Crops failed; husbandry languished. Life at last came to a low ebb. This may seem unaccountable when one considers that about threescore able-bodied men, with perhaps a dozen women and children, were not castaways without shelter, but well-housed settlers. Yet the fact remains undeniable; and the cause is not far to seek. Hope had made the colonists dependent on itself. They had looked for a speedy deliverance. Without this expectation their industry, at the outset, after Governor White’s departure, would not have waned, but increased. Perceiving no assistance possible from an outside source, the little company, relying on its own endeavors, would have striven to shape the future independently. But that sail, ever in the mind’s eye, allured them. Save for two or three men who were, above all, self-reliant, the colony, before now, would have perished. Fortunately, one of these had learned to depreciate the kindness of Destiny. In his mental vision there was no sail to the eastward, nor ever would be unless a ship actually appeared on the horizon. Experience, head-master of this school-boy world, could boast of at least one graduate on Roanoke. * * * * * “Manteo, the end is near. I have sought for over two years to ’stablish ourselves firmly, so that, even were John White’s absence indefinitely prolonged, we might yet survive. But your land considers us aliens. The end is near.” “Yes, my brother, for that reason I have come hither from the island of Croatan. The English are not aliens, but friends and brethren. Our crops shall be their crops, our habitation theirs as well. My name is Manteo, yet also Lord of Roanoke.[8] Ask your people to come and be my children on the isle of Croatan. Here the tongue of the earth cleaves to its mouth. All things die thirsting. The springs of fresh water are spent and run not; the dust chokes their throats, and still no cloud appears. Even the sky panteth. I say to you, come away.” “But, Manteo, wherefore? Is ’t any better at your abode?” “It is; for at Croatan the forest waters bring laughter from the heart of the world, and are never hushed. The whisper of Roanoke’s well-springs is lip-deep and meaningless, while we of Croatan hear a spirit singing, ‘Come.’ The song is to you, for we are there already. I repeat it: ‘Come.’” “But your crops are needed for your kinsmen.” “Yes; ye are our kinsmen.” “So be it. On the morrow, then, thy lot is ours as well.” * * * * *