Survivors of the Lost Colony

By Anny Rehwaldt Meyer

In 1587 Sir Walter Raleigh sponsored just over a hundred British citizens to go by ship to the new world to start a colony in what he had dubbed Virginia. After a long and difficult voyage, they arrived and were immediately set upon by some of the local Indians. When their leader, John White returned three years later all of the colonists had va

• Language: English
• Publisher: Telepub LLC
• Release date: Sep 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781962130271

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SURVIVORS OF THE LOST COLONY

Copyright © 2023 by ANNY REHWALDT MEYER

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by the copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator. at the address below.

ISBN for Paperback: 978-1-962130-25-7

ISBN for Hardback: 978-1-962130-26-4

ISBN for Ebook: 978-1-962130-27-1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023918768

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, places are products of the author’s imagination.

Printing Edition of 2023.

TelePub LLC.

Long Beach, California

USA

CHAPTER 1

Eleanor, London,

Spring 1587

Eleanor was pleased with how her new dress disguised the fact that she was pregnant. She carefully slipped the pieces past her head over freshly braided hair. It was the finest garment she had ever made—smooth green damask, high-waisted with a tight bodice and a voluminous skirt, perfect for hiding her growing belly. Only nineteen years old, Eleanor, like many of her friends, was already the mother of two, an infant boy and a two-year-old girl. Tiny baby John, named after her dear father. Sweet little Thomasine, named for her late mother.

Today was important. Eleanor was to meet the great Sir Walter Raleigh himself, the man behind the adventure they were about to embark upon. An English colony in America. Eleanor and her husband Ananias could hardly believe their good luck. Raleigh had promised each man going along a full five hundred acres of land, theirs, free and clear. It was something they could never hope for in England.

Eleanor and Ananias Dare were Londoners, barely scraping out a living on the edge of a slum. Today would change all that in an instant. They were to accompany Eleanor’s father, John White, to Raleigh’s famous Durham House, a mansion on The Strand, where he would raise them all to the gentry and finalize the last-minute plans for their departure, slated to occur in a mere fortnight. In just two weeks’ time, they would board the largest of Raleigh’s three ships, the Lion, destined to make land at Chesapeake Bay in what Sir Walter had dubbed Virginia in honor of his beloved Elizabeth, England’s virgin Queen.

John White, an artist by trade, had recently made the long trip to Virginia for Raleigh to draw and paint the local flora and fauna and report back on his findings. On White’s beautiful paintings’ strength and enthusiasm for the land and its natural wonders, Raleigh subsidized this second trip, outfitted with over a hundred colonists to start a permanent colony, naming White its governor and chief organizer. Eleanor’s husband, a bricklayer, was appointed as one of nine assistants to White. Ananias took his post seriously, feeling an important part of this momentous endeavor.

The three would-be colonists stepped out of a hired carriage in front of Durham House, trying to maintain their decorum. Just the outside of Raleigh’s home had them in awe. The façade of the mansion was vast, nearly a full city block long. A liveried servant opened the front door for them to enter.

By the light, Eleanor swore under her breath when she got her first glimpse of the opulence Raleigh lived in. The floor to the entryway was marble, with huge gleaming mirrors on the walls to the right and left. A sweeping staircase curved upwards, wide and covered with a carpet looking more like yards of plush velvet fabric for a gentleman’s waistcoat than a rug to be walked upon.

Following yet another servant up the stairs, Eleanor held her head high, proud of herself for hiding her secret pregnancy. She did not want their chance at a new life ruined just because nobody wanted a woman onboard a ship in her condition. By her calculations, they would be in Virginia well before the baby was due to be born. It would be the first English baby born in America. They would make history.

Sir Walter’s decadently decorated study overwhelmed Eleanor’s senses. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases, full of well over a thousand volumes, lined the walls. The aromas of tobacco smoke and leather filled the air, and she felt a sudden thrill to be in the presence of so many well-dressed men all puffing on the new rage in London—pipes. The smells were intoxicating and made her want to rush home that instant with her husband in tow to make love right then, in the middle of the day. Why not? Soon they would be on board the Lion, making their way to the new world with very little privacy for such passion.

Eleanor could tell at a glance that most of the men in the room were of highborn station. Queen Elizabeth’s Sumptuary Laws had set very clear limits on the colors and styles of clothing people of each station in their society were allowed to wear. Several gentlemen in Raleigh’s study had elaborate fashions in bright colors like crimson and bright blue with matching hose and elegant shoes. Compared to them, her father and husband looked like the poor commoners they were. The difference was glaringly obvious, like seeing a male peacock in full plumage standing right next to a dowdy brown hen.

Even the two American Indians her father had spoken of, Manteo and Wanchese, were dressed better than Ananias. At home in Virginia, the natives had worn only leather. Once in London, Raleigh dressed them in fine English attire. It was easy to see they were both less than comfortable. Manteo repeatedly tugged at his ruff collar while Wanchese, his long hair still worn in the Algonquin fashion, tied at the back of his head, surreptitiously pulled at the crotch of his wool trousers.

Suddenly Eleanor was brought out of her reverie by the voice of a stranger walking straight towards her, his hand extended, reaching for hers, lifting it, kissing it, and introducing himself in a pronounced French accent. Bon jour, Madame. Je suis Le Marquis de Viamblard. I will be your guide on a tour of Sir Walter’s gardens this morning. Please come with me, and we will enjoy the spring flowers while these men bore each other with the details of their expedition, oui? he said to her with such a charming smile on such an attractive face that she could do nothing but comply.

Eleanor instantly descended the staircase they had just ascended and, exiting a side door, entered an elaborate garden of a scale she had never seen before or imagined. There were cropped hedges and flowers blooming everywhere she looked, perfectly placed in symmetrical patterns with carefully groomed pathways. The Marquis talked and talked about one thing after another, but all Eleanor could do was imagine how she would recreate this wonder in Virginia. Surely they could spare a tiny part of their five hundred acres for a bit of beauty.

Eleanor was vaguely aware of what the Marquis was saying as he explained how Sir Walter had created this labyrinth of color and named it to honor his Queen, calling it his Elizabethan Garden.

Yesterday’s rain had left everything fresh, the greenery glistening in the sun of the new day. Along a trail lined by Scotch pine trees, rare in southern England, fragrant needles cushioned their every step. Eleanor was awe-struck once again. She had no idea London possessed anything as lovely as this oasis in the midst of their city’s desert of grime and filth.

When the Frenchman started to explain how he had come to live at Durham house with Sir Walter, Eleanor began to listen to his mesmerizing voice. It seemed that he had been caught somewhere in Paris having an affair with the wife of someone important. Important enough that the Marquis had to flee his country and his sizeable debts immediately or risk losing more than his sullied reputation. Arriving in London, his title had earned him entry to court. There, he instantly made friends with Sir Walter, who recognized him as a like spirit, full of dreams of adventure but short on funds. So, Raleigh had at once offered him his choice of the many vacant bedchambers in Durham House, and they had lived like brothers ever since, the brothers they had become.

Just as Eleanor was about to ask the Marquis a question, Ananias and her father came walking towards her, grins so wide she could tell at a glance that Sir Walter had made good his promise to raise them both to the gentry. This important step up in class showed in the way the two men nearly strutted with every stride, shoulders a bit higher, chins up, ready to take on their new life in Virginia.

So much to do. Lists were suddenly spinning in Eleanor’s mind. Sell most of their precious books because they can only take with them one footlocker each. Surely though, there was room for her mother’s favorite book. Reading it repeatedly gave Eleanor so much comfort she may need in America, where there would be no bookstores to browse in and no plays to attend. Not yet, anyway. They would eventually build a lovely town and have all their favorite comforts after future ships arrived with more colonists with more skills and various trades to ply. However, that was the future. For now, she had to get busy.

Their little ones, John and Thomasine, would be left in the care of Ananias’s responsible, hardworking older brother. Out in the countryside, where Herbert farmed with his wife and family, the children would thrive in the fresh air, away from the soot and stench of London. They would have clean water to drink, milk every day, and plenty to eat. In a few years, when they were old enough to sail, they would join Eleanor and Ananias on their estate in Virginia.

So much to do. Eleanor could hardly wait to get started.

CHAPTER 2

Alsoome, Virginia,

May 1587

Fifth day of the Moon of the first Buds

In the forest, the woman walked silently through the trees. She felt at ease here among the spirits of earth and air. She said a silent prayer of thanks to Ahone, the creator God, for giving her such a fine day. Then she reached into the pouch at her waist, took out a few tiny seashells and a bit of tobacco, and, throwing them, whispered her wish for montoac, the divine power to succeed at today’s tasks.

This was the perfect time of year to search for May apples while they were still green and unripe. Once the small fruits turned red in summer, it was hard to beat the squirrels to them since they lay close to the ground on a small bush and made good eating for the busy rodents. However, she did not want them sweet and juicy. At that point, they would have lost the medicinal properties she sought this day.

The woman was an important member of her tribe. Their healer. They called themselves the Croatoan. The good people. They were the smallest tribe in the group known as the Algonquins. Counting warriors, women, old ones, and children, their village numbered just under five hundred. Some of the tribes to the West and North were easily twice that.

Like most Croatoans, the woman had more than one name. When she was born, she was small, so people called her Alawa, meaning pea. Later, when she learned to care for herself, most of her tribe began to call her Alsoome, or Independent One. As her skills as a healer grew, some feared her amazing power over life and death and began to call her Pauwau, witch. However, that name was usually whispered when she was far enough away not to hear.

When Alsoome married the most striking warrior in the tribe, Huritt, she soon had a new name. Born in quick succession, Alsoome’s three little girls lovingly called her Anna, meaning Mother. This name pleased her most of all.

There was one more name she longed for but had never had. Numees. Sister. Alsoome wished she had a woman to confide in, if not a real sister, then a close friend with whom she could trust her secrets and desires.

Alsoome did have special people in her life, people she held dear to her heart. One was a man named Manteo. They had grown up together as children, first playmates, then friends. He was gone now, and Alsoome feared he might never return to them. Over a year before, he had left with the white men on their great boat. Every day she prayed to Ahone to bring him safely home to her, to his people.

The medicine woman had been gathering healing plants all her life. Her mother and grandmother had each held the position of healer before her. While they were still alive, she had leaned on their expertise for guidance. Now she was on her own, struggling with a decision that could use their advice. The problem brought her to the far woods this day in search of unripe May apples.

Should she use the green May apple to expel the tiny baby growing in her belly? She already had three girls to carry on her knowledge and skills. She didn’t need a fourth and had no husband to help raise him should it prove to be a boy this time. Huritt had been killed recently in a skirmish with another tribe, the Secotans. She was still mourning his loss. The Secotan warriors tried to steal food for their many hungry villagers West of the Croatoans. Huritt died defending the stores her people needed to survive. It had been a lean year. No one had enough corn to spare. The white men had scared off much of the game with their noisy firesticks. This winter was going to be hard on all the Algonquins.

The hunters went out every morning in hopes of bringing back venison, rabbits, turkeys, anything to augment their diet of edible roots and nuts the women gathered. Come summer, the women would grow squash, corn, beans, and pumpkin in the communal garden. Until those crops ripened and were harvested, the tribe went hungry too often. Most days lately, the men came home with little, perhaps enough for one meal for the whole tribe but not enough to dry and smoke to store up for winter.

So, one more mouth to feed was not what she nor the tribe needed. Alsoome had helped other women end pregnancies with the green May apples before. The bitter fruit mimicked the symptoms of a miscarriage so perfectly that no one had ever guessed she had given them the poison. That was the tricky part of the unripe fruit. Too much was deadly. For each woman, Alsoome had tried to calculate the correct amount depending on how tall and heavy the woman was. For herself, since she was small in stature, only half of one fruit would be needed to start the cramping and bleeding, expelling the tiny infant.

She was only a few weeks pregnant. No one else even knew yet. That’s why she was in a hurry. She wanted to end the pregnancy before anyone found out and started asking questions she had decided she would refuse to answer. No one needed to know the name of the man who had offered her solace just weeks after her husband’s death.

Finally, Alsoome found a cluster of the right plants. Low to the ground, wide shiny green leaves. She lifted the leaves with her walking staff, and there it was—a small green fruit. She reached down and plucked it from its bush and, without further thought, bit into it, ignoring the sharp, sour taste, chewed and bit again before throwing the uneaten half into the woods. If a squirrel found and ate it, no harm would come to the little animal. For some reason, the fruit, even while still green, was not poisonous to them.

After swallowing, Alsoome said a prayer to the forest spirit, thanking her for the remedy to her dilemma. She marked the tree next to the patch of bushes with a large slash of her knife so she could easily find the spot again in the fall. The roots and stems, gathered after the plant had died back, were useful for healing poultices.

She began the long walk back to her village when her task was complete. It would take about two hours, plenty of time to gather a basketful of herbs to show for her day in the forest. Plenty of time for the green apple to start its work.

The sun barely penetrated in places where the forest was so densely overgrown with bushes and trees. Once every mile or so, she came upon a clearing where lightning had started a fire years ago, leaving charred wood on half-dead trees, the land open to light, and smaller plants growing once again.

In anticipation of the bleeding, Alsoome picked a large quantity of the sponge-like moss that grew on the north side of the trees. Lifting her buckskin skirt, she placed some moss between her legs and fastened it with a long strip of leather. The rest of the moss went into her basket with the herbs. She easily found Agrimony and Angelica in the forest. She knew a clearing up ahead where there would be bearberry blossoms and plenty of bee balm, good for so many stomach ailments.

When she got home, and her daughters noticed she was using the moss to staunch her bleeding, they would just think their mother was having her regular monthly moon time.

Relieved she had made her decision and taken action, she smiled to herself. She headed home, walking slowly, enjoying the rare solitude.

CHAPTER 3

Manteo, London,

Spring 1587

Manteo was curious why the beautiful white woman was not allowed to stay at the meeting of Raleigh and his assistants. Manteo thought that John White was his usual sturdy self, a good man. He was surprised, though, by the younger one with White, the one with the difficult name. Ananias. He would have to practice saying it properly since they would be going on the great boat together to go home. Ananias had seemed unsettled inside. Maybe they would know each other better by the time they got home. He would need a friend on the boat since Raleigh was not going along. His Queen wanted him at her side, he had said, to make her laugh and give her advice.

Home. Finally, before the next full moon, they would be on their way back across the big water. How he longed to see his mother and his best friend, Alsoome. There was so much to tell them about these Englishmen. He wanted to warn them that thousands of white men and women were crowded into a city so big it could not be described. And their chief, a woman with great power named Elizabeth, wanted to take their land for her use. That much had been clear to Manteo for a while now. His English was not yet perfect, but a friend of Raleigh’s, Thomas Harriot, had been helping him learn their language and had written down Manteo’s words in a book, doing his best to speak Croatoan. However, the man’s tongue seemed to get in his way when trying to pronounce many of their words.

Raleigh had forced Manteo and Wanchese to give up wearing their buckskins and put on strange shirts and pants like those he wore. The white man’s clothing covered up all the intricate tattoos on the native men’s arms and legs tattoos that were proof of their power and status in their village. Without their tattoos to proclaim their worth, they felt naked and weak.

The leather boots were good; they had to admit that much, but the rest felt confining, and the fabric itched against the skin. Raleigh was trying to turn both natives into Englishmen. Manteo went along with whatever Raleigh wanted, hoping that if he cooperated, Raleigh would send him home sooner. Wanchese could not stomach such deception and would not even help Harriot learn the Croatoan language with Manteo. Out of Harriot’s earshot, the two Croatoan natives had discussed how good it would feel to take off these horrible clothes and put on deerskin loincloths again. To feel the earth of their village under their bare feet once more would be a good thing.

After John White and Ananias had left the meeting, Raleigh and his friends continued talking, forgetting that Manteo could understand most of what they said. They had discussed the rumors that the Spanish King was planning to send many ships to fight against England. Raleigh was in a hurry to get his three great boats on their way to America before the war started. After that, he knew his good friend, the Queen, would need every boat there was to fight the Spanish. Hearing this, Manteo was glad they were leaving soon. He had no interest in being trapped there in the middle of a huge war between two great chiefs.

Manteo had been taken to the Queen’s palace once. Raleigh wanted her to see how he had turned a native from America into a fine Englishman. Manteo could barely speak English then, but it was enough to impress Raleigh’s many colorfully dressed friends. Raleigh had taught Manteo a little speech to say in front of them all, and when he had finished, they had all laughed and applauded loudly.

The only thing that had impressed Manteo that day was the Queen herself. Elizabeth. She sat in a big chair, and everyone bowed to her. Women held positions of great power in his village, too. Hence, he understood how it could be that this small woman with strange white paint on her face was the most important person in all of England. He did not mind bowing to her, for he could sense her power. The way she held her chin high and spoke with a clear, loud voice reminded him of his mother, who had taken over his place as chief of their village when he left with the white men to come to England.

It seemed Raleigh and his friends would never stop talking that day, but finally, Raleigh said he was ready to go back to his house. He called it Durham House, but Manteo had heard others call it Raleigh House. The first time Manteo had seen it, the day the huge boat arrived at the dock in London, Manteo thought it must be the biggest building in the world. When