Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [29]
Mired in uncertainty, I did not fall asleep until the blackest part of the night, just before morning.
Chapter 11
Manteo, Friend of the English
My people live at the bright beginning of the world, the Dawnland, where the sun rises from the sea and gives life to all things. We ourselves began long ago when a giant came from the sea and with an arrow split open a tree, and the first man stepped forth. I listened to this story many times as a boy. Now I wonder if the giant came in an English ship like this one. A canoe would not be big enough for him.
I thought about the giant-god every morning when the sun appeared behind the ship and at night when it disappeared into the water in front of it, drawing us toward Ossomocomuck. Finally, where the water met the sky, the islands appeared.
To protect my land, the gods surrounded it with sharp rocks hidden just beneath the water. I tried to warn the pilot but he said he would take no direction from a savage. So his vessel struck the rocks with a sound like an angry demon tearing into the wood. The sea poured in and the pilot cursed his god. I prayed to the sea-gods, who freed the boat and permitted it to land without sinking. But as punishment for the captain’s pride, all the wheat, rice, and salt in the ship’s hold were ruined.
The English built their fort on the island of the Roanoke, near Wingina’s village. Wanchese returned to his people. Gren-vill sailed back to London, leaving Ralf-lane to govern.
I led the English from one settlement to another on the mainland. John-white made drawings of the people and the dwellings and Ralf-lane gave gifts to the weroances. After leaving one of the villages, they discovered a silver cup to be missing. Ralf-lane made his men return there and he demanded the cup. The weroance denied that his people had stolen it. I knew I had to act or the fragile peace would break.
“Will you accept a gift of furs instead of the cup?” I asked the governor. He would not.
“The English are angry,” I then said to the weroance in his tongue. “Send your women and children away for their safety.” I thought this threat would make them give up the cup. But I was wrong.
“The women and children are leaving,” said Ralf-lane. “That proves they have the cup and are preparing to fight for it.”
I knew there were only a few warriors to defend the village. But before I could stop the English, they began to tear down the houses, looking for the cup. Finding nothing, they burned the houses. The fields also. Quicker than a hunter can flay a rabbit, the village was destroyed. Everyone had fled.
“The people will not forget this day or cease telling about it,” I said to Ralf-lane, unable to hide my distress. He laughed, thinking my words were meant to praise him, not warn him.
The cup was not found among the ashes. I do not think the weroance had it, for if he did, he would have given it up to save his village. What montoac that cup must have contained, that the English went to such lengths to avenge its loss!
I learned about the white men by watching them from day to day. They were much like children. Quick to anger and to fight. Full of wonder. When they first ate the openauk, the wild potato, and pagatour, maize, their eyes grew round. Like children they could not take care of themselves. They could not hunt without startling every creature in the forest. They did not know how to track game. I showed them how to set up weirs to catch the whiskered keetrauk, which they named “catfish.” They never tired of asking me where the gleaming pearls