Cate of the Lost Colony Read online

  George’s son, the simple boy, had bitten into the fruit, but was unharmed.

  “It was bad. I spit it out. It did not hurt me. It did not hurt Georgie Howe,” he said again and again, proud of himself. It was a strange relief, to see such a sturdy youth smiling amidst so much distress.

  By the following afternoon, the effects of the poison had worn off. No one died, and Eleanor did not miscarry. John White cautioned us against eating anything he did not provide. He seemed surprised that we had been so reckless. But in this new place we were like children in need of a strict father, while John White seemed to be an indulgent one.

  Eleanor was convinced I had saved her life and her unborn babe, and thus I acquired a friend.

  “I know you must think it foolish of me to sail in my condition,” she said. Her cheeks and lips were still swollen from the poison. “But I love my father, and since my mother died, he has no one to take care of him. He came home from his first voyage nothing but bones. Were it not for me, he would spend all his time drawing and forget to eat.”

  This admission did not increase my confidence in John White.

  “How did you persuade your husband to make the journey?” I asked.

  “It was not me, but five hundred acres of land that induced him. Few of these men would have left England were it not for the promise of land. And my father offered to make Ananias one of his assistants. They were granted coats of arms, so they are both gentlemen now.”

  “And that makes you a gentlewoman,” I said.

  She smiled. “I care nothing for titles. I only want my child to be safely born and thrive.”

  “Virginia is fertile and the climate healthy. We should all thrive there,” I said.

  I told Eleanor only a little about myself. I said that my parents were dead and I had served the queen, who granted my wish to see the New World and put me under her father’s protection. I admitted I knew Sir Walter and had often heard him describe his plans for the colony. It was not the full truth, but why should I admit to being disgraced? I was free to hide or reveal whatever I chose.

  Eleanor seemed to be in awe of me. “I am so fortunate. You are like a sister to me already,” she said.

  I was as pleased as she was.

  Once Eleanor befriended me, the other women began to show me respect as well. They were hesitant to address me, perhaps because they did not know what to say to someone who had waited on a queen. I asked them not to call me Lady Catherine, but simply Cate. Still, I felt like a stranger among them, for they were all related or had grown up in the same parishes. Betty Vickers had lost two infants and a young child to the plague, leaving only ten-year-old Edmund. Her husband was a hardworking journeyman, but with little hope of advancement in the London guilds. Seeing the opportunity to become a master woodcrafter in the New World, he had sold all his family’s possessions to finance their voyage.

  Not all the men on the voyage would become landowners in Virginia. Some were indentured servants who would work for their freedom. Many were soldiers paid to guard the colony. Besides myself, the other unmarried women were servants, except for one widow of independent means. The number of colonists traveling aboard the flagship, the flyboat, and the small pinnace was a hundred and fifteen, including seventeen women and eleven children.

  Leaving Santa Cruz, where White failed to obtain sheep, plants, or salt, Fernandes sailed to the island named St. John. There we also encountered trouble. The men found freshwater, but they drank so much beer that nothing was gained. Three soldiers who were supposed to be watching for Spaniards were found imbibing. White had them whipped and chastised the others, but they were all too drunk to care.

  The pinnace was already anchored at St. John. Among her passengers was a soldier who followed me with his eyes, which made me uneasy. Soldiers were generally rough and unsavory. He drew nearer and was about to speak when I said, “You are too bold. I do not wish to know you.”

  “Lady Catherine, do you spurn an old friend?”

  I peered at him. “Who are you?” There was something familiar in his stance. “Thomas Graham?” I said, incredulous. For he was no longer “the fool of fashion” as Dick Tarleton had once dubbed him. He had traded his slashed doublet for a common jerkin, and his face was covered with a reddish beard. He looked sturdy and vital.

  “At your service.” He bowed. “Do you wonder why I am I here?”

  I knew Graham had been almost penniless when the queen sent him from court. I also remembered how he had admired Ralegh’s treasure-laden ships docked along the Thames.

  “You must be seeking your fortune like everyone else,” I replied. “Do you mean to settle in Virginia?”

  Graham laughed. “I’ve no longing to live among savages. I will save my earnings, maybe look for gold, then return to England with the means to marry my Lady Anne.”

  Swept with fresh regret, I said, “I’m sorry I could not help you and you had to become a soldier.”

  “Lady Catherine, your intentions were the best, and I bear you no ill will.”

  I nodded, grateful. “I call myself Cate now,” I said.

  “Then, Lady Cate, do not be sorry for me. This is an adventure that puts me among the finest of men.” He gestured toward his companion. “Why, this fellow spent ten years at Colchester prison for murdering a farmer. I’m afraid to beat him at a game of dice!”

  The man grinned but without mirth. “It was for stealin’ not killin’. But I didn’t do either.”

  Then Graham grew serious. “My dear Cate, it is I who am sorry for your plight.”

  “Do not speak of it, please,” I said in a low voice. “I do not wish anyone to know I was imprisoned like your dice-playing friend.”

  Graham leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I will be discreet. But as we find ourselves in the same circumstance, we ought to be friends.”

  “Being a woman, my circumstance is somewhat different and more perilous than yours,” I said, drawing back. “We are being observed, and I do not wish to be the subject of gossip.”

  “Truly, reputation is as precious to a soldier as it is to a lady. Worth more than gold,” he said, bowing like a courtier. “I would be reputed the bravest man in the Americas; Anne will marry me even if I am penniless. Damn, even the queen will love me then.”

  Despite myself I smiled. I decided Graham’s character was much improved by soldiering.

  Just then a commotion broke out, and I saw the Irish seaman and his unwilling bunk mate sprawled on the ground. John White stood over them, his face pale with rage. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch the unfolding drama.

  “I’ve had enough of your quarreling and insubordination!” White shouted. “I’m giving you a choice. You can take your flogging, or you can leave the company now and see how long you’ll last on this island.”

  His threat was a dire one. Many of the mariners said the island was peopled by savages who stuck bones through their noses and ate the flesh of their enemies.

  In reply, the Irishman spat on the captain’s shoes. White drew back his foot as if to kick him, but the Irishman was too quick, scrambling to his feet and fleeing into the brush. The other rogue followed him. Thus, without a word, they chose their fate.

  The boatswain threw two bundles overboard and they were quickly plundered.

  “See what I found in Darby’s sack!” cried a man, holding up two strands of beads with brass crosses dangling from them.

  Murmurs went through the crowd, as everyone affirmed the Irishman was indeed a papist.

  Roger Bailey, one of White’s assistants, laughed harshly. “We are well rid of that Catholic dog,” he said. But it was Bailey, with his sharp yellowish teeth, who resembled a dog,

  Next to me, Graham shook his head. “It was unwise of Captain White to let them go,” he murmured. “He should have had them flogged and thrown into the bilge instead.”

  I was surprised by his harshness, but set it down to a soldier’s love of discipline. Soon, however, I under
stood what he meant. The evidence of Darby’s religion and the presence of Spaniards in the islands led to rumors that the Irishman was a traitor.

  “That fellow has been to Virginia before,” said Ambrose Vickers. “He knows where the fort is located. Why, for a little money, the villain would betray us to the Spaniards around here. We will never be safe on Roanoke Island.”

  I found myself defending the seaman. “I do not think Darby was disloyal, even if he was a papist,” I said. “Perhaps he only brought the beads to have something to trade with the Indians.” Ambrose and the men looked at me in surprise, and I realized they were unused to having a woman—even a lady—speak in their company.

  The next day the ships weighed anchor, leaving Darby and his bunk mate to their uncertain fates. The idea of conspiracy had been planted, making everyone sober and fearful.

  To make matters worse, John White and the pilot argued. Their raised voices drifted down through the open hatch. Eleanor was concerned for her father, so together we crept up the ladder and onto the deck. The boatswain dared not admonish her because she was White’s daughter.

  “We must land at Salinas Bay for livestock and salt,” said the captain, bursting from his cabin. “Or we will reach Roanoke without enough supplies to survive for long.”

  Fernandes was at his heels. “At this time of year, the currents, the reefs! It is too great a risk to the ship.”

  “This time of year,” said White, whirling around and stabbing his finger at the pilot’s nose, “you prefer to be on the high seas, for your own profit. But if you hasten this voyage and thus endanger my colonists, you will have Ralegh and the queen herself to answer to.”

  Fernandes only laughed. “I tell you, we will find these goods in Hispaniola. I have a friend there.”

  “I think your friends cannot be trusted,” White said, then strode to the ship’s rail and stood with his hands crossed over his chest.

  It dismayed me to see our governor overmastered by his pilot. Our fortunes were dependent upon his. If he failed in his purpose, we would all be lost.

  “You must speak to your father,” I said to Eleanor. “Fernandes considers his own interests. He does not care about the success of our colony.”

  “I will,” whispered Eleanor. “When he is calmer.”

  Soon we were sailing the northern coast of Hispaniola, which appeared like a distant tuft of moss, green and low. The ship did not go ashore as Fernandes promised. White did not order him to land, or if he did, the pilot ignored him. Thus we still lacked salt and livestock, and White remained grim. We encountered no Spanish vessels, and the islands disappeared from view on the sixth of July. Two weeks later, Hatorask, on the outer banks of Virginia, was sighted. Everyone scrambled to the decks, where there was great rejoicing. Eleanor and her husband embraced, the baby in her belly keeping them some distance apart. The hardiest soldiers wiped tears from their eyes.

  Our voyage had been brought to a safe end. But our trials were only beginning.

  Chapter 19

  From the Papers of Sir Walter Ralegh

  Memorandum

  12 May 1587. The Lion has departed Plymouth and I have had no reply from the Lady Catherine. Perhaps she did not receive my letter? No, it must be that her reply was lost. I see the sodden pages adrift upon the furrowed sea. Alas, I shall never know her mind.

  My heart beats with a passionate remorse. If only I had delivered the letter myself! But I was afraid to face her and now am punished for my cowardice.

  24 May 1587. I live the dream of every man in England. Who does not desire to behold the virgin queen at the hour of her awakening, all the day long, and in the last moments before sleep? I see her in her shift, her bosom drooping like a withered bloom. I see her scalp beneath her white hair. I watch her grimace, limping on an ulcered leg, and feel compelled to offer her my arm. This is a husband’s intimate office, not mine.

  I think I never will marry. Does every man fear to find his ardor cooled by the sight of frailty? By a beauty exposed as stark plainness?

  There was nothing false or painted about C.A.’s beauty. Even now I see her lips and cheeks of a natural coral hue, her dark thick hair—all her own. Ah, in years hence it will show strands of silver, and lines will mark her face like tributaries on a map. The thought does not repulse me. Why? Because I will be old as well.

  I cannot forget her, though an ocean widens between us. Does she sit in John White’s cabin and take her fill of stories from him, as from a father’s lips? Does she gaze upon the swarthy Fernandes and wish to sail with rovers and adventurers?

  It was her lively imagination—so like my own—that I loved in her. And now it has wandered from me, to wonder new thoughts.

  And I am, though never alone, lonelier than can be imagined.

  Poem

  I hope for what I have not,

  I would come, but may not.

  Of my wounds you care naught,

  Because the pain you see not.

  13 June 1587. At the banquet for the Dutch ambassador Her Majesty called me her second Sir Philip Sidney. It was the highest praise, for this soldier-poet lately slain in the Netherlands is England’s greatest hero. Before everyone, she demanded a sonnet, which I created extempore:

  Let us honor fair Astro-phil

  (Fall’n on the battle’s bloody plain)

  By meeting his enemy, Spain, full well

  In Virginia, across that watery main.

  The queen bade me sit at her right hand, while Walsingham gave me the blackest of looks. He is still angry I received the Babington estates. Alas, I would almost give them up to obtain what I have not: my freedom, my own will, and true love.

  1 July 1587. Outside the privy chamber, Walsingham stopped me with these words: “Do not forget I am the architect of Her Majesty’s policy with regard to Spain. Your efforts must not interfere with mine.”

  Is he so full of envy he does not welcome my enterprise of challenging Spain in the New World?

  Fie upon his threats! The old spymaster does not command me.

  I wonder how he can hear anything with that cap pulled over his ears?

  24 July 1587

  Dear brother Carew,

  Her Majesty’s summer progress will take her through Devonshire. I may not leave her side, so you must contrive to visit me. You will recognize me by my puffed-sleeve tunic the color of a Valencia orange, and a plumed hat too ostentatious even for my taste. Do not laugh at me or I shall thrash you as if we were boys again.

  I swear no man is more hated for being loved than I am. The queen has granted me the monopoly on broadcloth, and every man who suffers the loss of his trade because of it hates me. I wish she would love me more by hating me more. It is a paradox, I know; oftentimes things most contrary are both true.

  By now the Lion and the pinnace have landed at Chesapeake. There must be no time lost in sending a supply ship, but I am all of out funds. Go to our investors and praise Gov. White’s abilities. Remind them of the innumerable pearls and the veins of copper awaiting our discovery, by which we shall all be made richer than King Croesus.

  Your brother,

  Sir W.R.

  Chapter 20

  A Dead Man

  The tides ebbed and flowed around the Lion, anchored near the inlet at Hatorask. But after so many weeks of confinement we still could not leave the ship. John White, Ananias Dare, Manteo, and forty soldiers had set out in the pinnace to retrieve the soldiers Grenville had left at the fort. When they returned we would sail the short distance to Chesapeake and settle there.

  While we waited, I borrowed an eyeglass to peer at the sand-covered hills, where grass and gorselike bushes grew. They were not as green and lush as I had expected. A seaman, gesturing with pitch-stained hands, explained this was a barrier island holding back the sea from the mainland that lay across the shallow bay beyond it. With the glass I searched the sea, hoping to see a great fish with fins like sails or the rare leviathan, creatures I had seen only in pictures. I was
impatient to be on land, but it was a pleasure just to stand on deck and feel and taste the salty wind. I found myself wishing Sir Walter were beside me. Did he envy me, that I would see Virginia before him and help to build the colony he longed to govern?

  I wondered what it was like for Manteo to return to his own land. Would he tell his people about great city of London and teach them English? Would they still accept him now that he looked like an Englishman? I smiled to think of the horrified looks that would greet us if we all returned to London dressed like savages.

  When the pinnace returned, it carried the same forty men who had gone out the day before.

  “Where are Grenville’s men?” called Roger Bailey from the deck of the Lion.

  “They were not at the fort,” shouted Ananias in reply. “But we will search until we find them.”

  “No, son, we sail for Chesapeake now. We will return later,” said John White.

  One of the women started weeping, for her husband had been among those left on the island.

  Then Fernandes announced from the quarterdeck that none of the men would be allowed to board the ship again. But he demanded to see White and sent out a rowboat to fetch him.

  At this the men in the pinnace grew restive. Ananias insisted on getting in the rowboat with White. I wondered about Fernandes’s purpose. The governor climbed the rigging and jumped to the deck, his face red with exertion and rage.

  “What is this? Send the boatswain back to fetch all the men in the pinnace,” he demanded.

  Without replying, Fernandes disappeared into the cabin, and White and Ananias could only follow him. Again we heard their angry voices. Eleanor clung to my arm. I knew she had not spoken to her father as she promised. Now trouble was in store.

  John White emerged from the cabin and without preamble said, “Fernandes has elected to return at once to England because of the lateness of the season and the storms he is anxious to avoid.”