by Scott O'Dell
"Why do you stand with your mouth open?" the admiral asked me. "It's not Anthony Foxcroft again, I trust."
"It is, sir. He's—"
Sir Thomas Gates broke in. "Who is this Anthony Foxcroft?"
"You've heard of Foxcroft," Admiral Somers said.
"Oh, yes. Foxcroft the murderer. The one that flees the king. I haven't seen him since we left Plymouth. Where is he?"
Admiral Somers, who was busy wiping his bald head, didn't answer.
"Locked up," I said.
"Where?"
"Below. Where he'll surely drown."
"Proper punishment," Governor Gates said.
"A monstrous thing to say. You can't mean it, sir."
"But I do mean it, young lady," the governor said.
He turned his back. Admiral Somers put on his sugar-loaf hat, gave me a withering look, and dismissed me with a jerk of his thumb.
A wave, a second wave, two waves in quick succession, struck the ship. She rolled from side to side, plunged her beak deep into the towering seas, shuddered desperately as if she would never survive, and then with a great lunge rose again. Curtains of water flowed past the windows and shut off the waning day.
The three men sat in silence with their hands folded. They looked like specters in the yellowish light, like men already dead, trapped at the bottom of the sea. The Reverend Bucke entered with a blast of wind and he, too, looked ghostly.
I left them, went down the passage to my cabin, and slammed the door behind me. I waited for a moment, then I opened the door and listened. I heard the Reverend Bucke ask the three men to kneel, calling each by name. I heard him pray, then their response, "The Lord's name be praised."
I closed the door and by a longer way went to Anthony's cell, close upon the rudder. The rudder was lashed down by a heavy chain, and the six sailors who had manned it, steering when the ship could be steered, lay sprawled against the bulwarks.
A sailor asked me why I was there. When I told him, he didn't answer. He politely pushed me through the door, closed and bolted it, and left me standing in the wind. The "sailor" was Fitzhugh, the king's guard.
As I hurried along the passageway, I heard the Reverend Bucke's voice again. He was praying still, and the three men were still responding, "The Lord's name be praised."
After a sleepless night, I dozed at dawn and awakened to a prolonged grating sound, as if the wounded ship were dragging herself over rocks at the bottom of the sea. I slid from my hammock and peered out.
The window was streaked with salt, but I caught a glimpse of the sun struggling out from a bank of pink clouds. I heard running feet, frantic cries from the ship's hold, and a shattering cannon shot. Then there was a short silence followed by shouts from the sterncastle deck.
I had slept in my clothes, so I didn't need to dress. I tied my hair in a knot and ran. Before I reached the stern ladder, the grating sound that had awakened me grew faint and ceased.
The ship came to a jarring halt. A prolonged shudder crept through her planks. Then she moved on a little, groaning as though she were trying to free herself from some monstrous trap. Her bow nosed down at a frightening angle, and I was thrown to the deck.
I lay quite dazed for a while, then, clambering to my feet, I saw a stretch of still water the exact color of emeralds. Beyond, less than a half mile away, small waves ran gently up a beach of blinding, white sand. Beyond the beach stood a grove of palm trees, whose fronds glittered in the sun.
Captain Newport stood on the sterncastle deck, the only part of the ship wholly out of water, and shouted commands to the crowd pressed against the bulwarks.
"Leave your possessions," Captain Newport said to the crowd. "Men, get yourselves ashore. The water's shallow along the reef. Women, wait for the longboat."
Mistress Horton asked him if the water was warm. The captain didn't know, so she sent her maid to find out.
William Strachey, who was the secretary-elect to Virginia, asked where we were. "It doesn't look like what I've read about Virginia." When Captain Newport was slow to answer, he said, "You're the captain and navigator. You should know."
"I do know," the captain said. "We are off Bermuda, six hundred miles east by southeast of Virginia."
"I'm bewildered," Mistress Rolfe said. "Is this an island? It seems so." Her spouse agreed.
"A lot of islands bunched together," Emma Swinton said. "If it's Bermuda, then it's a hellish place. I've read about it. Bermuda's home to haunts and devils. Its reefs are strewn with wrecks. Sailors shun its shores."
"Where would you rather be?" Captain Newport asked. "Here or on a sinking ship in the Atlantic deep?"
"Here among haunts and devils," Mistress Rolfe answered.
Emma Swinton said, "You'll come to rue these words."
Mistress Horton's maid came back to report that the water was middling hot. Mistress Horton asked the captain if he knew more about the islands than the haunts and devils and wrecks.
"Nothing more," the captain said, "except that at any moment, while you chatter, the ship may slip beneath the sea and drown us all."
Anthony Foxcroft appeared at the end of a chain held by the king's guard. Pale and drawn, encumbered by the chain, he still walked with a defiant tread. He was pushed into the longboat, and though the guard tried to shunt me away, I leaped in beside him.
Blinded in the strong sun, shading his eyes, he said, "Do I see a white beach and palm trees and water colored like emeralds?"
"You do."
"I'm not dreaming?"
"No."
"Where are we?"
"On an island. 'Tis called Bermuda."
"Bermuda? I never heard the name before. You're certain it's not heaven I see aglitter in the offing?"
The longboat slid up the beach. As he was being dragged away, I pressed the serpent ring against my heart and called, "Yes, 'tis heaven."
BOOK TWO
Bermuda
TEN
Our ship did not slide into the sea as Captain Newport said she might. She was wedged hard, her long beak caught between two prongs of a coral reef. And albeit pitched forward at an awkward slant, half of her length lying beneath the sea, most of the things not ruined by the storm were carried ashore that afternoon by longboat, some on the backs of the bolder men.
There was no immediate need of shelter. The day was windless, the shore a wide, curving stretch of white sand, ideal for camping. The Reverend Bucke hung the ship's bell on a palmetto tree and set it ringing.
We gathered around him gleefully—one hundred and fifty souls—those exhausted from months cooped in a ship meant to carry only half that many, the sick, the lame, the injured, the homesick. We half-listened to his long sermon, which began with the Lord's Prayer, continued to the lessons of Jeremiah, and ended hopefully, with a plea that we show thankfulness for being saved from certain death by loving kindness to our neighbor.
We needed no sermon from the Reverend Bucke. Strong men knelt and kissed the earth beneath their feet. Women wept. Children romped on the beach. People sang until heaven resounded.
And little wonder. The endless sea, the scorching sun, the cold, maggoty food, the smells, the quarrels, the tiny ship that rolled and pitched ceaselessly, the storms, the hurricane that turned awful days into awful nights—all lay behind. Instead, as if conjured up out of a sultan's dream, was a place of sparkling seas, broad beaches, groves of palmetto trees, an island paradise.
At twilight we were camped on the beach. Driftwood fires burned brightly and three pigs were roasted on a spit. Our own surviving pigs, six of them, taken from the wreck, were hide and bones. One had wandered off into the woods and come back with three fat boars, which were tame and easily snared.
Captain Newport informed us that he had read about Juan de Bermúdez, who discovered the island a hundred years before and had left a herd of swine when he sailed off.
"The Spaniard had an eye on the future," he said. "His swine would feed upon the lush grass and multiply, furnishi
ng ample food for the Spanish colonists yet to come. We have three of his swine already and without effort. There are more wandering around in the woods. Hundreds, thousands perhaps."
Everyone shouted at the prospect and stuffed themselves with roast pig.
After the feast I went in search of Governor Thomas Gates. I found him on the beach, about to step into the sea with Sir George Somers.
"The Reverend Bucke," I said to them, "asked us in the name of Christ to be kind to each other. To keep Anthony Foxcroft in chains is not kind. 'Tis barbarous."
Sir Thomas, a stocky man of fifty or so, broad in neck and shoulder, peered at me in dismay, edging off toward the plashing waves.
"Besides, 'tis foolish," I said. "We're marooned on an island. Our ship is wrecked beyond repair. We're six hundred miles from Jamestown. How can Anthony Foxcroft escape? He cannot walk away or swim like a fish or fly like a bird."
"I have heard this before," Sir Thomas said. "You have but a single note to your flute—Foxcroft. Foxcroft this, Foxcroft that. It's a tiresome tune you play, and I for one have become mightily sick of it."
In the fading light his black beard, which came to a point, looked like a blade, a threatening dagger.
"How's it with you, Sir George? Are you likewise sick of the name Foxcroft?"
Sir George tried the water with his big toe, mumbled, "Warm as country milk," and said, "I think that the young lady's remarks are sound. How can Foxcroft escape? No more than on the ship, I'd say. Furthermore, Fitzhugh has set a watch on him. This means men robbed from your meager force."
"Not men. Fitzhugh has assigned three of the young gentlemen to the watch: Payne, Lipscomb, and Taylor. All of little use, as you know. As for Foxcroft himself, he never condescended to clean his own quarters. He'll not be missed."
"We're without a ship," Admiral Somers said. "One will have to be built, a ship seaworthy and large enough to berth one hundred fifty people. Sea Venture has to be taken apart, not an easy task jammed on a reef as she is, but every plank and rib must be removed, brought ashore, and used. New timber has to be cut, sails repaired."
Governor Gates was in the water floating on his back, gazing up at the starry sky, remarking how pretty it was. He had on a pair of red drawers and his round stomach shone white. He didn't look at all like a governor, which encouraged me to tell him what I had told Admiral Somers, that Anthony had not deliberately killed anyone.
"'Twas an accident," I said, "and the king has not sent for him. It is Robert Carr who wants him."
"The two are the same," Sir Thomas said. "They're loving twins. Injure one and you injure the other. Pinch one, the other screams."
"What's more," I said, "you treat Anthony as if he were a felon, already tried before the assizes and convicted. 'Tis wrong of you to pretend that you're both judge and jury."
The governor was playing whale, sucking in water and spouting it out. He rose at my words and jerked a finger at me.
"But I am the judge, also the jury," he shouted. "And my verdict stands. Foxcroft stays in chains."
Admiral Somers, to his knees among the small waves, reached down, took up a handful of water, and rubbed it over his chest.
"At sea," he said to Gates quietly, "you failed to recognize me as commander of the fleet. Equally now that we're on land, I hereby refuse to recognize you as the commander. You're the duly elected governor of Virginia, true. But we are not in Virginia, not yet. Perhaps we never shall be.
"We're on an island that by discovery belongs to Spain. It's our temporary home. When and if we leave here, it will be by ship, in which case I'll be in command. Until that day it's best that we divide the honors. It is my judgment that Foxcroft be allowed his freedom. Since we differ about this, let us ask Captain Newport to cast a vote and break the tie."
"That would be fair," I said, believing that Newport would agree with Somers.
The governor crept out of the sea. "Young lady," he said in a rage, "women are at work in camp, cleaning up from supper. I suggest that you hie yourself thither and join them or else I'll have you punished."
I thought it best to leave. I didn't go back to camp. I went no farther than a grove of palmetto trees, hid myself, and listened.
I heard nothing of the argument, save violent sounds, but when Gates stalked by and Admiral Somers followed at a distance, I knew that this feud, which had started the first day at sea, had not come to an end.
I ran out and overtook the admiral. "What was decided?" I asked.
"Sir Thomas insists that as governor of Virginia he's also the governor of Bermuda."
"I mean what was decided about Anthony?"
"He remains under guard."
"For how long, pray tell?"
"Until he is sent back to England."
"There's nothing you can do?"
"Little. The camp's unsettled. Sir Thomas has his followers, especially among the young gentlemen. If I make an issue of Foxcroft, it can cause trouble at a time we can ill afford trouble." He turned away and called back over his shoulder, "Be patient."
That night Sir Thomas Gates officially took command. A stiff old warrior who wanted things done at once, he divided the camp into two groups: workers and their families in one; the pampered young gentlemen, some thirty of them who during the voyage had shown a strong dislike of work, in the other.
"There's much to do," he said. "And I shall see that it's done."
ELEVEN
After breakfast early next day, workers were sent afield. Hunters were to bring in swine, conies, squirrels, birds—whatever they could find. Women were to gather fruits and plants; fishermen to fish the reefs.
The women came back at night with heaping baskets of cedar berries and the white hearts of palmetto tree, which proved to be flavorful. The fishermen, Admiral Somers himself casting a line, caught more than a ton of bass, barracuda, and tuna, in addition to two giant turtles so huge that just their flesh would have been sufficient for our dinner.
Birds were everywhere. White herons flew about us in flocks; sparrows tried to light on our shoulders. Hunters bagged snipe, doves, ducks, and moorhens. That first morning, two women collected sixty dozen bird eggs, hundreds of turkey eggs, sweet as butter, and nearly a thousand turtle eggs.
With two giddy boys and a stout girl, I went to dig clams in a cove just beyond our camp. We tramped the water up to our knees, finding the clams with our toes. In less than an hour we had dug five bagfuls of round ones called cockles.
Tom, the silliest of the boys, waded into a cave where the tide ran fast and came out shouting that he had seen a green monster.
"It's as big as a dog—a big dog—and it's got claws."
I took my time getting to the cave, thinking that the green monster was one of his scatterbrained notions.
"There," he said, pointing.
The lip of the cave was low and I had to stoop to see in. The water was clean and swirling. I saw claws and a pair of eyes, shining and black as night, sticking out at the end of two long stalks.
"It's a lobster," I said. "It's big. Leave it alone."
But Tom crawled into the cave. He fought the lobster for most of an hour, and I pulled them out, with the help of the stout girl, in a tangled mass of arms and claws. Tom caught three more lobsters in the cave, but none nearly so large as the monster, which was five feet long and a foot wide.
The camp feasted upon the day's gathering and smoked what was not eaten. Except for the palm hearts, we hadn't found any vegetables. But Admiral Somers had brought lettuce and onion seeds from England, which he planted, hoping they would grow.
Water was a problem after the first week. The casks we took from the wreck ran dry. There were no streams on the island where we were camped, but there were hundreds of small islands, a chain of them, to the east.
Governor Gates sent out a party in longboats to make a search for water. They found none, save pools where rain had collected. Then he had six shallow wells dug, found enough water for everyday use, laid out
the ship's sails to catch run-off, and set up a small dam. The Reverend Bucke prayed for rain.
It came in a sudden burst that washed the dam away, downed the sails, and made us realize that we could not camp on the beach forever. Cedar, a fine, fragrant wood, grew on the island. Trees were cut and boards sawed, and carpenters put up a row of one-room huts roofed with palmetto. The construction went so well that Governor Gates announced he would soon set them to work building a ship that could take us all to Jamestown.
Through these few weeks I made no further attempts to free Anthony Foxcroft. But one night after supper, listening to Emma Swinton, I heard that some of the colonists were so taken with life in Bermuda they were laying secret plans to revolt against Governor Gates. They had no wish to leave this Eden when the ship he was planning to build sailed for Jamestown.
"One of the conspirators," she told me, "is Francis Pearepoint. He's one of the young gentlemen camped on the point out there by the Sea Venture."
"I know him. We talked on the ship once or twice."
"They call the camp Hampton Court," she said, "after the two-hundred-room palace of Henry the Eighth. They've found the wreck of an old Spanish galleon, I hear, and are searching around for gold. I hope they find it. I hope the conspiracy succeeds. I much prefer Bermuda to Jamestown, from what I know about it."
The moon was full. I walked down the beach to Hampton Court. The young gentlemen were sitting beside the fire, passing a long-stemmed pipe from one to the other. In front of them was a small chest with the lid thrown back. In it were some copper pots. Francis Pearepoint rose and bowed.
"You honor us with your presence, Miss Lynn. Please sit," he said, waving at a rock.
"Thank you," I said. "I'll stand."
"You come on a mission. A serious one, I see by your demeanor. May I be of help? I devoutly hope so."
