Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [63]
White was not sympathetic. “I came through that battlefield alive. Surely Her Majesty can spare a thirty-ton bark. Remind her that the lives of her subjects are at stake, even women and children.” Here his voice faltered. “They have consented to live in her new colony despite the dangers. They must not be abandoned there.” His eyes, deep in his weathered face, shone with weary desperation.
Then he told me of the killing of George Howe, the shifting loyalties of the natives, and wondered whether even Manteo could succeed in reconciling them to us.
“But the most pressing need is for food,” he said. “In the month I was there, the Indians would not meet with us or trade for food. They know there is not enough for them and for us.” He rubbed his forehead as if it pained him. “Moreover, we may have planted too late to reap before the winter. My family may be starving even now.”
To hide the regret that swept me, I began to arrange the weapons in their racks. I thought of all those who had sailed seeking the chance to become wealthy in a new world. I told myself they had chosen the journey, its risks as well as its rewards. But my Catherine had not chosen her fate. She was banished to Virginia because of me. Now what undeserved miseries does she endure?
“How fares your ward, the Lady Catherine?” I asked.
“She is useful to my daughter and beloved of her and the child,” said White, smiling for the first time. “She has no fear or hatred of the natives, unlike many of the colonists. I was pleased to see how she welcomed the Croatoan women, giving them pieces of lace with which to adorn themselves.” He paused, reflecting. “Truly, if she were a man, I would wish her to be one of my assistants.”
So speaking, John White made me see my witty and lovely C.A., a pale rose among the tawny savages. I must find a way to succor her and the others.
“I cannot permit the colony to fail after so much has been invested,” I said. “Let me speak to Her Majesty and summon you after.”
As he left, White placed a letter in my hand. I knew at once it was from C.A. The page was crinkled as if it had gotten wet and the ink had run in places. I put my lips to the letter and thought it tasted of salt. The spray of the sea? Tears? I hoped to read, at long last, a protestation of love or a declaration of sorrow at our separation. Perhaps a poem to prove her affections.
Oh, the letter did strike me strongly, though in a most unexpected way.
Dear Sir Walter,
I have often composed in my mind the phrases in which I would praise this New World. But there is little to be written in favor of seasickness, the hellish climate, and other discomforts. Nor have I any matter for a sonnet, but enough for an elegy upon poor George Howe, deprived of his life by sixteen arrows and several blows of a club. But I must keep to my point.
My purpose here is to inform you of injustices committed upon the bearer of this letter, John White. It is bold of me, a maid of honor now disgraced, to appeal on behalf of a gentleman and bolder still to charge others with wrongdoing. But I have the liberty of one who has nothing to lose, and so I presume upon our past affections and your present influence with the queen.
First, Capt. Fernandes has defied the authority of our governor. I and many others witnessed his brazen refusal to carry us to Chesapeake. The reason he gave—that the season was too far advanced—was contradicted by the five weeks he remained at anchor offshore. In my judgment, Fernandes is a traitor determined to ruin this colony. Some even think he is a secret papist in league with Spain.
Simon Fernandes, whom I have trusted on so many voyages—a mutineer loyal to Spain? He is Portuguese and thus an enemy of Spain. He is no more a papist than Walsingham. Indeed, Fernandes has been Walsingham’s man ever since W. saved him from hanging once. Can it be that Walsingham uses Fernandes to ruin my colony? To kill my fame and all my credit?
Seeking more evidence I read further, but found little satisfaction.
Second, in the matter