under a bower of woven tree limbs. Maggie noticed the red berries and bright green leaves someone had hung from it to decorate.

  “Lionel Fisher,” called Parson Lambert, “take Peenaysheesh’s hand.”

  Lionel nodded, taking a savage woman by the hand.

  “Mister Slade …”

  The carpenter took another savage woman by the hand.

  “Come, come,” said Parson Lambert impatiently. “Let us begin the ceremony.”

  Maggie stood back as Parson Lambert read from his prayer book. Lionel and Slade stood before him, their Croatoan brides beside them.

  Sir Robert Harvey watched the south end of Roanoke Island take shape out of the mists as they sailed closer. Soon they would all be warming themselves before their hearths. The shallop was loaded to the boards with corn and gourds, and over two dozen trussed turkey birds. Soon everyone at the fort would have a full belly. They were even bringing back Croatoan wives for Lionel and Slade the carpenter. Robert thought again about how fortunate they were to have Manteo with them. Without the help of his mother, the Weronsqua, they all would have starved by now.

  Robert ordered the sail struck as the shallop approached the beach. After pulling the boat up on the sand and securing it, he and the men started along the path through the gray ghostly trees. Coming out of the woods, Robert noticed people working in the fields. This was odd since there was no crop to bring in and it was too cold to plant. As they drew closer he was surprised to see Charles Colpepper and Phillip Mattingly among them, for they usually kept to the big house or to their cottages on cold days such as this. The two gentlemen stood near a piece of canvas upon which was heaped freshly dug-up roots. About a dozen soldiers stood about, keeping a loose eye on things. As Robert stopped to talk with the gentlemen, Lionel and his new wife paused to wait for him.

  “Why are you two here?” Robert asked Colpepper and Mattingly.

  Phillip looked around, making sure no one was in earshot. “Captain Stafford has made us to work,” he said angrily.

  Charles sidled closer. “They voted on it yesterday. With you and Dare gone, our votes weren’t enough.”

  “What about Abraham?” said Robert. “Surely he did not vote to work.”

  Charles frowned. “Abraham took sick soon after you left. Captain Stafford went to see him before the meeting and said that he too had voted for the new rules.”

  Robert shook his head as he glanced over at the soldiers. “Where are Sirs Duncan and Reed?”

  “Taking an inventory in the warehouse,” said Charles.

  “And the captain?” asked Robert.

  “Most likely sitting before the fire in the big house!” spat Phillip.

  “We must call a meeting,” said Charles, “this is preposterous!”

  Robert resisted the impulse to assail the two gentlemen for having constantly voted with Bane and Captain Stafford in the past. He would need their cooperation in the future if they were to seize control and take the appropriate measures to save the colony. He nodded. “Aye, we will meet to discuss it.”

  “We must do more than discuss it,” sputtered Phillip.

  Robert ignored him and began walking back toward the fort.

  Lionel glanced back at the indignant gentlemen as he and his woman followed Robert. “Sir?” he said.

  “What is it?” said Robert.

  Lionel spoke softly as they passed under the watchful eyes of the soldiers on the ramparts. “Captain Stafford intends to rule here someday, sir.”

  Robert nodded slightly, impressed as usual with Lionel’s acumen. “Aye, so you see it too, eh?”

  ***

  Now that they had returned to the fort, Parson Edward Lambert could not stop himself from again comparing the state of his English flock with that of his Croatoan. As he walked along the common he saw several people working in their gardens, their faces gaunt and stoic. The soldiers were just as morose-looking and unruly as they had been when he’d left. He thought back to the well-fed inhabitants of Croatoan. He thought of their dancing and singing, their joy. The Croatoans enjoyed so many of God’s blessings. And they had enjoyed them long before the English had come here. Whilst here on Roanoke Island -- Lambert let the comparison die, uncomfortable at where it was leading him. He said a prayer that his wife and son were well.

  Entering his cottage, Lambert was cheered to see William sitting in his little chair before the hearth, reading from his bible.

  William got to his feet and set his bible on the chair. “Father!”

  Lambert embraced his son. The boy was thin, but he still had plenty of youthful joy in him, thank God. “Hello, William.”

  Mary called down from the loft. “Husband, you have returned.”

  “Aye,” Lambert called up, continuing to admire his son. “Hurry down, Mary, that I may look upon you.”

  William hovered about, anxious for news of his father’s mission to the Croatoan savages.

  Mary tried bravely to smile as she came down the stairs. Lambert was pleased. Perhaps God was finally answering his prayers. He embraced her. “What news, Goodwife?”

  She shook her head sadly. “Little Thomas Reed has died of the fever. His mother followed three days later.”

  “May God have mercy on their souls,” Lambert said.

  “Amen,” said Mary. “What has kept you in the savages’ village all this time?” Her voice was colored with attempted cheerfulness.

  “I baptized five, buried one, and married two.”

  “Married two, you say?”

  “Aye. Both Robert’s servingman, Lionel Fisher, and Slade the carpenter, took Croatoan wives.”

  Mary frowned. “Is that permitted?”

  Lambert smiled as he nodded
. “Aye. By God. And I am but his servant. The brides were among the five that I baptized. God smiles upon their union.”

  Mary went over to the hearth. “Sit and I will get you some gruel.” She reached for a pot hanging from its hook.

  “Not yet, wife,” said Lambert, guilty at the fullness of his belly. He looked down at William and worried over how thin the boy was becoming. “First I must go to the big house and get things ready for Sabbath service.”

  Lambert left the cottage and headed for the big house. He was not pleased to find a dozen or so soldiers crowded about the steps to the big house carrying on like roaring boys. Despite the cold, several sat on the ground.

  “This cole chopped a card!” a man exclaimed.

  “God’s blood!” someone shouted. “I did not!”

  Lambert’s face reddened at the curse. He pushed between the men. It was Thomas Shande, Maggie’s former friend. Lambert glared at Thomas and then at the others. “Peace be quiet!” he said. “And has the captain no work for you to do?”

  The men got slowly to their feet and began moving off.

  Lambert went inside the big house. Five or six benches had been taken from the back and arranged around the front of the hearth. Soldiers had evidently been sleeping in here, against his wishes, and against the ruling of the Assistants. They were supposed to sleep in their cottages and have their gatherings in the storehouse. The floor was mud-splattered and littered with piles of soldiers’ things.

  Lambert frowned. He would have to ask Captain Stafford to talk to his men. Again!

  As Lambert approached the communion table the sharp stench of urine assaulted his nose. He went to the hearth. The air there was thick with it, as if not just one, but all the soldiers who had been sleeping here had taken to relieving themselves in the hearth. This, after all of his appeals to Captain Stafford. It was an affront. They were trying to run him out and take over!

  Parson Lambert checked his chest to make sure his surplice and linens were still there. He clenched his jaws as he put his things away. Before he had gone to Croatoan, he and several of the good women of the colony had spent an entire day hauling the hearth ashes out and getting down on their hands and knees to scrub the hearthstones, all because of these lazy knaves.

  He went out to find Captain Stafford.

  ***

  Sir Robert and Ananias entered Abraham Bane’s cottage. Abraham’s wife, Mary, stood over the old gentleman’s bed. The Banes’ daughter, ten year old Mary, was sitting before the fire. The girl turned to them and Robert noted that her large, sad eyes were old before their time.

  “Good evening, little Mary,” he said cheerfully.

  “Good evening, Mary,” said Ananias.

  The girl said nothing, appearing to be in a daze. She returned her gaze to the flames. Robert and Ananias went over to Abraham. Abraham’s eyes were open but he appeared not to see them.

  “How is he?” Robert asked.

  Mary shook her head. “Not good, I’m afraid.” She leaned down and wiped Abraham’s pale brow with a damp cloth. Abraham’s eyes closed and Mary walked away.

  As Robert looked down on the old gentleman, his anger and antipathy toward him began to fade. Whatever conniving and plotting had been going on before was now over. They had been in this place too, too long, almost two years now, and something had gone terribly wrong. Robert looked around the cottage and was struck with how mean they lived. The cottage was tiny, with three or four pots on the wall, a spinning wheel, but not a handful of wool to spin. Mary and her girl were awfully thin. Abraham had owned more than a few houses in London. He had interest in a ship that was being built. Now he lived like a beggar. Only the lure of gold could account for Abraham’s blindness to his own situation. God in Heaven, Robert thought, when would White arrive with his ships?

  “Did Captain Stafford talk to you today, Abraham?” Robert asked.

  Abraham opened his eyes, looking back and forth between Robert and Ananias. “Who?” he said

  “Did you vote for the new work rule?” asked Robert.

  Abraham’s mouth struggled to form words. “The rents are late,” he said.

  “He is out of his head,” said Ananias.

  Robert nodded.

  Mary returned to the bedside and ran a damp cooling cloth over her husband’s brow. His eyes closed.

  “He is out of his head,” said Mary. “‘Tis the fever.”

  “God help him,” said Ananias.

  “Did you hear what he said to Captain Stafford?” Robert asked Mary.

  Mary shook her head. “He was already taken with fever when the captain came. He knows not where he is. Has not for days now.” Her eyes filled with tears and she brought a shabby handkerchief up to wipe them.

  Robert caught Ananias’s eye and nodded toward the door. “Thank you, Goodwife Mary,” he said. “We must go now.”

  Mary Bane nodded sadly.

  Robert and Ananias found Captain Stafford inside the storehouse supervising the soldiers as they carried in baskets of corn from the shallop. His foot propped up on an empty cask, Stafford jokingly harangued one man for moving too slowly. The captain turned to Robert. “The grain is almost all put away now, sir,” he said. “We can divide up the turkey birds in the morning.”

  Robert nodded. “That is not what I came to see you about, Captain.”

  “Aye?” said Stafford.

  “This vote to put the gentlemen to work,” said Robert, “perhaps we should take it again.”

  “Why, sir?” said Stafford. “We had a majority.”

  “That may be, man,” said Robert, “but Abraham was feverish. He can not even remember talking to you.”

  Stafford’s tone became soft and confiding. “The soldiers and common men are beginning to complain, sir. We thought it would do them good to see the gentlemen carrying their own weight, yeh know, rather than laying about all the time.”

  “Indeed,” said Robert. “Well, let them complain. I’ve never let the looks or complaints of my staff deter me.”

  “Aye, sir” said Stafford, “well said.” Stafford drew closer to Robert and Ananias. “We did not ask the gentlemen to do any heavy work, sir, but rather to supervise and such …”

  The Captain leaned closer, too close. “Yeh see, gentlemen, ‘tis a unique situation here.” Despite Stafford’s gentle tone, his eyes were hard and threatening. “The men be gettin’ harder and harder to control.”

  Hurried footsteps sounded. One of Stafford’s Lieutenants came in and whispered in his ear. Stafford turned back to Robert and Ananias.

  “Gentlemen. Lieutenant Hawkins informs me that Sir Abraham has just died of his fever. Will ye inform Parson Lambert or should I?”

  Robert turned and started out. “I will tell him.” Ananias caught up to Robert outside.

  “Ananias,” said Robert, “I will inform the parson of Abraham’s passing.”

  “Aye,” said Ananias worriedly.

  Robert and Ananias watched the Lieutenant and a soldier exit the storehouse. When they were out of ear shot Robert said, “The captain is going well beyond his authority. I think we need to begin meeting in secret.”

  Ananias frowned. “Do you think ‘tis time for that? Governor White will soon return, or someone will… surely!”

  Robert looked in the direction of the sea. If White returned, if anyone returned for them, it would more likely be before the midsummer storm season arrived. After that, there would be no ships until the next spring. And that meant they would have to act soon, for they would not last another winter. He turned to Ananias. The younger man’s jaw was quivering from some damaged nerve. Robert pitied the tilemaker-turned-gentleman planter. He, all of them, had gotten so much more than they had bargained for when they had come to this accursed place. “Very well,” he said. “We shall wait a little while longer.

  Chapter 27

  April 21, 1589. England

  As Benjamin Spencer walked down the path in the cool, morning fog, he was pleased to see a th
in plume of smoke issuing from John White’s chimney. He wondered what had happened at the meeting that White had attended two months earlier at Durham House. He, himself, had been over in Ireland, following a thread he’d thought would lead him to the male half of the duo that had killed his brother. But the lead had gone nowhere. Then he’d had to wait weeks for favorable winds before he could sail back to England. While in Ireland, he had heard rumors that the Privy Council was still commissioning the building of ships, and carefully shepherding those they already had for future battles with the Spaniards. Now as he approached White’s door, Spencer thought reassuringly of the latest rumor he’d heard, namely that the great gentleman himself, Sir Walter Raleigh, had been in attendance at White’s meeting at Durham House. If that was true, surely they now had a few ships to send to Virginia. Perhaps they’d soon be on their way.

  Spencer knocked on the heavy oaken door. Nothing happened for a moment.

  “Who is it?” called White.

  “‘Tis Benjamin. I must talk to you.”

  Spencer heard a muffled curse, then much noise as White made ready to receive him. Chairs were dragged noisily across the floor; Spencer thought he heard a curtain drawn, then footsteps went back and forth. Finally the bolt was thrown and the door opened a crack. White peered out. He’d grown a beard. Silvery white like his hair, it clung roundly to his face. He fully opened the door.

  Spencer looked around as he was let in. Half the hall was blocked off by a hanging curtain of sail cloth. White’s hands and smock were spotted with colors and the smell of paint was in the air. Spencer tried not to stare at the blocked-off portion of the hall. He took a hard look at White. Despite the beard, the old man seemed to be his normal self, although he’d obviously been up most of the night. He seemed tired, but agitated, as if in a great hurry. There was talk in the town that he was going out of his head.

  White pulled over a chair and sat on its edge. He indicated a chair and Spencer sat.

  “I heard that Sir Walter himself was at the meeting, sir?” Spencer asked.

  White harrumphed and shook his head. “No. Thomas Smythe of the Customs, Richard Hakluyt, a half-dozen merchants.” White waved his hand dismissively.