Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith Page B

forty-seven-year-old artist, was handpicked by Sir Walter Raleigh for the job of establishing a permanent English presence in the New World. He’d been part of the first attempt to colonize Roanoke two years earlier—an attempt that failed when the colonists, all men, ran desperately short of supplies and hitched a ride back to England with Sir Francis Drake, who, as fate would have it, had decided to anchor nearby during a break from raiding Spanish ships.
“This time ’round,” Henry said, “Raleigh’s plan was more ambitious. Instead of brusque sailors, he sent young families. Families that would put down roots. Produce children. Build churches and schoolhouses. It was his opportunity to build ‘a new England in the New World.’ For Edeva and me, it was an opportunity to leave a home that held little in the way of happiness. All told we were ninety men, nine children, and seventeen women, including John White’s own daughter, Eleanor Dare.”
Eleanor, who was eight months pregnant, was joined by her husband, Ananias, aboard the Lyon. She was an “uncommonly pretty” twenty-four-year-old, with a shock of red hair and freckled face. One can only imagine the discomfort she felt as the 120-ton ship pitched about in the oppressive July heat—heat that turned the innards of the ships into giant steam ovens.
“Even some of the surest-footed sailors found themselves green-faced and bent over the railings when the seas kicked up and the sun beat down on us.”
The first of the two deaths occurred on Sunday, May 24th, a little more than two weeks after the colonists set sail from Plymouth. A ship’s mate named Blum (or Bloom; Henry never learned the correct spelling) had been in the crow’s nest at night, charged with keeping a sharp eye out for distant silhouettes on the star-filled horizon. Spanish carracks—with a reputation for attacking and pillaging English ships—were a very real threat. Shortly after midnight, the ship’s pilot, Simon Ferdinando (who’d already gained fame through previous expeditions to Maine and Virginia), recalled hearing a “crash” on the main deck. Moments later, he found himself standing over the lifeless body of Mr. Blum—whose neck was severely broken.
“Mr. Ferdinando thought it strange that an experienced sailor—particularly one who’d sworn off drink—could’ve taken such a fall in calm seas. But such was life on the Atlantic. Accidents happened. Other than a few prayers for the unfortunate man’s soul, little was said about Mr. Blum among the passengers and crew.”
Captain White recorded the matter rather succinctly and dispassionately in his log: Man fell from crowe’s nest. Deade. Throwne overboarde.
“Had that been the only incident during our crossing, we might have counted ourselves fortunate. But our nerves were tested again on Tuesday, June 30th—when Elizabeth Barrington vanished into the night forever.”
Elizabeth, an almost comically short, curly-haired girl of sixteen, had been literally dragged aboard by her father and several shipmates, kicking, screaming, and biting the whole way. To her, the Lyon was a prison ship.
Months earlier, she had fallen hard for a young clerk in her father’s law practice. Knowing that the match would never warrant approval, the two young lovers carried on a secret affair, the discovery of which caused a minor sensation in the Inns of Court and severely damaged the reputation of her father among his fellow solicitors. Embarrassed, Mr. Barrington seized the opportunity to start a new life across the Atlantic, and dragged his insolent daughter along for good measure.
“That Tuesday, the weather grew ever violent as our caravan sailed into a wall of storm clouds. By nightfall, all but a few deckhands had retreated below to escape the pounding wind and rain. The ship was tossed so severely that Captain White ordered all candles snuffed, for fear that the waves could knock one over and start a fire. With Edeva in my arms, I