The White Doe

White's mood improved when he took stock of the remaining buildings as he led the company to the site three days later. The fort itself had been razed. While the houses were damaged and overgrown with melon vines, on which deer were happily grazing, they needed only minor repairs. In fact, his old dwelling, in which he had sketched so often, was still intact. In Chesapeake, they'd have to start from scratch. Here, he knew the land, at least; he knew the Indians. And the Croatoan Indians Manteo and Towaye, who had lived with Raleigh for the last few years, had traveled back with them; it would be good to have allies to consult. Perhaps this was the better way after all.

"We will be fine, Father." Said Eleanor. She rubbed her enormous stomach. "At least my son will be born in a proper English house!"

The climate and the labor did not seem to agree with one of the assistants, a hitherto jovial fellow named George Howe. With each passing day, Howe seemed to grow paler and weaker. He tired easily and White worried about him.

Does this place have new diseases of which we are not aware of?

Six days later, he would learn the truth.

White had been peacefully sketching when young Thomas Archard hastened up to him, his face flushed with exertion. "It's Master Howe!" He cried, almost sobbing. "He's dead, he's bloody dead!"

The boy's hysterical cries had caught the attention of everyone in the encampment. Husbands looked to wives, mothers reached for their children.

White cursed inwardly, for Tom had blurted out the news right in front of young Georgie. Howe's eleven-year-old son.

Georgie went pale as a sheet, but White could spare no time to comfort the orphan.

Wordlessly, he put down his pen. He, Cooper and Ananias followed where the boy lead. White's first thought was that poor George, with his increasing weakness, had didd of exhaustion, even though White had ordered him to stop the hard labor and to try to catch crabs for their supper instead. This site Howe had selected was all too familiar, if the more grotesque for its freshness.

George Howe had not died from exhaustion. In order to better reach the crabs, he had stripped to next to nothing. Now, he lay facedown in bloody sand. Sixteen arrows pierced his body like pincushion. Worse, though, was the dreadful mess the Indians had made of Howe's head. Brain and bits of bone were splattered about.

Tom lost control now and began to cry, turning toward Ananias and burying his head in the older man's chest.

Ananias patted him awkwardly. His eyes met White's and White nodded. Ananias had seen what he had seen; two small holes in Howe's throat. They could have been mistaken for insect bites, but both Ananias and White had seen this before.

No wonder Howe had been weakening by the day. They would all need to take the utmost care. During the balmy nights, the open air was more pleasant than the unfinished buildings and most of the men hae taken advantage of that. They would need to rebuild the fort and quickly, sleeping on the pinnace in the meantime.

They--

"We've got to find them." Said Cooper. His face glowed with a thirst for revenge. "We've got to find the savages and kill them. Look at him! Poor Georgie!"

"We'll take care of Georgie." Said Ananias before White could speak.

"We must be certain who did this." Said White, keeping up appearances even though he knew that, though the Indians had killed George Howe, they were not the most dangerous enemy. And he could not speak what was uppermost in his mind: 'If Howe was gradually being drained and about to be Turned, then they were right to kill him.'

White nods and says, "I'll speak with Manteo."