‘Message from Master Ferdinando: Those colonists put ashore needn’t bother coming back. He’ll not take anyone to Chesapeake.’
‘What?’ White spluttered. He half stood but Stafford pulled him down.
The pinnace rocked and drifted further away.
‘Hold water!’ Kit called, watching the mariners he’d selected slide their blades vertically into the sea while the Planters who were
rowing slapped their oars down and flicked up spray. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the gap between the two craft was still widening. The rope ladder had already been pulled up, and no one was left at the rail.
‘Come back, you bugger!’ one of the Planters shouted.
‘We’re not staying here,’ someone else yelled across.
White flapped his arms about as if he meant to fly back to the ship. His voice was shrill with indignation.
‘What’s the meaning of this?’
‘Back astern!’ Kit called to his mariners, and they promptly rowed backwards to return within hailing distance. ‘Now hold.’ He gave the commands as best he could to keep the pinnace near the ship.
Stafford raised his voice.
‘Quartermaster, explain yourself.’
A crewman came on deck, looked down and left. Moments later, the Quartermaster reappeared.
‘Master Ferdinando says that the summer is far spent. The Planters must be put ashore at Roanoke or not at all.’
‘This is insufferable,’ White blurted. ‘Sir Walter Raleigh’s instructions were to sail to Chesapeake.’
Stafford stood, holding onto a shroud.
‘Fetch Master Ferdinando.’
‘He will not come,’ the Quartermaster replied. ‘Those are his orders.’ He turned his back.
White pulled off his straw hat and dashed it against his knee, crushing its brim in his hands. He tugged at his hair and screwed up his eyes, making a noise between a howl and a groan of agony.
‘This is treachery. Treason! Our Pilot cannot countermand Sir
Walter’s express orders. You will take us back to the
Lion
, Captain Stafford.’
Stafford inclined his head and raised his brows.
‘I fear that if you take your men back aboard then Master Ferdinando will take everyone back to England. Is that what you wish?’
‘No it is not!’
Kit ordered the men on the starboard side to row slowly; they would turn a rough circle while the debate was thrashed out, though he felt in his gut he knew the way it would end. White wouldn’t want to risk having the whole expedition aborted. He heard Lacy muttering under his breath, ‘Typical of the Portugee swine. He wants us all dead.’
White turned to his son-in-law. ‘Ferdinando gives me no choice. He’s a malicious, incompetent scoundrel …’
Dare frowned, hunched his shoulders and spoke low, but still loud enough for Kit to pick up. ‘Is it so terrible here? At least this is somewhere you know – and we’ve arrived in one piece. If we sail for Chesapeake there’s always the risk that Ferdinando will lead us to our graves.’
White shook his head and sighed. He glanced towards Manteo sitting near Kit at the stern. ‘I suppose we have allies in the Croatans …’
At the mention of his tribe’s name Manteo smiled across at him. White forced a smile back.
‘And it is late in the year to be planting crops,’ Dare went on. ‘Ferdinando is right in that. It’s almost the end of July; if we go on to Chesapeake we won’t arrive until August. Perhaps he has a point …’
White gave a strangled moan of exasperation. ‘But this is not
what was planned! I know what this is about; Ferdinando wants to go privateering. That’s been his intention all along: to get rid of us as soon as possible and then hunt down Spanish ships to rob them of their gold. Isn’t that right?’ He raised his voice and looked straight at Kit. ‘Master Boatswain, are you going to abandon us here so you can go chasing after Spanish galleons?’
‘No, Master White.’ Kit didn’t take any time to reflect; he didn’t need to. He knew his answer already. All that had been uncertain was when he would declare his hand. ‘I will stay with you.’
‘I see,’ White answered with a sudden softening in his tone. He looked around and put his crumpled hat back on his head. ‘Good. Well …’ He fiddled with his satchel strap as if caught in indecision as to whether to set the bag down between his feet or shoulder it ready to get up and leave. He left the bag where it was and called back to the
Lion
.
‘Did you hear that, Quatermaster …?’
Fortunately for White, the pinnace had just about completed a full turn and was once more close to the ship. He bellowed at the first mariner he saw on deck.
‘Your Boatswain will stay with us!’
The man made himself scarce and Kit got his oarsmen ready to row hard. There’d be no more circling. He caught Stafford’s eye and Stafford gave a nod.
The Quartermaster came back to the rail.
‘A message from Master Ferdinando for the Master Bo’sun: He says he’ll not have you on his ship again.’
Kit said nothing. Some of the oarsmen muttered in sympathy. Lacy spoke to him in an undertone.
‘I’ll not leave you, sir. I’ll stay too.’
‘Thank you, Jim.’
White waved his hand. ‘Let us get underway, see how Roanoke fares, and pay our respects to Master Coffin.’
Stafford called back to the Quartermaster.
‘We’ll return for the rest of the Planters in a day or two. Tell Master Ferdinando that, and be sure that he is waiting.’
Kit gave the order to make way.
‘At my word, together: Pull!’
The oarsmen hauled in unison and the pinnace surged away.
So this was it. He’d be going no further aboard the
Lion
. This was where he would stay. He had reached Virginia and his journey’s end. He hoped he would see Mistress Emme again and that Ferdinando would, at least, let her set foot on Roanoke Island, but he wasn’t sure about that. It might not be safe. He stole another look at Lacy and saw the shadow of fear over his face. She must not leave the ship if there was any risk. He hauled, and bent forwards, pushing, and leant back, pulling again. He clenched his jaw and glanced at Rob: his son, all he had left.
The
Lion
’s guns fired in farewell and the shock of the detonations sent a shiver down his spine. The blasts rumbled to silence and the sweep of the oars that took the pinnace through the channel and into the unknown.
*
The musket volley thundered over the water sending great flocks of birds rippling up into the air. Gulls, cormorants and pelicans rose up in waves, wings thrashing, wheeling and mewling as they streamed past the pinnace in patterns that seemed alive; then they dropped down to the lagoon, filming the surface in the distance in fluttering patches of black and white, their screeching fading until all was quiet.
Kit looked at the trees above the low sandy cliffs. The pines, oaks and cedars led to a wooded rise beyond, but he could see no sign of the fort on Roanoke that Stafford had said was there, no building of any kind, no smoke nor sound of people.
John White sat in the bow with his hand shielding his eyes. ‘They cannot have set a lookout,’ he observed. ‘It’s quite possible that Master Coffin could have taken his men foraging elsewhere.’
‘That’s true,’ Ananias Dare piped up. ‘They can’t have been expecting us.’ He stood unsteadily and waved the great flag of the City of Raleigh.
Stafford hailed him from the helm. ‘Sit down, if you please, Master Dare.’
To Kit he spoke more gently. ‘We’ll sail round and come in from the north. There’s a fair anchorage in a wide bay on the east side of the island, but the approach is very shallow, like everywhere around Roanoke: barely greater than a fathom, and in the bay no more than a few feet. We’ll use the leeboards and go easy. Time to tack, I think.’
Stafford pulled on the tiller and Kit gave the orders to bring the mainsail round, hauling on the lee brace as he did. ‘Brace about! Slack windward sheet and haul the leeward. Make all!’
They both ducked when the boom swung over, and so did everyone else astern of the mainmast; they’d soon learnt the essentials of sailing gaff-rigged. But there was barely a puff of wind to fill the sails, and, once they began to drift on the next tack, the silence settled as still as stone. The view ahead was a perfect expanse of pure smooth blue: azure sky mirrored in turquoise water – a sea of glass.
‘Hoay!’ Ananias Dare called out. ‘Is anyone there?’
His shout seemed to land in felt. There was no answer, and even White hissed at him to hold his peace.
Manteo, sitting at the stern, took out a hook and line and began to fish, so did Towaye and Rob along with several of the Planters who were crammed together in the bows. Soon the pinnace trailed lines like darning threads, and they had their first catch: a small blue fish from a vast shoal that slid by, crystal clear in the sun-bright water, as if the hull was gliding through a shower of pieces of eight. More followed, along with one like a bass with a spot near the tail. Manteo pulled it aboard.
‘
Manchauemec
,’ Manteo proclaimed. ‘A young one. It’s good to eat.’
‘We’ll get a fire going when we’re ashore,’ White promised. ‘We’ll grill the fish in the open and eat well tonight.’
‘No more cold pottage for us,’ someone remarked and patted White on the shoulder. ‘Sweet bully-rook, thank Christ!’
Kit looked about, seeing more fish shoaling, even leaping from the water, and birds without number flocking over the lagoon. How had Lane’s men ever run short of food in this place? He squinted across at the island and thought he saw the shapes of fields over the slopes, though there was still no sign of people; the clearings, if that’s what they were, seemed overgrown and desolate.
Suddenly Rob cried out and Kit turned to him in a flash. The spool he held span in a blur, making a whoosh like a whipping top as it unwound out of control.
‘Let go!’ Kit yelled, but it did no good.
Rob tried to catch hold of his line and jerked back his hand. He tried again, blood streaming down his wrist.
‘It’s big!’ he shrieked. ‘A huge fish. Help me!’
He leant back, tugging on the spool which had wound itself out, and the fish he had hooked jumped clear out of the water in a
jagged arc of silver. Writhing and thrashing, it plunged back, spraying water, almost yanking Rob overboard though Kit held him fast, grabbing hold of him by the waist.
‘Drop it!’ Kit shouted again.
‘No! I’ve got it hooked. Just hold me …’
‘It’s dragging the ship. Let go!’
The fish was taking the pinnace with it, even under sail. The thing was a mass of twisting muscle, shooting into the air then plummeting into the water, splashing and spiralling, swerving wide and carrying the pinnace onto another tack.
‘Cut the line,’ Stafford called.
The next instant Rob toppled back, all resistance gone. The spool span and slowed, and Manteo sheathed his knife.
‘That fish is best to leave,’ he said.
Rob glared at him, clutching his bleeding hand. ‘But I had it. Why didn’t you help me?’
Manteo passed over a strip of leather. ‘Bind your hand. The fish was too big.’ He looked across at the island and the lengthening shadows over the water. ‘We should get ashore.’
‘He’s right, Rob.’ Kit rubbed his back. ‘We’ve got enough fish, more than we can eat. We’ll hunt for that kind another day.’ He looked at the cut. It was deep. He should have warned Rob to let go if he hooked something big, told him to secure his line first on some part of the ship: tie the end round the rail, not try to hold the thing in his hands. The boy could have lost his fingers.
The water settled to glassy stillness, and Stafford got the pinnace back on course. They furled the sails and used the oars, took soundings by the rod and crept through the bay. The bed of the lagoon was only feet below them and every so often the hull ground against
a shoal. They reached a small natural harbour as the sun was going down. A narrow bank of sand led to low wooded hills, and, just above the waterline, as far as the eye could see, were flat brown swathes of cord grass and rushes.
White led the Planters ashore but no one was waiting to greet them. There was no path, beacon, shelter or remains to suggest that anyone had ever been there, not that Kit could see.
White turned to Stafford. ‘You’re sure this is the place?’
Stafford looked about, took off his hat and mopped his brow. ‘As much as you are,’ he said. He scanned the water; then pointed to a log at an angle protruding a few feet from the surface in a tangle of weeds.
‘That’s one of the mooring posts. Odd there’s only one left.’
‘Very well. We’ll camp here tonight and proceed to the fort in the morning. There’s no reason for Master Coffin to have taken any interest in this anchorage, not without a vessel bigger than a boat. Hardly surprising that it’s been neglected.’
‘Good,’ said Dare. ‘Let’s cook the fish.’
It didn’t take the men long to start a fire and set up a few canvas shelters. Rob found a lizard and dropped it down Tom Humphrey’s neck. Tom then found a crab and put it down Rob’s breeches. That seemed to restore Rob’s humour since he was able to retaliate in kind with something larger. The sun sank to a shimmering red disc like a boss of molten metal plunging behind the dark shield of the land. Fireflies began to glow and cicadas started to trill. The smell of spruce and pine hung resinous in the cooling air. Kit walked along the bank and then to the edge of the trees. Manteo followed him. They both probed and scraped, examined and pondered, picking over driftwood and shells, pinecones and roots. Every so often one
of them would find something that would make them both crouch down, heads together.
‘A button?’ Kit asked, fingering something black, round and smooth which seemed to have a hook on the back.
‘A nut,’ Manteo answered, shaking his head and smiling in the shadows. ‘Like a walnut.’
From the camp came the sound of singing and the smell of fresh grilled fish. The beach glowed orange in the flicker of firelight, and the water was motionless with a gleam like pewter in which the ship seemed grounded, black and lifeless, a broken skeleton of angled yards and cable.
Kit found something else, a pale domed carapace. He blew away the sand and held it out to Manteo.