CHAPTER XI
“Now will I show myself
To have more of the serpent than the dove;
That is—more knave than fool.”
—Marlowe, in The Jew of Malta.
Even the sanguine governor had by now given up all hope of finding any survivor of the fifteen men who had been left to hold the territory for England. The supposition became general that these unfortunates had been massacred by a tribe of hostile savages, known through Manteo as Winginas. The colonists were much surprised, nevertheless, when, on a day early in August, their suspicions were seemingly verified in an unexpected way.
In the afternoon Vytal sought Rouse at the fortress, which had been rebuilt.
“Where is Roger?”
“I know not,” replied Hugh. “He is mad in this new country, more addle-pated than before. An hour ago I saw him leading King Lud away into the woods, and, following him, Mistress Gyll Croyden, after whom he runs nowadays as the bear runs after him. They went, I think, to speed some friendly Indians on their homeward way. But he is mad with his pipe and tabor, his cittern and King Lud. I fear in his wagging head there is no sense left.”
Vytal smiled. He knew men. “Come, we will go in search of them. I must see Roger without delay.”