Croatoan: To Begin Anew

By James Olds

I am an ardent student of American history, as a matter of fact, that most colonists came here chasing a dream or more strongly we came chasing the essence of love, either in search of or escape from. This, then begs a closer examination of what this term "love" truly is. If we take the Biblical description of "love", which is probably what most

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: Apr 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957781655

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Copyright © 2022 by James Olds.

ISBN 978-1-957781-63-1 (softcover)

ISBN 978-1-957781-64-8 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-957781-65-5 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022905284

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America.

Book Vine Press

2516 Highland Dr.

Palatine, IL 60067

Preface

Istarted writing this book, maybe not for the standard reasons that a man might write a book, but, you see most of the men that I have had the fortune or misfortune of knowing in my life seem to be uncomfortable in discussing, even in the most casual of terms this basic concept of love. Perhaps it infringes or their concept of manhood, or for a myriad of different excuses. But, I have come to learn that there is one simple fact in life, we all seek to find our own concept of love. Even this begs the question, how do we, individualy, define love? By this very question, I don’t mean the preverbeal one night stand but rather the true definition of love as only our heart and our very soul can define. In my own personal quest I find that the 1990’s Bryan Adams song Everything, I do, I do it for you probably professes everything I mean by love. All my life I have searched for that one special person that we could truly wrap or embrace this moniker on. After three marriages, which I am not proud of, each time I thought I had finally found true person. One, in fact after eight and a half years of marriage and two children, I came to find did not even know the color of my eyes. After another marriage, I truly felt that I had found that one special person that shared this feeling with me. This is the person that I started writing this book for. I actually started the first chapter over several times and perhaps the first chapter, as one reviewer told me was rather academic but I felt that it lead in was necessary to present the proper image or tone for the remainder of the book. But, to my dismay, when I actually got about halfway through, I presented it to that one special person as a gift thinking that she would find it as precious as I did and what I was hoping for. When she did not even open it under the excuse of you know I don’t read anything unless I have to, I began to understand that my search continued. It was not until I was diagnosed with MS (Multiple Sclerosis) and lost even the ability to stand, that I relized that my efforts over the years was all one sided. This shocking development did not come bursting on to the screen until late one night, around 3 AM to be more exact, that this presumably the love of my life attempted to murder me with a pillow over my face! Now, to an ordinary person this may not sound that bad but to a quadriplegic, this is just as threatening as a gun or knife! At any rate, all of that can be for a different discussion.

In an attempt to describe my own personal search for love, I chose a part of American history that I fear may be lost on many. As an ardent student of American history and native to the Tidewater region of southeastern Virginia, I have had a long fascination when it comes to the issue of the lost colony. After numerous visits to the site, it appears to be most strange and intriguing that the colonists who were from the sixteenth-century urban England would place their strongest weapon, a ship’s cannon, pointing out to sea, rather than inland to provide some form of defense against the presence of hundreds of Native Americans that most textbooks fail to mention.

At any rate, as the book suggests, my search for true love continues, even though I am now confined to a wheelchair. I hope you will enjoy reading this as much as I had in writing it!

Chapter One

…To begin anew

He heard the distinctive sound of the small metal food door open and a metal dish slide across the filthy stone floor. Pushing away some the straw that was thrown on the floor for sanitation purposes, he tried to focus on the item sent in. His vision was still impaired from the horrendous beating he had received. But he could tell that the rest did him some good for the swelling had gone down slightly. From where he laid on the straw he could see what appeared to be crusts of bread and possibly a bowl of water. At least water is what it was called. Normally it was brown with such a putrid smell it was not worth drinking. The bread was never anything to praise either. It was normally just crusts as if it had come off of someone’s plate. Someone had told him once that the crusts actually came from the Officer’s Mess, after, of course, they had their fill.

Officer’s Mess, what is that supposed to mean? Do they’s gives it that name because these gentlemen makes a mess of things? He thought to himself as a wry smile came to his lips. Well, I guess I’ds best be getting’ to me plate ’efore them rats get’s there. He thought as he tried to pull himself up to a seating position. The rest had been good for him, true enough, but the sharp pain in his side was still there and reminded him as such the moment he attempted to move. Grabbing his side and although he winced in pain, Tristan’s sense of humor was restored. I’ll have to have me personal physician check this out or I’s won’t be fit fer the ball. And again he smiled.

He decided to try standing, for if he were to pull himself across the straw he would uncover the human waste that was left from the last intern. Bracing himself against the stone wall he edged over to the meager rations. Something was different.

This ain’t no crust…it’s a whole loaf! Blimey, and a bowl of milk! Damn…

He wiped his hands the best he could and picked up the bread and slowly, using the wall to lean against, slunk down beside the dish of milk. He could hardly believe his good fortune! He could not remember when the last time he had a whole loaf, let alone milk. Blimy, he thought to himself, if this be half rations, I wonder what full would bring me?

It smelled great and warm to the touch, must be freshly baked, he thought as he took his first bite. The taste of freshly baked bread against his pallet was exquisite and he savored the morsel, closing his eyes he drifted back into memories of days gone by.

It was long ago when he was but a wee lad, before his Paw took off. He remembered their small country cottage and the smell of fresh baked bread from his mother’s hearth. He would try, he remembered fondly, to help her churn the butter, but he was too small to be much good. A smile came to his face as he reminiscence. The thing he remembered the most was her scent. His mother had a scent all of her own. Every time she would cradle his small face in her hands the scent would surround him letting him know he was safe. Blimy…where did all that come from? Visions from the past…

He took another bite, but this time he nearly broke a tooth! Something was inside the loaf and it was hard, metal like. What the…! Using two fingers, he slowly reached in his mouth, found the object and began pulling it out. It was not until the entire object was out of his mouth until he realized what it was. The moment he could focus his swollen eyes upon the object he let out a cry with the entire vigor his painful side would allow. "BLESS YOU LIETENANT! BLESS YOU…AND BLESS THE ROYAL MARINES! Ecstatic at the return of his coveted locket, he kissed it and placed it back around his neck for safe keeping.

Smiling and shaking his head in a mixture of joy and disbelief, he quickly finished off the bread. Wiping the crumbs from his mouth, he pulled back the neckline of what remained of his shirt to look at the locket once more. Smiling once again, he patted his chest to secure the safety of his precious prize. Reaching down he picked up the dish of milk and drank it all down without a breath.

Now that his stomach was full for the first time in a very long time, he decided to return to his pile of straw to catch up on some still needed rest. Gingerly negotiating around the human feces left behind from the former occupant, Tristan gathered additional straw to increase his bedding. After nestling in it did not take long for sleep to over come.

No sooner than he had dozed off did come a sharp beating upon a cell door, quickly followed by indiscernible voices and shuffling of feet. Startling him awake, for he was sure he had not been asleep long at all. As he rubbed his still swollen eyes he heard the barking of the guards.

All right, all right, that’s enough then…up ye goes!

The clanking shut of a cell door was unmistakable. That’s four…just this last one and we’s be through!

Tristan didn’t know what to expect as he heard the keys jingle and turn in his lock. The massive iron door creaked opened, terminating with a thud. There stood, with hands on his hips, the same guard that he had tussled with in front of the Lieutenant. A large ring of keys hung from one hand as he motioned with the other to two other guards, equally as large.

This here’s the last of them. Drag ’im out!

These two other guards were upon him before he knew what was happening and were dragging him out the cell.

Where am I going Tristan asked.

Shuts up you responded the Sergeant lobbing spit in his direction in a sign of apathy.

The guards were moving so quickly that Tristan did not have the time to stand on his feet as they dragged him to the open courtyard in the center of the prison, affectionately know as The Tower. The sun was warm to his face and felt good, but the brightness of the light, especially after being in the dark cell, brought renewed pain to his eyes. He could still barely see and the brightness made matters even worse. What he could see were figures standing in the open, four in one group and three more facing them. No guards were visible, save the two still dragging him.

They dragged him to the group of four and then released him, causing Tristan to