They stood on the edge of the glade waiting for the subject of their conversation, who was walking slowly around the cabin. “He looks for further traces of the lost men,” remarked the governor.
“No, it is for some other reason.” Marlowe was not mistaken, Vytal’s close inspection of the hut’s vicinage being from a widely different motive. Carefully he examined the glade’s border on all sides. To the west he found a wide, natural avenue in the forest that lost itself in the purple distance; to the north, a dense jungle seemingly impassable for man or beast; to the east, a double file of oaks and elms, growing with some regularity on the brow of a low cliff, their trunks surrounded by a tangle of underbrush that rose to the height of several feet and fell away again, to ramble through long grass in all directions. Being tall enough to look over this wild hedge-row, Vytal could catch a glimpse of the sound beneath him, and, from a vantage-point where a dead oak-branch left the view unobscured, he could just distinguish the two ships riding at anchor, within musket-range of his position.
Turning then to the south side of the clearing, he came to a strip of woods, perhaps fifty yards in width, which separated the hut from the deserted settlement. Evidently satisfied by his observations, he rejoined his companions.
“With your permission,” he said to Governor White, “I make this my dwelling-place.”
The governor expostulated, being astonished at the voluntary choice of so dismal and isolated a habitation, but Marlowe understood.
“I prefer it to any other,” said the soldier. “Have you not yet suspected that we are likely to meet enemies here on Roanoke?”
“Nay, the chance is slight. Manteo and Towaye have assured me of their people’s friendliness.”
Vytal hesitated before he spoke again, but finally concluding that the time had come for his disclosure, made known the main facts tersely and without a word of incriminating testimony against the governor’s son-in-law, Ananias Dare.
Governor White received the information in mute astonishment at first, seeming loath to believe that any of his followers had planned so base a conspiracy. But he had been aware before now of Ferdinando’s untrustworthy character, and although the master had explained away his desertion of the fly-boat by asserting that its pilot knew the course, and had requested him not to shorten sail unnecessarily, the governor’s first mistrust returned to him now with full force. “We must apprehend this Ferdinando, and bring him to justice.”
“Nay, with your permission, I will leave him at large, yet watch him carefully. Men of his mould defeat themselves. By close surveillance we shall discover any mischief he may seek to brew among us. An open punishment would affright the fellows who, being but tools, were on the verge of mutiny. These men now are loyal enough, and, if well treated, will fight for us. Otherwise they might desert.”