Raleigh's Page (18 page)

39

H
URRICANE
!

“There will be a great storm,” Manteo warned.

“How can you tell?” Mr. Harriot asked.

“No fish come in. I feel a strange rising in my hair.”

Captain Lane’s picked crew was out on the
Francis,
transferring supplies from the
Elizabeth Bonaventure.
There was no time to warn them. The freak weather came up fast under a yellow sky, with thunder, lightning, tearing winds, and jagged pieces of ice large as grapes. As the winds gained force, branches and small trees shot past like cannon fire on the hailing winds.

They’d had gales and storms on the island before, winds that had laid the marsh reeds flat and chewed up trees straggling to grow along the water’s edge. This was different: the spears of lightning were huge and lingering. The winds blew fierce from one quarter, then turned to attack from another. There was no safety anywhere.

“Woe for the ships out there!” Mr. Harriot yelled as sheets of rain and hail whipped through Drake’s fleet, tossing vessels like leaves.

“Woe for us!” Tremayne shouted back as part of the log wall they were huddled against gave way.

Andrew and Sky clung to each other, shivering in Andrew’s coat. Salt lay buried in the boy’s blanket.

It raged wind and rain all that day and night, the water sounding like the sea coming down on them, the wind screaming and making eerie whistles as it caught in corners. At one moment the air blew warm, the next cold.

With a thundering crash, the huge tree they’d hung with bags of gunpowder at Christmas toppled into the fort. It was open to Spaniards now. Spaniards they could fight; there was no defending against the killer storm. All was chaos, noise, and wet. The moat was frothing foam and whitecaps.

Toward dawn it grew still, then cleared to cloudless blue. Birds sang. The air was pungent with the smell of shredded cedar.

The boys helped Mr. Harriot climb up to their tree house. He searched the water with his glass.

The ships were scattered.

“Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…”

He got to twenty-two.

“One’s missing!” he exclaimed.

He was scanning the coast for wreckage when he picked up a dot on the horizon.

It was the
Francis,
making for England under all the sail she had left—their exploring ship with Captain Lane’s picked crew, the resupply of food and necessities—gone!

40

T
HE
R
USH TO
L
EAVE

The wind had calmed, but the sea was running high—roiling, ugly water with branches and whole trees smashing against the bank.

Captain Lane ordered a crew to row him out to Admiral Drake. He sat gray-faced in the small boat as the rowers pulled hard and Andrew, Tremayne, and Mr. Harriot waded alongside, pushing it off against the pounding waves. Once the boat was launched, they pitched themselves in, soaked like a pack of wet dogs. The captain didn’t look much better. He wore no finery.

The
Elizabeth Bonaventure
’s deck looked like the
Tyger
’s after her grounding. Teams of sailors chopped and slashed away wreckage of masts, spars, jibs, booms, and tackle as others hurried lumber and fittings to the sweating carpenters. Coils of rope and mounds of canvas lay by the hatches.

“We have nothing to sail with,” the admiral muttered. “We’re stuck here like a molting grub until these men grow us our new wings. The hull is sound, though, and the pumps are working. With luck she’ll be rigged and ready before the next storm hits,” he said, looking up.

The morning’s blue sky had turned dull pewter.

“But for the skill of my sea captains, we’d all have wrecked onshore,” said Sir Francis. “As it was, we took more cuts, bruises, and broken bones than we got storming St. Augustine!”

“We lost the
Francis,
” the captain said, pointing. “I’ll have those people hanged for mutiny!”

The admiral shook his head.

“Given that storm, no jury in England will convict. It was the sea captain’s order. He’ll say he left these waters to save his ship.”

As Captain Lane went
“Pfft,”
Sir Francis looked up sharply. “I would not vote to convict them, sir!”

Andrew and Tremayne exchanged glances as the captain stiffened, his face darkening. Before he could say anything, the admiral pointed at the sky. “More weather threatens, Captain. We must be off too!

“I can leave you supplies and another vessel. She’s bigger, though. Not so handy for exploring. Or I can return you all to England.

“Answer within the hour! We depart in two,” he yelled as he hurried forward to direct the stepping of a new mast.

The sky was low and ugly again. “A sign from an angry God,” one of the rowers muttered as they worked their way back to shore. Andrew watched to see what the captain would do. Ordinarily, Captain Lane would have slapped the man or given worse for that. As it was, he sat unseeing, hearing nothing.

Once onshore he called an assembly. Everyone knew about the
Francis
’s escape.

“Admiral Drake offers more supplies and a larger vessel—though not so good for exploring,” he announced. “We may take them and stay, or he’ll carry us all back to England. Do we leave or stay?”

“Leave!” was the shout. There was not one voice for staying, not even Andrew’s. He looked at Tremayne, then looked away.

Captain Lane signaled the admiral’s flagship.

“Sound trumpets and ring the bell to call in all,” he ordered. “We leave within the hour.”

Soon the fleet’s small boats could be seen dropping into water like eggshells to collect the explorers. All was uproar and disorder as men scurried to gather the few things they could save.

Sky stood watching as Andrew helped Tremayne and Mr. Harriot stuff a trunk willy-nilly with papers, specimens, dried plants, the journal of the year’s exploring, and a string of pearls for the Queen.

“Will you go with us?” Andrew asked his friend.

Sky nodded slowly.

“He goes with us,” Andrew said, pointing to Sky.

Mr. Harriot shook his head. “No!”

“He can’t stay,” Andrew cried. “To the Indians he is no longer an Indian. They will not trust him. He can’t go back to his village any more than Manteo can.”

Tremayne and Mr. Harriot stared, silent.

“If he stays, I stay,” Andrew said, sitting down.

Mr. Harriot put up his hands. “If you can get him aboard, so be it,” he said. “I can do nothing for you.”

Manteo helped the boys drag the trunk to the beach. Already a fleet of small boats was heading out with explorers.

Andrew was afraid Captain Lane would try to keep Sky back when it came time to muster. To his surprise, there was no muster.

He shoved Salt into his saddlebag. The dog was heavy and protesting. In with him went flute, music, and the drug root he’d dug with Sky the day before. He wrapped a clay pipe in his cap for America and hurried with Sky to join Mr. Harriot and Tremayne as they loaded the trunk and climbed into one of the last boats.

The wind had turned. As they pushed off, the sea fought them with drenching waves and whitecaps.

The sailors were scared. “That last storm nearly did for us, and here’s another!”

Their boat rode low. Waves lapped in as it pitched and rolled, taking on more water than they could bail.

“Throw off your trunk!” the chief rower called. “Heave it or we’ll swamp.”

No one moved. The sailor closest to Andrew raised his oar. “It goes or you do!” he bellowed.

The boat lurched wildly as Andrew and Sky hove the trunk.

As they boarded the flagship, they heard the whisper: “We left three behind—the scouts and hunters on the mainland.”

Andrew turned to Mr. Harriot. “How can we leave our people?”

“You heard Admiral Drake,” he said. “He told the captain he would not take another storm here. He gave us a choice: stay or go. There wasn’t time to fetch the others. It was leave them or we all got left.”

That’s why there was no muster. There was no need to count.

41

A B
RIEF AND
T
RUE
R
EPORT

They fed well on board—fresh bread, eggs, roast goat, apples, pork pies, suet pudding. Sir Francis saw to it they got fresh clothes—Spanish things from his raid on St. Augustine. The pioneers barbered each other and grew cheerfuller as they checked the admiral’s chart marking their progress home.

Forty-one days after they’d lifted anchor off Roanoke Island, the
Elizabeth Bonaventure
hove into Plymouth harbor. She was expected. Since the
Francis
’s arrival days before, messengers had ridden day and night to get word to London. All of Plymouth was alert for Drake’s return with his shipload of explorers. Word got to Stillwell Farm. Andrew’s parents hurried to the port, collecting Rebecca on the way.

People milled around in a great hubbub of yelling, bells, drums, and trumpets as the Roanoke men disembarked. They found their legs as wobbly on land as they’d been their first days on shipboard. Even Salt staggered.

They were darker and rougher-looking than the eager-faced men who’d embarked a year before. Their Spanish fashions made them look strange, but given what people at home had heard from the
Francis
’s folks, they were prepared for anything.

Sky was staring, wide-eyed and trembling, when Andrew took his hand. “We stay together!” Andrew said. Sky nodded and tried to smile.

“A horse!” Andrew yelled, pointing.

“So big!” Sky murmured.

With Sky in tow, Andrew found his people. He knew they’d be there. He tried to speak. His heart was full; no words would come. Rebecca was rounder and even more beautiful than he’d remembered her.

“This is my…This is Sky—the friend I wrote you about,” he stammered.

Sky said nothing. For a moment they were all awkward together; then Andrew’s mother laughed and threw her arms around the two of them.

“Your ear…,” she started to say. She caught herself. “You’re broader and lankier!” she went on, stepping back to look at Andrew.

“All that food,” Andrew said, smiling through tears. He snuffed and wiped his face as his mother handed him the cloth she’d just been using.

“We can’t stay long,” he added. He’d noticed Quinch, the messenger from Sir Walter, beckoning as he huddled with Mr. Harriot. “Sir Walter orders us to London.”

“What about your trunks?” his father asked.

Andrew pointed to his saddlebag. “I travel light,” he said, trying to laugh. They listened with open mouths and many exclamations as he gave a quick account of his last weeks in Virginia.

Mr. Harriot motioned him to where he stood with Tremayne.

“We’ll be back as soon as we report to Sir Walter,” Andrew said as he hurried off with Sky.

“I’ve got gossip from Quinch,” Mr. Harriot said with a sour smile. “Our friends have worn out a dozen horses racing to London with news that there is no mine of gold, few pearls, no way through to the Orient, and the Indians do not love us for all we gave them goods and true religion.

“Worse, we are rumored to have behaved like Spaniards.”

“Sir Walter has heard all this?” Andrew asked.

“That and more,” Mr. Harriot replied.

“And the Queen?”

Mr. Harriot barked a dry laugh. “I venture she got news of us before Sir Walter did.”

A man came up with three horses.

“We’re off,” said Mr. Harriot. “Manteo and Sky will come up later with the others.”

“No,” said Andrew. “Sky comes with me. We’ll ride together,” he said firmly as the Indian boy stared, bewildered, first at Andrew, then at Mr. Harriot.

The way Andrew spoke decided things. He helped Sky squeeze into the saddle with him.

For three days they rode hard from dawn to dark, chafed and sore, changing the winded horses every twenty miles, most of the time silent. Sky looked around like one in shock. Andrew thought about all that had happened and imagined their reception at Durham House.

He saw England through new eyes as they rode. He’d never thought before how green and settled it was, every field, hedgerow, road, and village showing the touch of generations. As they passed a school, they heard the children reciting in singsong together. Virginia was richer in its way and more full of promise for the likes of him, but it was silent and empty in its newness.

A giddy feeling of being a stranger in a familiar place came over him like a wave of cold seawater. Suddenly, without thinking, he reached inside his shirt and touched the bear claw tied around his neck. Then he smiled and patted Sky. His friend turned a little and nodded, keeping his grip tight.

In Virginia there was nothing like Stillwell Farm. Everything was provisional there, quickly built and just as quickly abandoned—the Indians’ villages, lodges, even their fields. Andrew had felt himself a stranger in America, but now he knew: he belonged there. He could build Stillwell in Virginia two times over, three, more—with Sky’s help and oxen and plows and pioneers. They’d bring music and new voices to the land. As they broke the soil, they’d break the silence.

It was dark when they arrived at Durham House. William was there to greet them, cheering and waving as they dismounted. James was all smiles as he ordered torches and men to take their mounts. He lifted Sky down and propped him while the Indian tried to regain his legs. Then James and Salt led them up to Sir Walter’s turret.

“My Americans returned!” Sir Walter exclaimed as they came in.

“And Sky,” said Andrew, pushing the shivering boy forward.

“Welcome, Sky!” boomed Sir Walter.

The Indian stared and said nothing as Andrew led him to a bench.

Pena’s face worked as they laughed and hugged. Sir Walter took the dog in his lap as if they were old friends.

“Never mind what you lost,” Sir Walter said when Mr. Harriot told him about the trunk. “Tell me what you found!”

He ordered suppers carried up and a mutton bone for Salt. Sky ate, fought sleep, then nodded off. The rest talked all night.

“Is the soil good?” Sir Walter asked. “Is Virginia vast and rich with new things beyond reckoning?”

“Yes,” the travelers answered to every question. “Yes!”

“And you, Andrew,” he said with a wink, “did you find landlords and sheriffs there?”

“No!” the boy exclaimed with a laugh.

The more they talked, the faster Sir Walter paced, his hands in fists pumping like a man preparing to fight.

“In their greedy ignorance, my explorers and enemies alike slander Virginia,” he exclaimed. “We must teach those mockers that the richest land is that which feeds the most!

“Listen!” he said, spreading his arms wide. “The Spaniards haul in gold by the pound and silver by the ton—and what’s happened? Their poor go hungry. Why? Because on the flood of treasure, prices rise like moored ships at high tide. Their farmers don’t grow more food; they grow less and charge more for it, so the lesser people suffer. Pah!” he spat.

“Tell me again how fast their corn grows with little effort. And again about their tobacco, Mr. Harriot. And their medicines! You’ve tasted it, I hear.

“And the capture of Pemisapan? Tell me about that! And what became of Wanchese? Tell! Tell all!”

They told of their adventures and Wanchese’s betrayal.

“And when he figured we were as good as dead,” said Mr. Harriot, “starved and frozen on the river, he ran away. We passed him on our way down. After that we never saw him again.”

Mr. Harriot pointed to Tremayne. “He will tell you about Pemisapan’s end. He was with the captain’s servant when that man caught the chief and took his head, Irish style.”

As Tremayne finished his telling, he reached into his coat. “So we bring you the chief’s breastplate, sir,” he said as he hung it around Sir Walter’s neck. “You now wear wassador!”

For a moment Sir Walter was without words. He quickly took the thing off and jiggled it in his hands like it was hot. He did not put it back on. “A sad token,” he murmured. “A reminder to do better.”

Andrew opened the saddlebag he’d packed at Roanoke. He felt for the cap Pena had given him, then he smiled as he pulled it out and unwrapped something.

“I brought you their pipe to drink tobacco, sir.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Sir Walter, smiling as he took it.

“And here is a pouch of last fall’s crop,” said Mr. Harriot. “Shall we smoke it?”

Sir Walter shook his head in wonder. “You three are Magi, truly!”

The men passed the pipe around. The room filled with blue smoke. The fumes inspired them.

“We’ll go back!” Sir Walter exclaimed. “Next time on the Chesapeake, to a good harbor with folks who know what rich soil counts for and how to use it.

“But first we must clear away the weeds of rumor. Bad luck did us damage: the loss of the
Tyger
’s cargo, the supply delayed—but for those, it would have gone better with the Indians.”

He opened his arms wide. “I ask you: do you believe Virginia’s promise?”

Each swore he did.

“Then tell it!” Sir Walter roared so loud the dog jumped and Sky woke up, bewildered, gaping and staring about as he tried to remember where he was.

“Gallant words printed will crush a thousand rumors!” Sir Walter thundered. “Be quick! Write what you’ve told me tonight. Write Virginia’s promise so vivid as to set minds afire! Empty your trunks of memory on the page. Show Virginia in her glory—her vastness, her trees, meadows, fish, game. And her people. Show them not as savages but as our friends—as they will be if we are not necessitous!

“Go now!” Sir Walter ordered.

He rang his bell.

“James! Get them fed, then take this one to Mistress Witkens,” he said, putting his arm around Sky. “I can’t have my newest page going around looking like a Spaniard,” he laughed.

“I’ll take him,” Andrew said. To Sky he whispered, “I’ll stay with you. Don’t be afraid.”

When the four travelers finally left the turret, there were layers of yellow, rose, and peach along the line of sunrise.

The following days went by in a blur as they wrote to redeem Virginia. It was like writing the appeal to the Queen, only now there was no imagining. Instead of gold and dreams, they told what they had found—deep soil and broad rivers, iron and tobacco, medicines, fish in plenty, crabs, oysters, sturgeon seven feet long, sunflowers a foot across, nuts, berries, corn, potatoes, peanuts, silk grass, groves of giant oak to build ships with, stands of pine for masts. They wrote about the tree that blooms tulips and the vast clumps of blueberries and strawberries they’d found. And the Indians: Mr. Harriot told their ways and their religion.

They dedicated their “Brief and True Report” to “the Adventurers, Favorers, and Well-Wishers of the enterprise for the inhabiting and planting in Virginia.” They filled it with their sharpest rememberings. They made nothing up.

“Take Sky and go home for a week,” Sir Walter told Andrew when they delivered the book. “When you return, you’ll be my secretary.”

“And Sky?” Andrew asked.

“He and Pena are great friends already. He’ll teach Pena how the Indians grow their foods.”

The report spread the truth about Virginia. Within months it was being read all over Europe. When Sir Walter announced his offer of five hundred acres to every settler, planters came forward with their families. Investors came forward too—foreigners, merchants, and courtiers, even the Queen herself, some said—but as before, Sir Walter would have to pay the most to get things started.

“Virginia empties my pockets,” he mused one chilly morning as he worked with Andrew in the turret, ordering provisions for the expedition to settle. “But I will live to see England in America, lad, and you’ll be part of it!”

“Yes,” said Andrew, breathing deep. “Yes!”

God speed you well and send you fair weather And that again we may meet together.

—Thomas Harriot,
the ending of “The Three Sea Marriages,” 1595(?)