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

by Paul Clayton

  “What in the blazes?” he said, preparing to toss them aside.

  Robert could not stop himself from calling out, “Leave them be! They represent years of Governor White’s work.”

  Hawkins struggled drunkenly to his feet and pulled his sword with his free hand. He stuck the cold point of it against Robert’s belly. Robert backed up, waiting for the death thrust.

  “Belay that,” said Stafford, coming up behind him. He took the stack of drawings from Hawkins. “These be pictures of the wild English of old. Picts, they called them. I want these.” Stafford called out to the soldiers who were scrounging through the debris scattered upon the ground. “Leave that and go on back to the storehouse.”

  Stafford turned to Robert and the other gentlemen. “Go now! But remember. Yeh must report at the storehouse after breakfast or I will send my men to drag ye out of yer houses. Now get!”

  As he waited in the dark of the Dares’ garden, Lionel knew something had gone wrong. For a long time he had heard the shouts and curses of the soldiers, sounds that indicated that some poor soul was in trouble. And several people had stopped by the cottage to say that just after sundown the soldiers had brought back a number of heads from their raids on the savages.

  With his own wife, Peenay, safe with Slade and his wife, Lionel considered going to the storehouse to check on the gentlemen. But that would have left the gentlemen’s wives unattended. The gentlemen must have had their vote by now, Lionel thought. And they had a majority. Master Robert had said as much. So why had they not returned?

  As Lionel scanned the dark expanse of the common he thought of their plan to sail off in the shallop and bring back help. It was their only chance now.

  Lionel heard footsteps. Master Robert, Ananias Dare, and Mortimer Reed approached. They were grim-faced and said nothing as they came in the gate. In the distance soldiers could be heard singing drunkenly.

  “Thank God you are all unharmed,” Lionel said. “What has happened?”

  “Much, I’m afraid,” said Master Robert. “Lionel, come inside and we will tell you about it.”

  ***

  In the torch-lit cottage, Maggie poured sassafras tea from a pitcher into a pewter cup for Mortimer Reed. The shaken-looking gentleman sat silently at the Dare table alongside Sir Robert and Lionel Fisher. Earlier, when the men had entered, Maggie had been stricken by the grave looks on their faces. They would not speak of what had happened but Maggie could see by their boots and breeches that they had been in the mud and dirt.

  Ananias and Eleanor were up in the loft. Little Virginia was crying. “For God’s sake, Eleanor,” Ananias said in a hushed, but angry tone, “take it. I can not protect thee night and day.” Ananias handed a small black dagger to Eleanor. Eleanor took it, holding it at arm’s length as if it were vermin. “Mother!” Virginia called, before bursting into tears again. Ananias turned away and came down the stairs, his face dark with fear and worry.

  A soft knock came at the door. The men looked at one another. Ananias opened the door and Parson Lambert entered, followed by Manteo. Maggie curtsied slightly, stealing a look into Manteo’s warm brown eyes. She thought of her first look at him through the lattice of the ship’s hatch so long ago, and then the sight of him standing proud at the prow of the shallop as they ran the surf, and she realized how all along his presence among them had made her feel more safe. He could have left them at any time to live in his own village where all had enough to eat and where he would not be looked down upon. But instead he had thrown in his lot with them. Now, like all of them, he was much thinner and sickly looking and she felt badly for him. Her cheeks reddened as she realized she was staring at him and she looked away.

  Ananias and the two men sat at the table. Ananias packed his pipe and lit it. The other men also began smoking and soon a blue pall hung in the cottage.

  Eleanor came slowly down the stairs.

  “What has happened, Master Lambert?” she said worriedly.

  Parson Lambert’s boyish brow creased with frown lines. “Captain Stafford has appointed himself Governor.”

  “God a mercy,” said Eleanor, “can he do that?”

  “If all the soldiers stand with him, he can,” said Ananias, “and they do.”

  Eleanor sat heavily. Maggie went to get herself some tea. She noted that the color seemed to have gone out of the eyes of Robert, Ananias, and Mortimer, as if the smoke had entered their eyeballs, clouding them.

  “Where is Phillip?” said Eleanor Dare.

  The men remained silent. Finally Robert said, “Captain Stafford gave him a whipping. Paulina tended to his back and he sleeps now. She will stay the night in his cottage to watch him.”

  Eleanor looked at her husband. “Ananias, where were all of you all this time?”

  Ananias tapped his pipe stem against his teeth. “Captain Stafford made us to dig up your father’s chests.”

  “Did he take my father’s things?”

  “Aye. His pistol, his clothes, his charts, even his paintings.”

  Robert said softly, “Goodwife Dare, you may see some of the soldiers walking about with your father’s things. Please say nothing to them, for ‘tis too dangerous now.”

  “Gentlemen,” said Parson Lambert, “the hour is late and we must be getting back to our families. I wanted to tell you all that Manteo will be going to his people to ask them if they will help us. He leaves tonight.”

  The men nodded.

  Parson Lambert stood. “This abomination shall not stand,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion.

  Maggie detected a difference in the parson, the spark of something that had not been there before.

  Parson Lambert went on, “Remember all of you, the sinful city of Zion?”

  “Aye.” Maggie noted that all the men and women except Sir Robert had bowed their heads. Robert’s eyes seemed to burn like coals as he stared into the smoke.

  Lambert took up his bible and read, “Therefore saith the Lord, the Lord of hosts, the mighty One of Israel, I will ease me of mine adversaries, and avenge me of mine enemies… Zion shall be redeemed with judgment, and her converts with righteousness. And the destruction of the transgressors and of the sinners shall be together, and they that forsake the Lord shall be consumed.

  “Our Father, who art in Heaven…” Lambert intoned.

  “Amen,” they said softly at the conclusion of the prayer.

  Parson Lambert put his hand on Manteo’s shoulder. “God speed, Manteo.”

  “God speed,” the others called out.

  Manteo headed for the door. Maggie had to resist an impulse to call out to him as she realized that she might not ever see him again.

  Chapter 36

  February 8, 1590

  Manteo walked slowly along the beach toward his village. A cold wind came off the sound, buffeting him, but it was his worries about the English families that chilled him. For almost a fortnight he had been here, beseeching the Council for a hearing. He must get them to take his English people in or they would die at Roanoke. Of that he was certain. If the soldiers didn’t kill them, then Wanchese and Powhatan’s men surely would. Today his mother would personally take his plea to the Council. Would they listen to her?

  At the edge of the village a black dog ran up to him, barking excitedly. Three boys ran out of the gates and came up to him.

  The oldest of them, a lad of fifteen or sixteen named Fire Boy, addressed him. “Manteo, where is your thunderstick?”

  “It has died and I have buried it.”

  Fire Boy tugged at Manteo’s bow. “Let me see if you still know how to fashion a bow.”

  Manteo smiled at the boy’s bravado and playfully threw him down on the sand. The others laughed as Manteo ran swiftly away in the direction of the Council House. The boys ran after him, but seeing where he was going, they gave up the chase.

  Manteo entered the dark interior of the Council House. At the other end, his mother knelt with her back to him as she tended to the fire. He went
over to her.

  Tookemay looked up. “Ah, it is you. I have good news for you.”

  Manteo’s face was grave. “They will hear me?”

  She smiled. “Yes.” Tookemay waved over a young woman attendant. “Find War Hunter, Corn Planter and Black Hawk and bring them here.”

  After the woman hurried off, Manteo sat before the fire. His mother sat opposite him and he looked at her sadly. “The soldiers have become so undisciplined and independent that they are now little better than wild beasts.”

  She nodded. “What about their Council? Can they restore order?”

  Manteo shook his head. “No more. There is no Council. Captain Stafford has disbanded it and seized power.”

  Tookemay’s normally serene face showed her astonishment.

  The daylight pouring through the entryway blinked momentarily as someone entered. Silent and powerful, Bear Killer approached and sat.

  Tookemay smiled. “It is good to see you two together again. I remember watching you race each other as boys. I remember you wrestling, and each of you trying to shoot his arrows further than the other.”

  Both men smiled at the memories.

  “Now that Manteo again carries a bow we will have another contest,” said Bear Killer.

  War Hunter and Black Hawk entered the Council House and approached. Corn Planter entered next, supported on the arm of the young woman who had been sent to fetch them. The Old Men took their seats and Tookemay, Manteo, and Bear Killer turned to face them.

  Manteo lost no time. Immediately he addressed them. “Honorable men, I come to you, a son of this village. The people I live with now, the English people, are in a bad way. As you know, the floating houses that brought us here have never returned and we have been abandoned. In the fort at Roanoke, hunger is ever present and, I fear, the soldiers have gone crazy. They terrorize the very people they are sworn to protect. And then there is Powhatan and his warriors. They harass us night and day. I ask for your help.”

  War Hunter was the first to speak. “What would you have us do?”

  “I want to bring the English here,” said Manteo. He saw the surprised looks on their faces and quickly added, “Not all of them. Not the soldiers, just the families. They would be no danger to you.”

  “What do we get out of this,” said War Hunter, “other than the work of feeding them?”

  “The English have much experience and skill in working metals such as copper. And they have more pretty things they could trade.”

  “But might not their soldiers come after them?” said Black Hawk.

  “Not if their boat was stolen or destroyed,” said Manteo. “Then they are confined to their island until they can build another.”

  War Hunter looked at Bear Killer. “Could you do this?”

  Bear Killer nodded. “I have been on the island many times. I could do it.”

  “I say to bring them,” said Tookemay. “Their women and children have done nothing to deserve a life of slavery under Powhatan.”

  War Hunter blinked thoughtfully. “I suppose we could let them stay if they paid us.”

  Black Hawk shook his head. “I do not think it is a good idea.”

  “Nonsense,” said Corn Planter. “What do we have to fear from women and children?”

  Black Hawk shook his head. “Not from women and children.” He gestured in the direction of the entryway behind them. “From them!”

  Five men had entered. They approached halfway, then paused. Their leader, a tall warrior with a hard face and a chest full of copper beads watched the Council, while four powerful young braves stood arrayed behind him.

  “Who is that?” said Manteo.

  “Grangemeo,” said Tookemay, “Powhatan’s emissary.”

  Black Hawk spoke. “Bear Killer, escort them over.”

  As Bear Killer walked off, old Black Hawk shook his head and looked at Manteo. “You cannot ask us to risk our people for the sake of these English. It does not matter if you are Tookemay’s son.”

  War Hunter nodded in agreement. “We cannot bring them here if it means endangering our own.”

  Tookemay gave Manteo a look, signaling that the discussion was over for now and that he should go. Manteo got to his feet and headed for the entryway. As he passed Grangemeo and the Powhatan braves, they took silent measure of each other, knowing that someday they would meet in battle.

  Outside, Manteo waited for Bear Killer to exit the Council House. When he did, they crouched down to talk.

  “Do you wish to join us on our hunt,” said Bear Killer, “since we are not required by the Council?”

  Manteo looked up at an army of little clouds swiftly sailing away to the southwest. “No, Cousin. Things are moving too fast now. I must get back.”

  Later, Manteo sat alone in the prow of the canoe as Bear Killer’s men paddled powerfully, driving it across the sound. The wind was in their faces, slowing them, and throwing up choppy waves and spume. Manteo’s mind was as agitated as the waters of the sound. What was he to do? The cold made him think of happier, warmer times. Again his thoughts went back to fishing at the falls with his father. He remembered standing in the canoe, the thunder of the waterfall spirit filling his ears, the cool mist dampening his face and hair. A silver fish flashed sunlight and thumped on the bottom of the canoe as the smell of its blood filled Manteo’s nostrils. He saw houses among the trees along the shore, but they were not as he remembered them. These were English houses with walls of white plaster, crisscrossed with pitch-blackened timbers -- wattle and daub, and roofs of thatch. Aieyee. This was the answer to his prayer to Jesus. He must take the English there. It was far enough away from Powhatan and those under his thumb that they would be safe. And the nearest people, the Hatteras, were peaceful, more intent upon their trading, fishing, and cornfields, than waging war on their neighbors. Yes, they would all be safe there.

  ***

  Behind the east wall of the big house, the light from a large fire and several torches planted in the dirt illuminated the soldiers who stood and sat in a loose circle, passing around several gourds of boose. A pale, silvery half disk of moon shone down. The spirits insulated the men from the damp cold and took away their hunger as they talked and laughed. Lieutenant Hawkins and Thomas Shande stared into the fire. Next to them, Captain Stafford knelt before one of Governor White’s chests. Cursing, he rummaged through it, tossing several books into the fire. He dug down deeper. “Ah, here ‘tis.” He removed a vellum sketch and stood.

  “Thomas. Get me hammer and nail.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Thomas disappeared inside the big house as Captain Stafford studied the sketch.

  Goliath lumbered over drunkenly, a gourd of boose clutched in his big hand. “Ah,” he said, “the Picts of old.”

  “Aye,” said Stafford. “Yeh heard tell of ‘em?”

  “I heard tell they were a terror.”

  “How do yeh know?” said Stafford.

  “My last commander was a book-learned man. We were posted near a Roman wall for a time and he told me how when the Romans ruled there they were more afeard of the Picts than they was of the bloody Scots. Fearless wild men, they were.”

  Thomas exited the big house with a hammer. Stafford held the sketch up against the wall of the big house.

  “Nail it up here.”

  “Aye.” As Thomas pounded the nails through the vellum and into the timbers of the wall, several soldiers wandered over to look.

  “Look at this beggar!” Stafford said, indicating the sketch.

  “Aye,” said Thomas as he hammered.

  “Naked as the day he was born,” said Stafford.

  A soldier slapped the rags his breeches had become. “Won’t be long till we all look like that too, eh?”

  “May be,” said another. “Look at the tattoos on ‘im. Lion faces on his knees, and that devil on his belly!”

  Captain Stafford took the gourd from Goliath and took a long swallow. “Be there any among ye who can tattoo me like that?�
�

  “Talbot can,” said Goliath.

  “Aye,” said Thomas as he stepped away from the vellum sketch. “He used to paint scenes.”

  The soldier named Talbot was pushed forward.

  Captain Stafford stared hard into Talbot’s eyes. “Can yeh tattoo me like this fellow?”

  “Aye, Captain. Later I’ll make a proper dye, maybe some color, but for now I’ll have to use charcoal from the fire.”

  “Get started then,” said Stafford as he removed his leather doublet. “Gather round, ye knaves.”

  Captain Stafford sat, resting his back against the building.

  Talbot took a torch from the ground and brought it close to the Pict sketch to inspect it. He turned to Thomas. “Get me a piece of charcoal.” Thomas handed Talbot a shard of charcoal and he knelt before Stafford.

  Stafford spoke to the men as Talbot went to work on his chest and arms. “Raleigh and his cursed gentlemen have abandoned us here. Ye know that, lads. They will not be coming back.”

  “Nay,” said a soldier, “they would not do that. Something has happened.”

  “Nay, fool!” said Stafford. “They have abandoned us! Do ye understand? We are on our own.”

  “A pox on ‘em!” shouted Thomas.

  “Aye,” said another, “that be why they never came back. A pox be upon ‘em.”

  “Aye,” said several soldiers laughingly.

  “Shut up!” Stafford held up his hand. “We’ve hardly any powder or shot left, men. And we must steal what little corn we eat. We have no meat and we be getting sick and weak.” He turned round to look at the sketch. “I have been doing much thinking about our predicament. Unless we become like these fellows, these Picts… primitive and fierce… we will die here. Do ye understand, men? Do ye?”

  “Aye,” said several soldiers solemnly, as if realizing their plight for the first time.

  “Do ye understand,” Captain Stafford shouted at the rest of them, “all of ye?”

  “Aye,” came a chorus of soldiers.

  “I hope so,” said Stafford. He pointed a finger at the darkness outside the palisade walls, “because, unless we become like the Pict, the bloody savages out there will nail our hides to their heathen mantles.”