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  They are observed. Eight Spanish horsemen materialize out of the forest. Grenville immediately rallies his soldiers, forcing a retreat of these Spaniards, who by all possible means did their best endeavour by proffering of sundry skirmishes to drive Grenville’s men back into the sea. But he, nothing appalled with their brags, kept his ground?5

  Clearly, the loss of the pinnace has caused an unexpected chain of events. It has forced Grenville’s company ashore and alerted the Spaniards that significant plans are afoot. Even the activities of John White will be duly noted and reported to authorities in Seville by Hernando de Altamirano.26 White, transferring banana plants and pineapples with brush onto paper. Painting an indelible record: a hermit crab, a mammee fruit, a scorpion, an iguana. A watercolor sketch of the fort.

  The new pinnace is finally launched on May 23. They have been joined by the long-missing Elizabeth, Thomas Cavendish’s vessel. The two will strike out alone. Grenville orders the fort set on fire. As choking palls of black smoke stream out over the water, an inscription is carved on the bark of a tree for their other ships, should they straggle in. Vying, for sheer verbiage, with something on the order of a gazetteer: On May nth, we reached this place with the Tiger and on the igth, the Elizabeth came up and we are about to leave on the 23rd in good health, glory be to God. 1585.27 One wonders how big this tree must have been.

  Factions

  As the ships work their way through the Caribbean, relations deteriorate between Grenville and his third in command, Ralph Lane. The rupture is significant, setting the stage for the crisis to follow. At Puerto Rico’s Rojo Bay, Lane is ordered ashore to load salt as troops from the Spanish garrison of San German watch ominously from a hillside. The salt loaded, Lane beats a hasty retreat to the ship, bitterly condemning Grenville for hazarding his life. My telling him of it, Lane complained, bred the great unkindness afterwards on his part towards me.28 June 1. Friction between the two men intensifies when the Tiger anchors off Hispaniola after capturing two Spanish frigates. Their crews are ransomed. With the money received, Grenville opens shop. Incredibly, sundry Spaniards come to the ships to trade and are well entertained aboard. by our General.29 Governor Rengifo de Ángulo is urged to visit at the first opportunity. A shrewd move; Grenville now has supplies.

  Sir Richard Greenefeelde General, Lane fumes, hath demeaned himself from the first day of his entry into government at Plymouth ….far otherwise than my hope of him, though very agreeable to the expectations and predictions of sundry wise and godly persons of his own country, that knew him better than myself?® A vile trick. A stratagem designed to weaken Grenville’s integrity, to impugn his character. Lane strengthens his own position by slander.

  The company unravels into factions. There is acrid disagreement over leadership. It is apparent that Lane and certain gentlemen serving on the council, in particular a disgruntled Atkinson and Russell, feel that their complaints and opinions, taken in concert, must outweigh Grenville’s decisions.31 This is his first expedition; they hardly expect him to assume control. Yet Grenville is no figurehead. He has been placed in this position of authority because of his talents and his ability to carry out Raleigh’s designs. He sails to Roanoke as both Admiral and General; head of forces on land and sea. Those aboard the Tiger do not like it at all. If they had hoped to dominate the voyage once away from England, they are disappointed.

  Shipwreck

  June 23. The morning breaks warm and muggy. The ships drift quietly along the Carolina coast, frigate birds pitching crazily among the masts. The scent of pine wafts across the deck as the Tiger’s watch takes a turn in an uneventful shift.

  Then, without warning, shallows jut from the water. The dangerous shoals of Cape Fear loom all around. Sailors scramble from the hold, springing at the rigging in a furious effort to draw the vessel back. Sails flap sharply. Rope whirls wildly across deck, stinging the boards as the ship lurches starboard. The Tiger is overwhelmed, afloat in a sea of sand. Feverish minutes pass as the hull slips through a maze of twisted reef.

  At last the Tiger claws free and continues shakily up the coast. The next time, in the far more dangerous waters of the Outer Banks, they may not be so lucky. Grenville, Lane mutters, has nearly caused the expedition several times to have taken a final overthrow?1 Lane, who left his military charge in Kerry for this promotion, finds his power far short of his expectations.

  Tension mounts as the ships coast northward, the barrier islands now clearly visible. Grenville is duly cautious, determined to avoid mishap. For three days the ships ride off the island of Wococon while depth soundings are made and recorded. All entries into the interior are so by nature fortified to the seaward, by reason of a shoal and most dangerous coast above 150 leagues lying all along this, her majesty’s dominion?21

  At last it is determined to bring the vessels through the entry at Wococon. Fernandez takes the helm and, as he coaxes the ship forward, misjudges the shoals. The Tiger runs aground hard, shuddering from the jolt. Men tumble to the deck; crates and cargo spill across the hold — slamming into bellowing livestock.

  A heavy sea washes over the ship, driving it onto the shoal like a battering ram. Without time to recover, it is pitched hard against the bar again. And again. And again. Eighty-nine strokes in all. The Tiger lies exposed and helpless, repeatedly beaten, bathed in salt tears. And in this moment, unknown to John White, the fate of the Lost Colony is sealed forever. From here on, all ensuing events evolve from this disaster. All our fleet struck aground, Lane wrote, and the Tiger lying beating upon the shoal for the space of 2 hours by the dial, we were all in extreme hazard of being cast away?34

  In the end, the Tiger is rotated and run aground hard to the shore. The ship, though damaged, is still intact with her back whole, which all the mariners aboard thought could not possibly but have been broken in sunder. And, though at least we saved ourselves, murmured Lane, it is not without loss.35 Grenville’s ship was so bruised, journalist Abraham Fleming reported in England, and the saltwater came so abundantly into her, that the most part of his corn, salt, meal, rice, biscuit, & other provisions that he should have left with them that remained behind him in the country was spoiled? The season is too far advanced for planting.

  The disaster bitterly underscores the lateness of their arrival. And that wholly through the default of him that intendeth to accuse others, Lane acridly notes. The fault of Grenville, who blames Fernandez. Your honour’s servant Symon FerdyNando, Lane hotly informs Secretary of State Walsingham, truly hath carried himself both with great skill, and great government all this voyage, notwithstanding this great cross to us all; as the whole gang of masters and mariners will with one voice affirm?1

  Butler’s Campaign

  As the cleanup of the Tiger commences, Grenville dispatches Corporal Richard Butler north to Hatorask Island, near Roanoke, to search for any of the fleet’s missing vessels that may have arrived.38 Miraculously, both the Roebuck and the Dorothy are sighted and retrieved.

  After this, Butler’s activity is unclear. The account is garbled. There are indications that he may have gone ashore, headed inland some sixty miles, and engaged in a skirmish with an unnamed Indian nation, enemies to those at Hatorask. He kills twenty. Little can be made of the story as it stands; as it is, the account is barely more than a comment in passing. Yet, as we shall see, it may hold a clue to the fate of the Lost Colonists.

  Wanchese must have accompanied Butler north to Roanoke. We sent word, states an anonymous entry in the Tiger journal, of our arriving at Wococon, to Wingino at Roanoke. Wingina, the King?9 But what else did Wanchese tell his leader? For he does not share Manteo’s enthusiasm for England.40 The difference in their attitudes is striking, obvious to all. Sullen since his arrival, Wanchese will not return to the ships. Nor will he enter the English chronicle again in any other capacity than that of an enemy.

  The Secotan Country

  July 11. A tilt boat, fitted with an awning, is readied for Grenville and divers other gentlemen, in
cluding Hariot and John White, for a trip into the interior.41 The party totals four vessels; fifty men at the very least. Manteo is sent ahead to prepare the way.

  The boats glide in formation away from Wococon, skirting the low, sandy keys hugging the island. Their route lies northwest across Pamlico Sound, which stretches to the horizon like a broad inland sea. The hours crawl by, forcing the barrier islands into distant retreat. All the while, the sun beats down upon the water, searing English faces blood red. Grenville is lucky to have an awning.

  They near the mainland as dusk settles. In the evening light the eerie swamp forest presents a dark and forbidding aspect. Somewhere deep inside the impenetrable gloom of this vast and huge expanse, a whippoor-will’s call echoes off cypress, túpelo, gum, and tulip.42 The men pass the night on the beach under full guard along the hem of trees. Or, perhaps more likely, they tough it out in the boats; a bed of rough planks gently lapped by water. Trusting what is familiar. Avoiding the thickening shadows; the forest drenched in night noises.

  The following day, the boats pull near the town of Pomeioc and apprehension melts away. Crowds throng the shore in greeting, an impressive sight. They are a people clothed with loose mantles made of deer skins, says Hariot, & aprons of the same round about their middles; of such a difference of statures only as we in England… . And to confess a truth, I cannot remember that ever I saw a better or quieter peopled

  The English are conducted down a sandy path snaking inland. Each step taken draws this remarkable world closer, shutting out England, forcing every man’s thoughts into himself. The trees grow more dense the deeper they penetrate, pressing in on every side. Suffocating. Luxuriant. Spanish moss drips from the canopy overhead, blotting out the light. Underfoot, the pine-needle carpet is stained purple from muscadine grapes spilling onto the ground. We have discovered the main to be the goodliest soil under the cope of Heaven, so abounding with sweet trees, that bring such sundry rich and most pleasant gums, grapes of such greatness, yet wild’

  They travel blindly through a dense world of shifting hues. Curtains of cadmium, cinnabar, sienna. A cardamom forest of towering trees. The spires soar above and all around them, a silent cathedral of shifting mood and light. An artist’s palette, a symphony of color. And then a shadowy palisade in a clearing. They have reached Pomeioc.

  Pomeioc

  The Englishmen wind through a turnstile of aromatic wood and pass into the town. John White snatches at sketch paper and charcoal. Capturing impressions and shapes. Later, he will fill in everything with vibrant watercolor. The entrance is very narrow as may be seen by this picture, observes Thomas Hariot, narrating, which is made according to the form of the town of Pomeioc. There are but few houses therein, save those which belong to the king and his nobles.

  Children peer hesitantly from doorways. On both sides, a momentary shyness. The English, at a loss what to do, spread out trade goods produced in noisy shops in faraway London. We offered them of our wares, as glasses, knives, babies, and other trifles, which we thought they delighted in.%To the great relief of the multitude of English indigents, the Indian trade will provide ample vent of the labour of our poor people at home, by sale of hats, bonnets, knives, fish-hooks, copper kettles, beads, looking-glasses, bugles & a thousand kinds of other wrought wares. Mr. Ashley, a maker of playing cards in Butulph Lane, hopes to tap into this market. His workshop is littered with beads and trifles. Looking-glasses, bells, beads, bracelets, chains or collars of bugle, crystal, amber, jet, or glass.47

  White sketches a picture of the chief’s daughter, of the age of 8 or 10 years, clutching an English baby doll. They are greatly delighted with puppets, and babes which were brought out of England, comments Hariot. A much-loved little girl. What, exactly, did her father trade in order to buy it for her? The people, perceiving our good will and courtesy, came fawning upon us, and bade us welcome.^

  As the afternoon wears on, John White and Thomas Hariot survey the surrounding countryside. There is a place behind the town, they are told, a perfect sphere of water. An inland lake. A great lake called… Paquype. They follow a wooded trail, damp and spongy underfoot, around knotty cypress knees jutting out of stagnant water the color of weak tea, tainted by tannic acid. Scarlet-headed parakeets tumble wildly into the air, frightened at their approach.49 The path skirts trees the girth of five men, primordial giants draped in skeins of green vine. Tendrils curl, cascading downward, twisting over the ground below. Then without warning, incongruous amid the tangle, a ring of blue water.

  A mesmerizing sight. Paquype, a white sandy bed beneath bands of turquoise water as luminous as any West Indian sea. The lake is shallow, barely four feet deep. Hot to the touch. On the shore a blue heron takes flight, its wings silently beating, rising gracefully above the treeline. A shiver. There is something wonderfully wild and lonely about Paquype. And alive.

  Hariot seems oddly at a loss for words: near the lake of Paquippe, there is another town called Pomeiock hard by the sea… The country about this place is so fruitful and good, that England is not to be compared to it.50Never compared to it. Later, amid the rushing throngs of London, how will he describe this place? How will he make anyone understand?

  Only reluctantly, as shadows spread across the lake, do the men step back into Pomeioc. Into a human world. Into a great commotion, a bustle of activity. People laughing. Women unrolling woven mats across the plaza. A mosaic of color and pattern; a carpet of black and red and tan and orange. Wooden platters are laid out, piled high with savory meats and breads; bowls brimming with soups and stews. The company gathers around; English visitors on one side, the Secotan on the other. A speech is made, startling the soldiers, for it is likely that here, as in the Powhatan country to the north, formal words are spoken with such vehemency and so great passions, that they… are so out of breath they can scarce speak. So that a man would take them to be exceeding angry or stark mad.51

  Darkness settles heavily around Pomeioc. The night air enveloping, warm, heavy with the drone of locusts and frogs. The visit makes for a festive atmosphere. Much laughter and joking as the food platters are passed around. They keep their feasts, says Hariot, and make good cheer together in the midst of the town.51 Somewhere far away within the swamp an alligator growls. Inside the protective palisade walls, a comforting security. A surrendering to the calmness of the night.

  Aquascogoc

  In the morning the boats head west, hugging the mainland. They are now deep within the Secotan country, two days away from the ships anchored off the coast. By late afternoon they invade the waterside town of Aquascogoc. With each town visited, a world is mapped out. Unknown people and places becoming familiar. Again a welcome; again a trade. The people, observes Lane, are most courteous, & very desirous to have cloth. By London standards, the trade advantage is one-sided. They esteem our trifles, Hariot remarks, before things of greater value. It is, of course, relative. Hariot readily concedes that they seem very ingenious and show excellencie of wit.5^

  The town of Aquascogoc lies enveloped in cornfields. As the traders pack away their wares, the last, weak rays of sunlight play across the maroon corn silk spilling out of cobs fat and ready for harvest. The kernels, a riot of pink and white and purple, will be pounded in mortars into lavender-tinted flour. Worked into moist bread called ponap, the “corn pone” of English settlers.54

  Offshore, Indian dugouts ride a crimson tide as the sun tumbles into the sound. Shimmering fire across the water. Fishermen, in grand silhouette, lay their nets, rhythmically casting and hauling in. Butterflies unfolding glistening wings of nettle fiber. A graceful dance. Eventually the boats, lit up by torches, will twinkle toward land. Drawn by the fires of Aquascogoc.

  The domed houses gleam with muted light, illuminating woven wall patterns like stained glass, spilling warm shapes across the tamped ground outside. Each design different. Stars and geometries; kaleidoscopic forms; birds and fish. Hariot cautiously enters a house, touching the beams gingerly to examine its constructio
n. Their dwellings are builded with certain posts fastened together, and covered with mats which they turn up as high as they think good, and so receive in the light.55

  Such excellencie of wit encourages the belief that the Secotan might readily embrace the Anglican religion. The task falls to Hariot, fluent in their language from days spent with Manteo and Wanchese at Raleigh’s house along the Thames. Many times and in every town where I came, according as I was able, I made declaration of the contents of the Bible. The accoutrements of faith are produced: a Bible, a cross, a silver communion chalice.56 For Aquascogoc the destruction has begun. July 15: the morning dawns clear and bright. On the surface nothing seems amiss; nothing portends that Aquascogoc will not survive another day.

  Secota

  The English embark, heading west through Pamlico Sound, and disappear around a coast cluttered with sand islands. Brackish spray flies hot against the wooden bowsprit. It is afternoon before they reach Secota, Wingina’s capital, entering by an inlet that fronts the town. Houses, temple, and statehouse are ranged unevenly along an avenue amid fields of corn and family garden plots. The plan is open, airy, and inviting, fairer than the walled villages already visited. No palisade surrounds this place. At Secota the English are well entertained.51

  An avenue runs through the center of the community like a heart line, crowded with houses and cornfields cleared back to back and pressing against the forest. Each is differently sown, providing three harvests; a steady crop of food. Their ripe corn. Their green corn. Corn newly sprung.5* The first field is flanked by a column of pumpkins, not yet ripe. Green globes cradled by soft ground.