Cate of the Lost Colony (23 page)

Ambrose gasped as his wife stepped to my side and held on to my arm for dear life.

“Look at those shrews,” came a man’s scornful voice. “What’s wrong with you men, letting your wives rule you?”

“The women are right and you know it,” said Graham. “Face the truth. There is no relief on the way. We are too few to defend ourselves. I’m for casting our lot with Manteo. Let’s take what we need and leave here.”

Then Jones, the farmer, expressed his own doubts. “We can’t remake this island in the image of England. The soil is nothing but sand. I consent to leave also.”

In the end even Ambrose Vickers relented, for he had lost his wife once and could not bear to lose her again.

In the month between our decision and our departure, I had occasion to reflect on Manteo’s offer and to wonder about the wisdom of it. How could he be sure his people would welcome us? Would we not strain their own scarce resources? And could our planters expect any better success with the soil on Croatoan, an island similar to Roanoke, though larger? Was Manteo not concerned that our enemies might choose to attack us at Croatoan, thus endangering his people? Finally, I wondered if it was wise for us to abandon the fort. Though it had always struck me as insubstantial, it was better than nothing at all.

To prepare for our departure, I packed the contents of John White’s household in two trunks, choosing only the most useful and valuable items. I buried White’s papers in a locked trunk because I knew how much he valued them, but I put aside Harriot’s book of Algonkian and my own papers. Meanwhile the men pulled down several of the houses and stacked up the planks and hardware to take to Croatoan along with their tools. They gathered all the remaining weapons and armor and dismantled two guns from the fort. Ambrose finished building a shallop. As soon as the snow melted Manteo sent three twenty-foot canoes, and we filled these and the shallop with all our useful goods. On the second of March, in the year of our Lord 1589, we trod for the last time the path leading from the fort to the sandy shore with the solemnity of a congregation leaving a church after a funeral.

The canoes were poised for departure when I remembered another promise made before John White left us. He had said to Ananias:
If you should leave this island, carve on a tree or doorpost the name of your destination.
I jumped from the shallop, getting wet all the way to my waist, and called to Ambrose to bring one of his carving tools. I found a tree near the shore that would be visible to anyone landing and explained why he must carve “Croatoan” into the trunk.

“But John White is not returning,” he said, frowning.

“Please, just do it. I’m fulfilling a promise.”

Ambrose had finished the
C
, and beneath it an
R
, and then an
O
when Graham came down the path from the fort.

“What are you doing, man?” he asked Ambrose. “Look, the canoes are pulling away. Come, Cate.”

“But John White wanted us to leave a message,” I protested. “If we don’t, how will anyone know—”

“Three letters are enough,” said Ambrose abruptly, wiping off his tool. I watched him board the shallop and thought with dismay that nothing John White wanted had come to pass.

Graham took my chin and gently turned my face to his.

“It’s no use, Cate,” he said. His eyes were soft with pity. “He is never coming. You must forget Ralegh, and I, Anne.”

Chapter 38

I, Manteo, Dance with the
Moon Maiden

A
nd so, to fulfill Ahone’s will, I brought the twelve men, seven women, and six children to dwell on Croatoan. My mother welcomed them with due ceremony. Most of my people had never seen a person without black hair and tawny skin. I had to explain the strangers’ appearance and their way of dressing.

“
They are from a land beyond where the sun rises
,” I said, pointing toward the sea once, twice, and a third time to indicate a great distance. “
Therefore their skin and eyes are pale, and they must cover themselves so the sun will not harm them.
”

That summer the Englishmen’s bodies grew brown from the sun when their shirts turned to rags and fell from their backs. The women began to wear soft hides, and their arms and legs also darkened.

“
They are of our land now, and hence their skin becomes more like ours
,” I said to explain the change.

“
But their hair does not darken, nor their eyes
,” objected the suspicious ones.

I related the dream I had received from Ahone. “
As the black bear gave refuge to the hare, the strong must aid the weak.
” If we fulfilled this duty, I said, Ahone would make our offspring great heroes. Because I was the son of Weyawinga, they believed I spoke truth. Thus their suspicion gave way to trust, and I began to hope when the English returned, as they must one day, they would know the goodwill of the Croatoan.

The English, too, were suspicious when they first arrived in my village. They would not yield their armaments until we agreed two of their number and two of ours would guard them. They built four small houses from timber and dwelt six to a house. In that first planting season they worked their own fields. Then Ladi-cate and the medicine woman moved into one of our unused houses. They declared it warm and comfortable. With the two children they went about the village in a friendly manner. I was proud to see Ladi-cate speaking with my kin and showing them respect. The English and Croatoan children played together without regard for their differences. Over time they led their elders to trust one another, as a clever weroance brings about an alliance between unlike peoples.

Grem was the first to take a Croatoan wife. When Tameoc visited with Jane-peers and his kinswomen, Mika and the soldier were full of joy to see each other. The joining ceremony took place during the season of ripening. Grem wore trousers, a jerkin made from hides, and feathers in his hair.

I was glad of the marriage, for it would make the English and the Croatoan closer allies. Tameoc called Grem his brother. Our priests chanted their prayers and Ambrose-vickers read from his Bible. There were squash and wild turkeys roasted over the fires. Pies such as I had tasted in London. One of the soldiers played a tune on a pipe and Mika and Grem danced. Then all the English men and women. The steps were simple, with no leaping and crying out as is our custom.

I watched Ladi-cate. Her hands touching as she smiled at Mika and Grem. Her skin, her eyes, and even her teeth shining as if the moon glowed within her. More than anything in the world, I desired to hold her hands and touch her lips. To dance with her as Grem danced with Mika. But how did one begin this English custom? I stood by gazing at her helplessly.

Then Ladi-cate’s eyes met mine. She understood what I wanted. She came up to me and reached for my hand. Drew me toward the other dancers. Stepped and skipped and clapped her hands. I did the same. She put one of my hands on her waist and held the other, teaching me how to move with her. She released my hands, retreated, and bowed. Then returned to me. Laughed, a sound like the song of a thrush. We said not a word to each other. There was no need. A shiver passed through me whenever I touched her. Like the shock of plunging into a river on a hot day, only a thousand times more pleasurable. When the dance was over I dared to touch the back of her head, wanting only to keep her near. Would she draw back? She remained as still as a bird in my hand. Her long hair brushed my forearm. The gods made me bold. I put my free hand to my lips, then reached out and touched her lips. She pressed them against my fingers. Her gray eyes did not leave my face.

Algon never had such joy with his Moon Maiden as I did with my Ladi-cate that night. Then I released her, for I knew in my heart she would not run, but stay near me.

Chapter 39

From the Papers of Sir Walter Ralegh

25 January 1590

My dear brother Carew,

Her Majesty has at last granted my wish and I am to sail for Virginia! But here is the irony of my good fortune: I must pretend misfortune. The world will believe I am hiding in Ireland, out of favor with Her Majesty yet again. Conceal my true whereabouts as you would a stolen treasure. For you know the envious (and now ailing) Walsingham strives to block my every enterprise.

I expect to report the colonists thriving, the savages converted, and Virginia producing copper, pearls, and all manner of riches. That will silence every critic.

Bid me good luck in this endeavor and destroy the evidence of this letter.

Yours, W.R.

7 February 1590

To William Fitzwilliam, Lord Deputy of Ireland

Having roused Her Majesty’s wrath yet again, I am retiring to a remote place until my offenses are forgiven or forgotten. In my absence I hereby authorize my cousin, Sir George Carew, to sign leases in my name and continue the renovation of Lismore Castle. Do not attempt to communicate with me, as I desire not to be found.

W.R.

10 February 1590

To John White, Esq.

I am at last in a position to respond to your many petitions regarding the relief of the Virginia colonists.

Her Majesty has graciously released three of my ships for the voyage. The
Hopewell
at 150 tons will carry ordnance, equipment, and colonists, with the
Little John
and
John Evangelist
as escorts. The Caribbean waters are thick with Spanish pirates this year, so the risk is great. Capts. Christopher Newport and Abraham Cooke have been persuaded by the promise of gain to undertake the voyage. Such is the state of my financial affairs that privateering must be the means to provision the colony.

Present yourself at Plymouth in four weeks’ time where you shall learn more.

Yours, Sir W. Ralegh

Narrative of a Voyage to Virginia.

Departed Plymouth on the 20
th
of March, 1590. Fair and auspicious winds SSE. John White and I aboard the
Hopewell
with Captain Abraham Cooke.

Just before sailing, Cooke announced he would carry no colonists, saying they would be endangered in the event of a sea battle. His refusal angered White, for several of the passengers were kin to those already in Virginia and had sold all their goods to join them. I settled the matter by putting them aboard the
Moonlight
captained by my loyal friend Edward Spicer. Our ships will rendezvous near Hispaniola in July and thence to Roanoke Island.

White had his second shock when he saw me in ordinary gentlemen’s clothing and heard the reason for my disguise. (I have had to bring Cooke into my confidence as well, but no others.) I do miss my pearl earring, which I am wont to dally with when I am thinking.

I anticipate a merry adventure once I overcome the customary seasickness.

I have not been disappointed. On the 5
th
of April, in the Canary Islands, we chased a flyboat and took her along with a cargo of wine, cinnamon, and other goods. Then we passed on to Dominica, where the savages rowed their canoes out to our ships and we traded with them. At the isle of St. John we took on water, then captured a 10-ton frigate laden with hides and ginger.

At the isle of Mona, on the 9
th
of May, one of the seamen ran away to the Spaniards, to whom he no doubt revealed our destination and its location. Hoping to root out the conspirators, we burned the Spaniards’ houses and chased them, but they hid from us in caves where we could not reach them without danger to ourselves. I don’t know if we killed the treacherous seaman.

On the 25
th
of May the
Hopewell
and
John Evangelist
came to Cape Tiburon, where we expected to meet the Santo Domingo fleet laden with riches for Spain. We rescued two Spanish castaways from a shore scattered with the bones of others who had perished there. Though we pressed them they had no knowledge of the fleet. The
John Evangelist
sighted a frigate and easily took her; she carries hides, ginger, copper pans, and cassava.

On the 2
nd
of July we made contact with the
Moonlight
and her escort ship. With the prizes taken, our fleet of ships now totals eight. The same day we sighted fourteen ships of the Santo Domingo fleet and gave chase, losing them in the darkness. In the morning, finding them near again, the
Hopewell
poured shot in the starboard side of the rearmost ship until its captain raised the flag of surrender. Newport, in the
Little John
, continued to chase the Spanish fleet.

With Cooke I boarded our prize, the 300-ton
El Buen Jesus
of Seville. Spent two days rummaging through her cargo and fitting her to sail with us. Sweet is the pride of such a conquest. How England is magnified when her enemy is brought low!

Returned to the
Hopewell
and John White’s demands that we sail at once for Roanoke. I reminded him our share of the profits and pirated goods would provide the means to relieve the colonists. I urged him not to anger Capt. Cooke, in whom I discerned a reluctance to abandon this lucrative business, despite his agreement to take us to Virginia.

Close upon our success with the
El Buen Jesus,
came misfortune as Capt. Newport lost 24 men and his own right arm in a desperate battle. The ship he captured was so damaged that it sank before it was unladen, taking with it thirteen casks of silver. Thus defeated, injured, and with a scant force of seamen, Newport and the
Little John
returned to England.

For six days we drifted, becalmed, the sun unbearably hot. The Spanish castaways pestered us to such an extreme that we left them on Cuba. A week later we sighted the cape of Florida to our west, and on the 30
th
of July bore out to sea to catch the swifter current for Virginia.

Now my mind is alive with anticipation of a prize soon to be my own. What good to me is a galleon stuffed with plunder? Let it sink to the bottom of the sea! The treasure I seek cannot be bought, sold, or bargained for.

Poem

To seek new worlds of gold, for glory

And for praise I once aspired;

But now my care is all love’s story

Her favor, the wealth that I desire.

And so I prove that love, though severed far,

Means more to me than a thousand ships of war.

I touch my ear, where now hangs a silver ring taken from a Spaniard. In my pocket is the handkerchief the queen gave me. I will give them to her and say, “Catherine, I have come at last.”

But will I still know her? Will she remember me?

From the 1
st
of August the weather turned foul, with rain, thunder, and waterspouts breaking over the ship. We kept to sea because of the risk of being wrecked upon the shoals.

On the 16
th
the
Hopewell
,
Moonlight
, and
El Buen Jesus
anchored near Hatorask, and on the 17
th
the captains, John White, and I set out in the longboats. Then, a tragedy! The NE wind, blowing in gales, gathered at the inlet, buffeting Capt. Spicer’s boat ahead of us. As the steersman struggled to hold his course, a mighty wave overturned the boat and cast her sailors into the perilous waters. Four of the men swam to safety but the other seven, including the brave Capt. Spicer, perished.

The loss brought White to tears, for Spicer had been his loyal companion through many setbacks. Also, five of those who perished had kin at Roanoke, whom they intended to join.

After witnessing the deadly mishap, the seamen in Cooke’s boat were of one mind: not to go any farther but to return to the ship. White and I cajoled, even threatened them, and Cooke, though shaken, stood by us. Thus we prevented a small mutiny, recovered Spicer’s boat and the surviving men, and proceeded to the island.

As darkness had fallen, we dropped a grapnel to anchor us near the shore. Cooke sounded a trumpet and we sang English songs loudly but heard no reply. We spent a long, dismal night in our boats, haunted by the loss of our shipmates and pondering what had befallen the colonists that they did not respond to our noise. It was profoundly unsettling to be within hailing distance of Virginia’s shores and yet to feel she was as remote and unpeopled as the farthest antipodes of the earth. I did not sleep a wink all the night.

At daybreak on the 18
th
we finally came ashore. Struggling to walk in the soft mounds of sand, we found a disused and overgrown path leading to the ruins of an earthen fort. The palisade around it was broken down in many places. Some of the houses had been taken apart and nothing remained but the foundations. Iron bars, leaden crocks, and other heavy things had been tossed about and were half buried by weeds. John White found his trunks broken into and all his maps and papers rotted, the covers torn from his books and ruined by rain. His armor was also rusted.

“How could they do this to me?” he lamented. “I befriended them, and they destroyed everything I valued!”

I had never heard him speak against the savages before. But I suspect his anger was also for his countrymen.

“They cannot all be dead,” he went on. (I knew he meant his family.) “Where did everyone go?”

Seeing no sign of a slaughter, I wondered aloud if they had removed to Chesapeake as planned. Then White seemed to recall something.

“We must look for a sign that will reveal their destination,” he said and we divided into parties for that purpose. Soon I spotted a tree carved with the letters
C
,
R
, and
O
. When John White came and beheld this, he grew bright with hope.

“They must have gone to Croatoan,” he said. “With Manteo, certainly. And they were in no distress, for if they had been, Ananias would have made the mark of a cross.”

Capt. Cooke offered his opinion. “He did not finish the letters. Perhaps they were being attacked and he had no time.”

White sighed and leaned against the tree. He looked old and weak.

“We have our clue and now must follow the thread,” I said bravely, to keep up his courage. “It leads us to Croatoan, to search for them there.”

But I, too, was beginning to fear a calamity had taken place and neither of us would find those we had come to seek.