Cate of the Lost Colony (13 page)

Chapter 21

I, Manteo, Try to Keep the Peace

I
heard the woman’s voice, faint and far away. I thought of Ahsoo, the maiden who sang so beautifully that the river became alive with leaping fish. They labored so hard to reach the music, even swimming against the stream, that many died on the journey.

I ran toward the sound, leaping like one of those fish. The woman was not singing but screaming. I readied my bow.

An English maiden with dark hair stood in the stream. She held a fish spear like a weapon. Her eyes were wide with terror. When she saw me she lowered the spear, but the fear did not leave her eyes. I recognized her as the maid who had fallen into me on the ship, the one who had served the English weroance. And I saw the dead man in the water.

“Are you hurt?” I asked. She shook her head. Seeing her tremble, I wanted to touch her, to reassure her. But I only said, “You are safe now.”

The soldiers were just behind me. The one named Grem picked up the maiden and carried her until she could walk by herself. They also took the body back to the fort.

The dead man was George-howe, one of John-white’s councilors. His head was beaten in with a club. Sixteen arrows stuck in his chest. I recognized the bone points and feathering on the arrows.

“This is the work of Wingina’s warriors,” I said to John-white.

“A year later, and they seek revenge?”

I nodded. Did he think the Roanoke would forget the killing of their weroance?

I let the English see my anger at George-howe’s killing, so they would know I was blameless. Instead they blamed John-white, because he had told them the native peoples were friendly. They looked at him with one question in their eyes:
Can you keep us safe?

It was my idea to ask Weyawinga what she knew about the fifteen lost men and the killing of George-howe. So I guided John-white and twenty men to Croatoan, a two-day trip by boat. My breast was filled with gladness to be returning home. The English would see how my kin would welcome me. My people would see that John-white and his men respected me.
Look how far they have come to understand our ways and live among us,
I would say. And my people would be proud to be allies with the English and receive their powerful gifts.

But as the shallop came near the shore, war cries rolled toward us on the wind.

“We are betrayed! It is Manteo’s doing,” Bay-lee shouted. The men fired their muskets in alarm, and John-white shouted for them to stop.

I stood in the bow of the shallop and called to my kinsmen, “
It is I, Manteo! We come in peace
.” I leapt into the water, putting myself before the muskets. My grief was great that they distrusted me.

But the English lowered their weapons. Hearing my voice, my kinsmen came out from their hiding places and welcomed me with smiles and embraces. When all the men had come ashore, they led us to the village.

Weyawinga, my mother, greeted me as a fellow weroance, then embraced me as her son. Yet I could see that my English clothes dismayed her, so I removed my shoes and put on a deerskin.

“
We must feed the English with great ceremony, to gain their trust,
” I said to her.

A feast of squashes and nuts and venison was prepared. We smoked uppowoc until the men were content.

I translated between the tongues as John-white asked Weyawinga about the missing soldiers. She said they had been attacked by warriors from Dasemunkepeuc and Secotan.

“Are you certain?” John-white asked. “They are not allies of one another. And the Secotan chief and his wife received us warmly and allowed me to draw them and their village.”

There was no mistake, my mother insisted. “
The peoples who once fought each other conceived a hatred for Ralf-lane and his warriors that has drawn them together for their protection.
” She also said Wanchese now led the Roanoke.

John-white thought for a moment, then said to Weyawinga, “You must take this message to all the peoples of Ossomocomuck: in ten days, we will receive them at Fort Ralegh and assure them of our peaceful intentions. If they accept our friendship, we will forgive the wrongs of the past.”

My mother agreed to this, and I left with the English. John-white was pleased at the success of our visit. But Bay-lee said he did not want all the strange chiefs to come to their island.

The day of the meeting came and passed into night, and none of the weroances of Ossomocomuck came to the fort. Only Weyawinga sent a councilor. It disturbed me that no one else had come. Why did they not show themselves?

“The Indians are not interested in peace,” said Ana-nias the brickmaker. “Indian” was their term for all the native peoples together. “Therefore it is time for war.”

“Let us wait. Our time is not their time,” said John-white.

“While we wait, hoping for peace, they are readying for war,” the brickmaker argued.

Bay-lee said, “Indians cannot be trusted. You heard Weyawinga say they have united against us. We must destroy them.”

I knew the governor did not want a war, but he was not strong enough to prevent one. His councilors wanted to show their strength and repay George-howe’s killing. It was Bay-lee’s plan to attack Dasemunkepeuc, Wingina’s village. He and John-white and I would go with twenty soldiers. So on a moonless night, the silent pinnace crossed the sound. I hoped I could persuade Wanchese to surrender and thus prevent a war. A smoking fire showed us the village. The soldiers attacked just before dawn and the surprised villagers fled into the woods. One warrior turned to fight and Bay-lee shot him. I ran up to him, expecting to see Wanchese.

But the warrior bleeding from his back and gasping for air was not Wanchese. He was one of my kinsmen, a Croatoan.

“Call back your soldiers!” I shouted to John-white.

Then I demanded of the injured warrior, “Have the Croatoan turned against the white men? Are you an ally of Wanchese?”

His eyes rolled up in his head and he was still.

Soon we understood our terrible mistake. Ana-nias captured a warrior named Tameoc, who said that Wanchese and the Roanoke who killed George-howe had left Dasemunkepeuc. Tameoc’s band of Croatoan, fifteen in number, had moved in to gather the corn and pumpkins left in the fields.

“
Why did you not recognize your own people sleeping around the fire?
” said Tameoc, rebuking me angrily.

My heart was cut with an arrow of grief, but I hid the wound. I would not show weakness before Tameoc or the English. But I said to John-white that we must offer hospitality to Tameoc’s kin if we wanted their forgiveness and friendship.

So after the slain warrior was buried, Tameoc’s band came to Roanoke Island. John-white received them in his house. He gave them bright cloth and vessels of iron and copper. His daughter fed the men from her cooking pot and the women and children sat outside and ate. This pleased them because it was also their custom.

The maiden who had discovered George-howe’s body lived at John-white’s house. I heard the governor call her Ladi-cate. Through the open door I watched her serve the women and children. All were silent, having no common language. Ladi-cate sat among them as they ate. Her eyes never strayed from their faces. Her hair, black as a raven’s wing, shone in the sun. I wondered what it would be like to touch it.

During the feast I praised the fallen warrior to Tameoc, saying John-white regretted his death. I reminded Tameoc these were not the same English who killed Wingina, but they still planned to punish Wanchese for killing one of their own. Tameoc agreed not to become Wanchese’s ally. When the Croatoan left, I was satisfied I had brought peace.

John-white was also pleased. He announced I would be made Lord of Roanoke and Dasemunkepeuc, with authority over all the native people. To be a weroance was a gift beyond my deserving. But I accepted it as the hero accepts everything that befalls him on his journey, the good as well as the bad. At first I wondered,
How can I persuade the native peoples to trust the English when they will not trust each other?
But I knew both parties needed me to make themselves understood. No one but I could be the maker of peace.

Before I could become a lord, I had to be baptized. John-white explained this ceremony of water would be a sign of the English religion taking root among us. I agreed, for I had learned about their beliefs from Hare-yet and found many likenesses to my own. They believe in one chief god, who is the creator of the sun, moon, and stars. Like us, they believe that after death a man’s spirit either dwells with their god or in a fiery pit, which they call “hell” and we call “
Popogusso
.” They also petition their god in order to to receive good things.

So I let John-white lead me into the water and call upon the spirit to enter me. Afterward he laid on my shoulders a mantle trimmed in fur and beads and feathers.

I had become a lord. A weroance. I waited for the montoac to fill me.

Chapter 22

A Birth

F
or a long time I was haunted by the sight of George Howe’s body pierced with arrows, his head smashed like a melon. Almost harder to bear, however, was witnessing young Georgie’s grief. When he saw his father’s body, he tried to wake him up. When his father did not stir, Georgie began to howl. It was terrible to hear: the deep voice heaving and sobbing. Joan Mannering, his aunt, tried to soothe the giant boy. But his wordless lamenting went on until his father’s body was buried and Georgie could no longer see him. Then from time to time he would stop people and say, “My papa is in the ground, where the worms are. Do you think it is cold under there? Georgie is not cold.” But he shuddered anyway.

“Your papa was a good man. And you are a good boy,” people would say, then hurry away to keep the innocent boy from seeing their own sadness, their own fear.

George Howe had gone crabbing by himself the day he was killed. Immediately the governor forbade anyone to leave the settlement alone or unarmed, and the guard was doubled at the fort and around the palisade. Everyone said I was lucky to be alive myself. But I wasn’t frightened. I thought because I held no prejudice against the Indians, they would not harm me. Perhaps the shock of finding George Howe had only numbed me to danger and fear. Eleanor was more blunt; she said I was crazy.

The raid on Dasemunkepeuc was carried out to end the threat from those who had killed George Howe. When White and his men returned, they brought several Indians to Fort Ralegh. Thinking they were captives, the soldiers rushed to seize them. All the women retreated into their houses to peer from the windows. I stood outside the governor’s house, too curious to think about hiding. I saw Jane Pierce also watching from her garden.

Georgie followed the Indians, his eyes wide with interest. He did not know who they were, or that they might have killed his father, so he was fearless. His aunt dashed out from her house and pulled him roughly inside.

Governor White gave orders for the soldiers to lay aside their weapons.

One of his assistants, who had stayed at the fort, was unwilling. “You left to seek revenge and return with the enemy in tow?” he asked, his hand resting on the pistol tucked in his belt.

White looked at him sharply. “We erred in our attack,” he said. “These are friends of Manteo. They did not kill George. Leave your pistol and join us.”

The man shoved the weapon into his boot and followed the governor and the Indian men into the house.

Five women, one of them stooped with age, and two children remained outside. The women had markings that encircled their upper arms in a design so intricate it reminded me of Venetian lace. They wore deerskins over their loins like aprons, but above the waist they were naked. They did not scruple to cover their breasts with their hair, as I would have done.

“Shall we give them our shifts?” I said to Eleanor, then wondered if that would offend them.

Eleanor didn’t reply. She was busy stirring the kettle, peering into it as if she had lost a jewel in the soup.

The women’s faces looked fearful. Their eyes darted about though they held their bodies still, like deer sensing danger. A child of about four, completely naked, clung to his mother’s leg. Her hand grasped his dark hair as if she was afraid of losing him. A young woman with smooth skin had light brown eyes that reminded me of Emme’s. I smiled, and so did she.

“Cate,” I said, touching my bosom with both hands.

The young woman giggled.

The mother with the little boy touched herself with her free hand. “Takiwa,” she said.

I was beside myself with delight. I, Catherine Archer, was speaking to the Indian women! What would Sir Walter think? Why, Elizabeth herself would be pleased by my manner of greeting her newest subjects. There were so many things I wanted to say. I made the motions of feeding myself and raised my eyebrows. The women nodded and rubbed their stomachs.

“Eleanor, they are hungry,” I said.

“I can see that,” she said. “Look how thin they are.”

While the women and children ate, I smiled and nodded my encouragement. I saw Jane Pierce approach and motioned for her to join us, but she shook her head, watched for a time, then went back to her garden. Eleanor was finally able to look up from her pot and even gave some glass beads to the old woman, who divided them with the others. Not to be outdone, I took a piece of lace from my sewing basket and tied it around the arm of the young woman, whose name was Mika. She pointed to the other women’s arms and began to talk very fast. I think she was happy with my gift, and I was pleased we could understand each other, even without words.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could speak each other’s language?” I said to Eleanor. “We could learn more about them than any scholar or explorer—being only men—could ever discover. Maybe I will write a treatise, and it will be published in London.”

“Cate—,” Eleanor began. She grimaced. “It’s only the heat, I think.”

But the Indian women knew better. They pointed to Eleanor’s belly and began to speak to each other and nod. The old woman made rocking motions with her hands, and held up her forefinger.

Very soon,
she seemed to say.

In John White’s house, Eleanor and her husband shared the good bedstead and the governor and I slept on small cots, the three beds all separated by curtains. I could not get used to sleeping in a room with men. It seemed improper. Moreover, they snored and passed wind all night, making the air noisome and keeping me from sleep. The arrangement afforded little privacy for dressing or washing myself. I missed the comforts of the queen’s palace, especially the water closet. Here on the island everyone used a common pit with a hut set over it. Emme and Frances would be horrified.

When I could not sleep at night, I would sit on a stool outside and gaze at the multitude of stars, feeling wonder and sadness and longing all at once. I mused about the Indians, or I thought of Emme, or I imagined Sir Walter waiting on the queen and strolling in his garden. I recalled the familar cries of hawkers in the streets, the sound of footsteps on flagstones, the smell of the queen’s favorite sachet. Sometimes I fell asleep there, lulled by the strange buzzing and clicking of a thousand invisible creatures. Then I would wake up and return to my bed feeling calmer and able to sleep despite the discomfort.

One night, shortly after the visit by the Croatoan, I awoke to hear groaning from Eleanor’s bed. I knew what was happening. I pulled back the curtains. Eleanor lay pale and sweating, her nightgown twisted, her belly as large as any of the pumpkins ripening in the fields.

“Help me, Cate,” she pleaded.

Ananias had gone to fetch the midwife, and in the next room John White had built up the fire under a pot of water. All I could do was hold Eleanor’s hand and wait.

Alice Chapman, the midwife, bustled in and waved away the governor and Ananias. She commenced knitting, unmoved by Eleanor’s groans. In the morning as news of Eleanor’s labor spread, the women came by; Jane Pierce brought spare linens, Joan Mannering, a jug of mulled wine, and Betty Vickers, nothing but unhelpful advice.

“The first one always takes a long time,” she said. “I’ll pray for your deliverance.”

My hand was soon bruised from Eleanor’s constant gripping. By late afternoon her face was ashen, her lips raw with biting. She was so tired she could not bear down when Alice told her to.

“I’m going to die, I know it!” she wept.

“You won’t die,” I said, though I was far from certain.

“But if I do, will you take care of my baby?”

“Of course we will. Now push,” said Alice sternly.

“Not Alice;
you,
Cate,” Eleanor insisted, then let out a sharp cry.

I could see Alice was becoming worried. Finally she reached inside Eleanor, who screamed in pain. Moments later she withdrew a pair of feet.

“Cate, press down on her belly,” Alice said, her voice urgent.

Dear God, don’t let me kill her,
I prayed silently, and put my hands on Eleanor’s tight, sweaty belly.

“Push harder!” said Alice.

I did, and something yielded within Eleanor. At last the baby slipped into Alice’s hands, its skin as pale blue as the veins under my skin. Alice bent over it, and moments later the tiny creature let out a high, thin wail. Eleanor began to weep with relief.

John White was the proudest man on Roanoke Island. The first English child born in the New World was his very own granddaughter. Ananias hid his disappointment that it was not a son. But there was such rejoicing for the deliverance of the mother and daughter that it seemed all our hopes would be rewarded, our troubles and fears banished.

At her christening, Eleanor’s baby was named Virginia.

Within a month of our coming to the island, Fort Ralegh was secure and all the houses habitable. Wells had been dug and lined with barrels to catch rainwater. Horses that had run loose on the island since Ralph Lane’s sudden departure were captured and put in new stalls. The chickens were producing eggs. Hundreds of trees had been cut to build the palisade and the sunny clearings turned into fields.

Manteo showed the farmers how to plant the seeds in small hillocks placed a few paces apart, so the beans would grow upright around the stalks of maize. Between the hillocks they planted squash and saltbush for flavoring. But the farmers spent as much time arguing as hoeing, debating whether the sandy soil would yield healthy grain and whether the crops would ripen before the winter, since they had been planted so late.

Meanwhile it rained two or three times, and pale green seedlings appeared.

In John White’s house, I slowly grew used to the different routine. Eleanor recovered her strength quickly, and though she nursed Virginia for hours on end she still managed to do all the cooking. I swept the house clean and beat the dust out of the bedding. Sometimes I held the baby or rocked her cradle and thought about how to invest Sir Walter’s money: either in fragrant cedar for furniture or the uppowoc plant, which could be dried and shipped with less expense. Because the governor would accept no payment for my board, I became the laundress for his household instead. It was a task that would have been too menial for a queen’s maid, but I was no longer placed so high. The one job I refused to do was grubbing in the dirt with a hoe.

I also traded on the only skill that was mine alone. The village women were pleased to have their ruffs bleached and stiffened by the same hands that had fixed the queen’s ruffs. And so I worked on many a ruff in exchange for pies and jellies and small favors. But the garments made our necks perspire in the heat, and as time went on we seldom wore them. I had less neckwear to launder and starch, but the baby made up for it with an abundance of dirty linens.

I did not mind washing them, foul though they were. I was simply glad for little Virginia’s presence. She was the treasure of our entire village. She had struggled into life and was flourishing, despite hardships beyond her infant awareness.