Letter From America
Entry by: Sirona
28th October 2016
Roanoke Island
July, 1589
My dear sister,
The journey across the ocean was even more difficult than you might imagine. I did not travel well, and was confined to the women’s cabin for much of the time. I did not want for company, though. The sailors were brutish sorts, using course language and becoming unruly when the day’s rum ration had been handed out; they were not good Christian company. The women and children confined themselves wherever possible and we passed the time with songs and stories.
My heart has never been so glad, as when we heard the call that land had been sighted.
In truth, it was hard to believe that we had come so far, for from the ocean the land looked not much different to our own home. It was only the wildness of it, that marked it out as the New World rather than the old. As far as the eye could see in either direction there was only forest, no docks, no towns or villages, no farms. From the ship, with the warm summer sun bathing the trees, it looked lush and welcoming. But looks, my dearest Eliza, can be deceptive.
We disembarked, 118 men, women and children, and found our way to Roanoke Island where the earlier parties had made their camp. You will remember there had been two expeditions? the first to discover the land and the second with learned men to discover more of the place.
They had built a wall of wood, to section off part of the island, and when I asked why, I was told of the presence of two savage tribes nearby; the Secotan who call this island home, and the Chowanoke who hold sway over the water. The Secotan were welcoming to the first explorers, but when the second arrived, they became violent and had continued to worry the Christian men. The Chowanoke attacked any who attempted to fish or explore the waterways.
They were savages indeed; they did not realise the rights granted us by the Queen to settle here. They did not recognise the word of God, the sacred commandments. I was told that they worshipped the countryside itself, the spirits of animals and plants.
Perhaps it sounds foolish to you, that even with this knowledge we wanted to stay. I know that you did not understand why we would leave England for such a dangerous journey, although I tried to explain the thrill of going somewhere so completely new to you. I confess, I did have some fears which John and I prayed over, but even had we wanted to, we could not have returned once Sir Walter’s ships had sailed for England.
When the summer sun was high in the sky, there was a wonder to being in such a place; it was at night when the terror took hold. It is a lonely place, so very empty. So very quiet, save for the strange cries of the Secotan and Chowanoke, their whoops and hollars that our preachers called an affront to The Lord.
My first sight of a Secotan came when I left the safety of the fortress to gather firewood. A twig snapped, behind me, and on turning I saw a woman, bare breasted with her modesty only protected by an animal skin about her waist. We froze, and for a few seconds stared at each other. I marvelled at the tone of her skin, it was as nothing I have ever seen before. Darker than ours, it seemed to shimmer as though she were touched with gold. Her hair, black as night, and her eyes the same.
I smiled, I think, hoping it would encourage her to stay, so I could look on her a little longer but someone shouted nearby and she took fright and ran, agile as a deer, through the forest. She did not look savage, Eliza. In that moment that our eyes met, although our faces were very different, I think our spirits were mirrored. She was as amazed by my white skin and pale hair as I was with her darkness. If it had just been she and I, I think we might have spoken. I think we might even have become friends.
The sickness began to take hold the next summer. It took one or two, at first. Then one night, the Secotan woman I had seen came to us, with a child that was ravaged by fever. The mothers’ eyes were dark with fear, and she cast glances over her shoulder as though she feared her own people discovering her there. She implored us with her eyes, and her strange words; I suppose she thought we could help, but we could not. The child died, and she keened in mourning as I have never heard. I did not know how to comfort such grief.
Our preacher and some armed men went to them too, asking for advice on which plants or herbs might help to cure our sick. Desperate questions, but neither they nor we knew the answer. When winter came, so the illness died with it and we gave thanks for the end of it. God did not hear our prayers, and with the spring, the fevers returned.
We buried 10, with another 12 sickening, before Governor White’s chosen man gave the order to leave.
There had always been a plan, in the event of such a problem, he said. We were to travel 50 miles south, to another location and make a new camp there. We signalled our destination by carving the name of the island into the gatepost: Croatan. We were doing the same into a nearby tree, when the Chowanoke attacked. They had not sickened, as we and the Secotan had, and they pressed their advantage.
We ran, dear Eliza, abandoning anything that we could not carry; even the sick. We ran for our lives. Red skins and white skins alike, with only the clothes on our backs. They harried at us, separating us, driving us ever deeper into the unknown. I soon found myself lost and alone in this strange and dangerous land. I called for John, but got no answer. You were right, it is no place for a woman. I am not sure it is a place for Christian men.
I hoped that if I walked South, keeping the coast in sight, that I would meet the others or find Croatan. I have not.
I do not feel well, Eliza. I can no longer deny that I have brought the fever with me into the wilderness. I expect to die here, and I do not know If this letter will ever reach your hand. I put my faith in God that it will find you.
If you hear from John, tell him that I love him and that it is my wish that he marry again, and should he have a daughter he name her for me.
I love you, dear Sister.
God keep you.
Jane
July, 1589
My dear sister,
The journey across the ocean was even more difficult than you might imagine. I did not travel well, and was confined to the women’s cabin for much of the time. I did not want for company, though. The sailors were brutish sorts, using course language and becoming unruly when the day’s rum ration had been handed out; they were not good Christian company. The women and children confined themselves wherever possible and we passed the time with songs and stories.
My heart has never been so glad, as when we heard the call that land had been sighted.
In truth, it was hard to believe that we had come so far, for from the ocean the land looked not much different to our own home. It was only the wildness of it, that marked it out as the New World rather than the old. As far as the eye could see in either direction there was only forest, no docks, no towns or villages, no farms. From the ship, with the warm summer sun bathing the trees, it looked lush and welcoming. But looks, my dearest Eliza, can be deceptive.
We disembarked, 118 men, women and children, and found our way to Roanoke Island where the earlier parties had made their camp. You will remember there had been two expeditions? the first to discover the land and the second with learned men to discover more of the place.
They had built a wall of wood, to section off part of the island, and when I asked why, I was told of the presence of two savage tribes nearby; the Secotan who call this island home, and the Chowanoke who hold sway over the water. The Secotan were welcoming to the first explorers, but when the second arrived, they became violent and had continued to worry the Christian men. The Chowanoke attacked any who attempted to fish or explore the waterways.
They were savages indeed; they did not realise the rights granted us by the Queen to settle here. They did not recognise the word of God, the sacred commandments. I was told that they worshipped the countryside itself, the spirits of animals and plants.
Perhaps it sounds foolish to you, that even with this knowledge we wanted to stay. I know that you did not understand why we would leave England for such a dangerous journey, although I tried to explain the thrill of going somewhere so completely new to you. I confess, I did have some fears which John and I prayed over, but even had we wanted to, we could not have returned once Sir Walter’s ships had sailed for England.
When the summer sun was high in the sky, there was a wonder to being in such a place; it was at night when the terror took hold. It is a lonely place, so very empty. So very quiet, save for the strange cries of the Secotan and Chowanoke, their whoops and hollars that our preachers called an affront to The Lord.
My first sight of a Secotan came when I left the safety of the fortress to gather firewood. A twig snapped, behind me, and on turning I saw a woman, bare breasted with her modesty only protected by an animal skin about her waist. We froze, and for a few seconds stared at each other. I marvelled at the tone of her skin, it was as nothing I have ever seen before. Darker than ours, it seemed to shimmer as though she were touched with gold. Her hair, black as night, and her eyes the same.
I smiled, I think, hoping it would encourage her to stay, so I could look on her a little longer but someone shouted nearby and she took fright and ran, agile as a deer, through the forest. She did not look savage, Eliza. In that moment that our eyes met, although our faces were very different, I think our spirits were mirrored. She was as amazed by my white skin and pale hair as I was with her darkness. If it had just been she and I, I think we might have spoken. I think we might even have become friends.
The sickness began to take hold the next summer. It took one or two, at first. Then one night, the Secotan woman I had seen came to us, with a child that was ravaged by fever. The mothers’ eyes were dark with fear, and she cast glances over her shoulder as though she feared her own people discovering her there. She implored us with her eyes, and her strange words; I suppose she thought we could help, but we could not. The child died, and she keened in mourning as I have never heard. I did not know how to comfort such grief.
Our preacher and some armed men went to them too, asking for advice on which plants or herbs might help to cure our sick. Desperate questions, but neither they nor we knew the answer. When winter came, so the illness died with it and we gave thanks for the end of it. God did not hear our prayers, and with the spring, the fevers returned.
We buried 10, with another 12 sickening, before Governor White’s chosen man gave the order to leave.
There had always been a plan, in the event of such a problem, he said. We were to travel 50 miles south, to another location and make a new camp there. We signalled our destination by carving the name of the island into the gatepost: Croatan. We were doing the same into a nearby tree, when the Chowanoke attacked. They had not sickened, as we and the Secotan had, and they pressed their advantage.
We ran, dear Eliza, abandoning anything that we could not carry; even the sick. We ran for our lives. Red skins and white skins alike, with only the clothes on our backs. They harried at us, separating us, driving us ever deeper into the unknown. I soon found myself lost and alone in this strange and dangerous land. I called for John, but got no answer. You were right, it is no place for a woman. I am not sure it is a place for Christian men.
I hoped that if I walked South, keeping the coast in sight, that I would meet the others or find Croatan. I have not.
I do not feel well, Eliza. I can no longer deny that I have brought the fever with me into the wilderness. I expect to die here, and I do not know If this letter will ever reach your hand. I put my faith in God that it will find you.
If you hear from John, tell him that I love him and that it is my wish that he marry again, and should he have a daughter he name her for me.
I love you, dear Sister.
God keep you.
Jane
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