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

by Paul Clayton

  The men stared at him, many of them weaving drunkenly as they contemplated the picture Stafford had just painted for them.

  Stafford pushed Talbot away and stood. “What be the difference between us and the savages?” he asked the men challengingly.

  The men looked at him in puzzlement, no one venturing an answer.

  One of the men said finally, “We are English men.”

  Stafford scowled and ignored him. He pulled his sword and held it aloft. “The difference be steel, fools.” He kicked a breastplate lying on the ground with a clang “Steel!” He swung his sword aggressively, making cutting sounds in the air as he backed the men up. “Steel!”

  “Aye!” shouted a soldier. “Steel!”

  “Steel!” several shouted in unison. The men drew closer to Stafford, their interest and excitement growing.

  Stafford hacked at an imaginary enemy, a fierce gleam in his eyes. “Our powder may be almost gone, but we have our steel!”

  “Aye,” shouted a soldier drunkenly. Others echoed his cry, laughing excitedly.

  Captain Stafford hacked at the air. “Our shot may be gone, but we have our steel!”

  “Aye,” came the chorus. “Steel!”

  Lieutenant Hawkins got to his feet and staggered forward. “And,” he shouted over the voices of the others, “and… there be another difference between the savages and us.” He brought round a gourd full of boose from behind his back. “This!”

  “Aye! Boose!”

  “Aye. ‘Tis boose!”

  “Give me that!” Stafford took the gourd from Hawkins. Throwing his head back, he drained it then smashed it against the big house wall. “Steel!” he shouted, thrusting his sword skyward. “Steel!”

  The others unsheathed their swords, waving them in the sky.

  “Steel,” they shouted in drunken fury.

  “Tonight enjoy yer boose,” Stafford bellowed, “for tomorrow we will make the savages pay for what they have done to Payne and Wapping. Are ye with me?”

  “Aye! Make ‘em pay!” the men shouted drunkenly.

  “I want every one of ye to bring back a head to hang upon our gate. Now get some sleep.”

  The men staggered off toward the big house as Captain Stafford sat back down against the building. “Talbot,” he called. “Come and finish yer tattoos.”

  Chapter 37

  March 10, 1590. England

  John White stood on the quay and watched the John Evangelist sail slowly down the mist-covered Thames. Not far away sailors rushed about as they made ready the other two ships in the little fleet. White again thought of John Simon, the cunning man’s prediction about seeing three ships. Here they were and he was finally on his way. He and Spencer and the colonists were soon to sail on the Hopewell and the smallest ship, the Little John, and catch up to the Evangelist. But the belongings of the colonists still remained on the quay in half a dozen large piles as they huddled in an unhappy group.

  White looked at the figures on the deck of the Hopewell, hoping for a glimpse of Captain Cocke. Last minute delays and problems associated with the weather were always a part of traveling by sea, but this latest turn, Cocke’s supposed decision to not take them, could not be. They had an agreement, letters from the Holding Company, even one from Raleigh himself. But there were colonists who said that they had overheard the captain in the alehouse the night before when he was in his cups, swearing that he would take no colonists aboard his ships. And now his ship’s officer refused to let anyone board the ship, claiming that it would be unsafe until all their gear and provisions had been stored.

  White pulled his cape about him and turned to look at the colonists he had brought here from the West Country. The men were farmers and tradesmen, not given to vocal outbursts of pique, but White knew they were angry. They regarded him quietly with somber faces. Their women did not hide their agitation as they talked among themselves in hushed tones. The children were miniatures of their parents, except for the very smallest, who ran and played between the towering stacks of barrels, boxes and animal pens piled around them.

  The cooper left the group and came over to White. He brought his liver-colored face inches from White’s. “I’ve sold my house and my land to be a part of this planting. My wife is carrying our child. We have no place to go back to!”

  White’s face was pinched. “You shall not go back. Now go over with the others. I will talk with the captain as soon as he shows himself.”

  The cooper walked back, casting an angry look over his shoulder. White heard a shout and turned. A gang of sailors wielded a timber to push the Little John off from the quay. Others began raising sail. Slowly the little ship moved out into the middle of the channel and started down the Thames. Its departure started another round of worried speculation among the colonists’ wives. White picked up his bag and walked over to the gangway leading onto the Hopewell. The ship’s officer came to the foot of the gangway, ready to turn him away.

  White saw Spencer hurrying up to him, carrying their chests. He put them down and looked back at the colonists. “Why have they not boarded? What has happened?”

  “Captain Cocke is refusing to allow us to board.”

  “What?” Spencer’s brow bulged visibly. “Raleigh and Watts gave him permission to sail solely on the stipulation that he take us with them!”

  “I know,” said White quietly, not wanting the colonists to overhear their discussion. He leaned closer to Spencer. “We could travel by coach to Plymouth and speak to Richard Grenville before Captain Cocke arrives.”

  Spencer was silent as he considered White’s suggestion. The Hopewell and her two escorts were supposed to rendezvous with William Sanderson’s ship, Moonlight, at Plymouth. Supposed to, Spencer mused. But had anything in this horrid business ever gone as it was supposed to?

  Captain Cocke came up onto the deck. White picked up his own chest and walked up onto the gangway. Spencer followed and the colonists started talking excitedly, edging forward as a group.

  The ship’s officer blocked White’s path.

  “Let them aboard,” said Cocke.

  White and Spencer crossed the gangway and the ship’s officer again blocked entry to the ship. White set down his chest and walked over to Captain Cocke. He pointed back at the colonists.

  “Sir Walter Raleigh himself has authorized this venture. I have it all in a letter from William Sanderson.”

  Captain Cocke would not look at the paper White attempted to hand him. “I care not what you have. I was told that they would go on the Moonlight. I’ve no room for them and their things.”

  “Nay, sir,” said White in exasperation, “that is not so. They are to travel on the Hopewell. It has all been arranged…” Again White tried to hand the papers to Cocke.

  “Not with me, it hasn’t,” said Cocke, brushing the papers aside. “No one told me there would be twenty country bumpkins and their butter churns and sheep to get underfoot.”

  White looked at Spencer, then over at the colonists. The cooper and another man were arguing with the ship’s officer at the foot of the gangway.

  “I’ll take the two of you and that’s it,” said Cocke. “We’re ready to hoist sail now, so make up your minds.”

  White and Spencer went over to the rail as Cocke stopped one of the sailors running by and spoke in his ear. White looked over at the colonists who were anxiously talking among themselves as they watched the goings-on. A little girl of two or three held her doll up for White to see. She smiled and White tried, unsuccessfully, to return her smile. Her mother scowled at White and swooped the girl up into her arms. White turned away.

  “Perhaps we could take the others and get to Plymouth in time,” Spencer said to White. “Grenville will take Captain Cocke off this ship and flay him alive when he makes his rendezvous.”

  “If,” said White, shaking his head, “if he makes his rendezvous. Why do you expect him to honor his agreements?”

  Spencer looked at the colonists. “If they are aband
oned here it will be the ruin of them.”

  “Perhaps,” said White, “but they will have the good offices of the local parish to help them. But the ones we go to save in Roanoke have no parish charity board to minister to them.”

  “Aye,” said Spencer. “This whole business is a disgrace.”

  At a shouted order, several men began hauling at a rope; the mainsail went up in little jerks.

  “This is our only chance,” said White. “If we get off this ship we will never get to Virginia.”

  Spencer nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis.”

  Captain Cocke came over to them. “Well, are you staying or going ashore?”

  White stared at the captain wordlessly. Captain Cocke scowled and went away. Four burly men tugged at the gangway, sliding it onto the ship. The Hopewell began moving back from the quay, inches at a time, as a gentle wind filled the sail. In their anger, the colonists shouted and cried out to White as the ship slowly moved away. White turned away from them, gazing instead down river toward the sea.

  Roanoke

  In the evening, after supper, Maggie stirred the fire, adding a few thick sticks. Eleanor and Virginia slept in the loft, too weak to do much of anything else. Ananias was meeting with the parson, Sir Robert and the others in the Harvey cottage. Maggie put the last of the dried meat Manteo had given them into the corn soup she was boiling in the hearth. A soft knock came at the door. For a moment, fear seized her as she recalled the drunken soldier pounding on the door of the Harvey cottage. She looked upstairs; Eleanor had not stirred. She went to the door and opened it. Manteo entered wordlessly and closed the door behind him.

  She moved close to him, drawn irresistibly. “I was afraid for you,” she whispered, marveling at the words coming from her lips. “I was afraid I would never see you again.”

  He reached for her and she pulled away.

  He frowned. “Maggie, you not love me?”

  “I love thee,” she said.

  He took her in his arms and she cried softly, “I love thee, Manteo, I love thee. Take me with thee now.”

  “No, not now. In the forest, in the time of two days, at noon. Slip away there and I find thee.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  The planks at the top of the stairs creaked. Maggie turned. Eleanor looked down upon them. Manteo released her and was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

  Eleanor came slowly down the stairs, shaking her head worriedly. “He does not know what trouble this would cause you, Maggie. I will have Ananias and Parson Lambert talk to him.”

  Maggie shook her head slowly. “Nay, mistress. I will go to him at the appointed hour.”

  Eleanor’s face twisted in shock. “Maggie! You cannot. This is not right. He is not an Englishman, nor Irish, for that matter.”

  “He is a savage,” said Maggie. “Aye, ‘tis true. And I care not.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “Maggie. Do not go to him. I forbid it.”

  Maggie turned away to the hearth. “I will go to him, mistress. I will.”

  “Maggie…”

  Maggie said nothing further. Eleanor quietly went back up the stairs and got back into bed.

  Maggie thought about what she had just committed herself to. She imagined Master Dare’s and Parson Lambert’s faces when they found out. She imagined their consternation, their angry words. But they would not dissuade her. It was all very daunting and strange, but calming and wonderful at the same time.

  Hurried footsteps sounded outside and the door burst open. Ananias’s worried face peered in. “Fire arrows! Maggie, get Eleanor and Virginia out here.”

  Maggie rushed upstairs and lifted the child from her bed. Eleanor seemed in shock as she followed Maggie down the stairs. Virginia cried as the two women hurried her out into the night. They knelt in the garden, up against the massive bulk of the palisade wall. Maggie had heard Ananias say the other night that these attacks were the work of a small band of savages and that they could not penetrate the fort’s defenses. But that did not alleviate her fear. Eleanor began shaking and Maggie tried to comfort both her and Virginia. Out in the common, men bearing torches ran about shouting angrily. In the confusion, Maggie recognized Ananias’s voice. She looked up into the sky at the mass of stars and wondered where Manteo was. A bright pinpoint of light appeared, arcing downward, closer and closer. Maggie watched its progress, entranced by its beauty.

  Eleanor cried out. “‘Tis coming straight at us!”

  Maggie realized she was right as the light grew in its intensity. She leaned over Virginia and closed her eyes. A thud sounded nearby as the arrow landed in the dirt ten feet away. It burned ominously as a musket belched thunderous fire on the ramparts overhead. Maggie wished Manteo were here with her. She knew now how much she cared for him and cursed herself for not admitting it before. The others would never approve but it no longer mattered what they thought. Everything was different now. They were different now, no longer recognizable as civilized people. They were alone here and they would probably die here. She prayed to God to let her see two more sunrises so she could go to Manteo.

  Someone dropped down from one of the palisade catwalks with a thud. Then another. Eleanor’s fingers gripped Maggie’s shoulder painfully as footsteps sounded in the darkness. Two shapes approached the light of the burning arrow. Eleanor whispered in Maggie’s ear.

  “Savages!”

  Maggie cringed as the two figures moved nearer the wriggling pool of light cast by the fire arrow. They were almost naked, wearing only skin kirtles, and their bodies were painted with black tattoos. One carried a crossbow looped over his shoulder and Maggie realized with a shock that they were soldiers and not savages. Laughing excitedly, one of the soldiers plucked the burning arrow from the ground. He put it in his crossbow and shot it up and over the palisade wall. Up on the ramparts a musket fired, spewing fire and smoke.

  “You cauterized one of the scabbed dogs I put a ball into,” a soldier shouted.

  “Aye,” cried another.

  The two nearby soldiers laughed and ran off.

  Once again Maggie, Eleanor and Virginia were alone in the darkness. They remained huddled against the wall as the disembodied voices of soldiers laughed and called out to each other. They enjoyed this, Maggie realized. Despite the terror it caused the children and others, they reveled in it! Eleanor began shaking uncontrollably.

  A strange-sounding voice floated over the palisade, “English people…”

  The soldiers quieted.

  “English people,” the strange voice continued, “listen to me. You will all die slowly, begging for mercy.”

  Maggie realized with a shudder that the voice must belong to the one called Wanchese, the bad Roanoke savage.

  “Just as the last two soldiers died,” Wanchese continued in a braying voice, “crying like children for their mothers, so shall you all die.”

  “A pox upon yeh!” someone shouted at him. A musket thundered. The savages beyond the walls shrieked in fury. “Devil take ye!” another soldier shouted. The taunts and angry shrieks punctuated the blackness.

  With their arms wrapped around one another, Maggie and Eleanor crouched unmoving for a long time. Virginia fell asleep in Maggie’s arms. Later, when the first tentative chirping of the birds began, Ananias came for them and they went back to the cottage and slept.

  ***

  Robert Harvey knocked at the Dare cottage as the sun climbed into the eastern sky, warming the air. Ananias exited and they walked silently to Parson Lambert’s cottage. The parson was waiting at his gate. The three men walked in the direction of the storehouse where they were to meet Stafford and his men for the day’s work assignment.

  “Was anyone killed last night?” Ananias asked Parson Lambert.

  “No, thank God. They say that Wanchese has only seven or eight braves with him and that there is no danger of a large scale attack.”

  “That may be the case now,” said Robert, “but who can say what will happen later.”

&nbs
p; Neither Lambert nor Ananias said anything for a few moments. Then Parson Lambert said, almost to himself, “My wife and son have not slept in a fortnight.”

  “Aye,” said Ananias, “neither has Eleanor and Virginia.”

  “Nor any of the other women or children,” added Robert. “We must take the shallop and get help,” he said. “‘Tis our only chance.”

  Lambert and Ananias fell silent as they contemplated the dangers of Robert’s suggestion.

  They turned the corner and saw Stafford talking with Lieutenant Hawkins. Both men wore only kirtles made from skins taken from their raids on savage villages. Lieutenant Hawkins was tattooed in the style of the Indians. Captain Stafford was tattooed ornately in the style of the wild Pict in Governor White’s sketch, with symmetrical black bands encircling his arms and legs, and lions and dragons upon his chest, belly and knees. He had the Governor’s pistol stuck under his belt. Mortimer Reed squatted five feet away from him, looking morose. He got to his feet when he saw Robert and the others.

  Disdain colored Stafford’s features. “Gentlemen. There be a dead savage waiting for you outside the walls. Lieutenant Hawkins will show you where. Bury him near the tree line so he dasn’t stink up my fort. Priest, if you wish you may say some prayers over him.”

  Chapter 38

  Maggie left the cottage to fetch water. The day had warmed considerably and there was evidence of spring in the air. She walked quickly and managed to avoid any soldiers. She filled her pots from the rain bucket outside the big house and started back. The beauty of the day heartened her and she slowed her pace. Her mind was consumed with her upcoming meeting with Manteo. In her dreams she walked with him or held him in her arms. As she turned the corner at the supply house, she came upon Captain Stafford and a crowd of soldiers getting ready to leave the fort. Thomas was among them. They saw her and she tried to hurry past.

  “Ah, Red Hair,” Stafford called, “yeh have finally come to talk to me, eh?”