If the Coatmen are such bad hunters, I found myself thinking, if they know so little about making crops grow, if they cannot find anything in the forest, if they have no women to show them the right way to live, how will they survive in the cold seasons?
At that moment, even though I knew the Tassantassuk had been behaving very badly in many ways, I began to feel sorry for them.
12. JOHN SMITH: The Hundred Left Behind
The 22th, Captain Newport returned for England, for whose good passage and safe return we made many prayers to our Almighty God.
June the 25th, an Indian came to us from the Great Poughwaton with the word of peace, that he desired greatly our friendship, that the wyroaunces Paspaheigh and Tapanough should be our friends, that we should sow and reap in peace or else he would make wars upon them with us. This message fell out true, for both those wyroaunces have ever since remained in peace and trade with us. We rewarded the messenger with many trifles, which were great wonders to him
—FROM A DISCOURSE OF VIRGINIA,
BY EDWARD MARIA WINGFIELD
JUNE 22ND–JULY 26TH, 1607
UPON THE MORNING of the second and twentieth of June, Captain Newport departed in the Susan Constant from James Port for England. His return was promised within twenty weeks. Our store of food was only sufficient for three months. Yet as I watched the sail of our Admiral grow small and disappear, I misdoubted he would even that soon return.
"They shall come in time," said George Percy, as the last white billow vanished like the wing of a lost bird.
"All things come in time," I said, turning away from that doubtful sea. "But what time will that time be? I much mislike our circumstance."
So long had been spent in our crossing that our supplies were perilous low. There were still fish in the river, among them great sturgeon of seven or eight feet or more. Sea crabs, too, could be gathered from the waters. But our hunger was such that fishing night and day would not provide enough to feed the one hundred and four of us left behind. Already fewer fish were being caught. The mulberries and cherries and other fruits that we had seen in such profusion no longer could be found upon the bushes and trees close to James Fort. We dared not venture far from the fort for fear of the arrows of our foes. Bare and scanty of victuals were we and furthermore in war and danger of the salvages.
***
On the five and twentieth, some good news came when a natural appeared at the edge of the clearing, making signs of peace and crying out, "wingapo." He revealed himself to be the emissary of the one he called the Great King, Powhatan. The other kings were bound to do the bidding of this greater one who wished our friendship. Although he would not yet come to us or allow us to visit him, the attacks upon our fort would now cease so that we might sow and reap in peace.
Good as this word was, that Great King sent us no gifts or corn or other food. Peace we had, but no less hunger. Each day was hotter than the last and the air almost too thick to breathe. Swarms of insects from the swamps, biting and buzzing gnats, came flocking about our faces, in such clouds that they sometimes filled our mouths as we breathed. The sweat and strain was great on those who would work. And now upon us came a host of sickness, fevers, swelling, and the bloody flux.
***
Being thus left to our fortunes, it soon fortuned that within ten days scarce ten men could either go or well stand, such extreme weakness and sickness oppressed us. And thereat none need marvel if they consider the cause and reason. While our ships stayed, our allowance had been somewhat bettered by a daily proportion of biscuits. The sailors pilfered both biscuits and drink from the ship's store to sell, give, or exchange with us for money, sassafras, or furs. But when they departed, there remained neither tavern, beer house, nor place of relief but the common kettle. We became so free of gluttony and drunkenness that all of us but our president might have been canonized as saints.
To himself our president engrossed a private hoard of oatmeal, sack, oil, aqua vitae, beef, eggs, and whatnot. All that he allowed equally to be distributed was half a pint of wheat and as much barley boiled with water for a man a day. This having fried some twenty and five weeks in the ship's hold, it contained as many worms as grains. Our drink was water, our lodging castles in the air.
Captain Bartholomew Gosnoll, my old and wise friend, clapped his hand upon my shoulder one day as I looked with worry at our state.
"Good John," he said, "our palisade has been well built. We are safe now."
As always, his gentle words were true enough and meant to bring peace. No natural could either see within nor breach our walls. I noted that our storehouse, too, was sturdily built. Carefully guarded by our president, it was fashioned of pilings covered with clapboard, twigs, and mud, its roof a thatch of reeds gathered from the swamp. But now, weakened and lessened in numbers as we were, no further building could be done.
That evening in my tent, I shook my head as I read once again the Instructions by Way of Advice given us by the London Company for the making of our town: "Set your houses even and by a line, that your streets may have a good breadth, and be carried square about your market place."
Wise and gentle words, indeed, but of little use when half the men were gentlemen unused to soiling their hands and even those disposed toward labor now grown too weak to work. I looked about our settlement and saw only tents grown grey and ragged from use and soldier holes dug into the earth. In these trenches, those more common and less fortunate slept covered by canvas and branches on the nights when the rains did not fill their shallow holes with water. Like graves those holes looked. And though there was little food in James Town, I thought that soon enough there would be graves aplenty.
13. POCAHONTAS: The Strange Camp of the Coatmen
Now that Great Hare had placed the deer all throughout the land, he decided it was time to also release the people, for they could hunt the deer and thus survive on their own. So Great Hare opened his bag. Within that bag there were now many men and women. With care, Great Hare took them from his bag two by two. He placed a woman and a man in one country, then he placed another woman and man in another country and so on until there were people in every country. Those first people were the ancestors of all of us.
NEPINOUGH
TIME OF FIRST CORN HARVEST
LATE JUNE 1607
NOW THAT I HAVE seen the Coatmen, I have decided what I think of them. Rawhunt has decided that the Coatmen are fools. They seem to know how to do nothing, nothing right. Opechancanough, my father's youngest brother, says they are like ticks. Nothing but ticks. We must pluck the Tassantassuk from our flesh and crush them before they drink too much of our blood. My father, though, still suspects that the Coatmen may be of some use to him. I asked him when and how that might be. As always, he was patient in his answer to me.
"Nechaun," he said, "my child, it is like this. When you grasp a snake, you have to make sure you hold it firmly and in the right place. Otherwise it will twist around and bite you."
What do I think of the Coatmen? I think that though they are Outsiders, they are still human beings like ourselves, even if they are ignorant and foolish.
Perhaps I feel this sympathy because of who I am. I sometimes feel set apart from everyone, just as those foolish Coatmen must feel. They are so far from whatever land where their first mother and father lived. Because I am the favorite daughter of our Great Chief, I am allowed to sit close to him and listen in on his councils and see some of the great things he does. I also see how many fear him because of the great power he has held for so long. Because of that fear of my fathers power, people treat me differently from other children. Even the friends I play with are more careful with me than with one another. Perhaps that is why I do so much teasing of others. It is a way of reminding people that I am a child, even if I am Powhatan's daughter.
I know that my father's power is not mine. When my father dies, that power will go to my uncle Opitchapam, his younger brother, who limps from an injury suffered as a chi
ld. Even if I were my father's son, I would not inherit his power. Among our people, power must always go first to the brothers before it goes to the sons.
Because my father is not a young man, the day when he takes the road to the house of the sunrise may come all too soon. True, many of our people live to see a hundred returnings of the leaves or even more. When a man or woman of our people has survived past the middle years, past the time of childbearing or warring to protect the people, they may be blessed with many more seasons. But, like many of our people, I am sometimes able to see things that are to come, and that ability to see what has not yet happened can be a little frightening. When I see myself as a grown woman, I do not see my fathers face near me. I see myself walking with the Coatmen, but then that vision grows blurred, as if in a fog. Perhaps it is because we can never see ourselves clearly—either now or in the seasons to come.
I have thought of that vision often since seeing the Coatmen and their camp. Four days ago, my father finally agreed to allow me to make the journey. But he did not allow me to dress in my finery. When I started to turn away from him, in a hurry to get to my paint, he laughed and called me back to him.
"Neamosens, my daughter, there is no need to make yourself fine to look at when no one is going to see you," he said.
I could go and view their camp, he explained, but I could not approach it. He had just sent word to the Tassantassuk that they would no longer be under attack. He, Powhatan, had commanded it. Yet my father still did not trust those Coatmen. He had seen how ready they were to shoot their thunder weapons—even at those who tried to approach as friends.
"Your brother Naukaquawis and Rawhunt will go with you."
So Rawhunt and Naukaquawis and I, along with a party of younger men to guard us, crossed the river from my fathers great town of Werowocomoco. We took the trail that led to the Tassantassuk camp. Although my legs are shorter than those of a grown man's, I kept up well. In fact, Naukaquawis had to keep calling me back whenever I got ahead of the others. I was so excited that I was as ready to run as a deer caught in a drive by the hunters. It was less than a day's journey. But I was so eager to see these strange men that it seemed as if many days had passed and the lazy sun had become stuck in the sky.
At last we neared the place. We approached from the land, not from the river side. The grass had been cut down all around their camp. We could see clearly all the way to the river, where two canoes bigger than any I had ever seen were tied to the big trees. The tide was high, so the canoes rocked with the gentle motions of the river. Big sticks, poles as big as trees, rose up from the two giant canoes. They did not have their white wings opened, but I saw that those tree-sized poles must be used to support their wings.
Those big canoes were strange and wonderful to see, even from a distance. The strangest thing I saw, though, were the two cornfields. It was not just how badly planned and planted they were. The sod there would never be good for a crop of corn. It was too marshy and salty. What was truly strange was to see men, grown men, working in those fields, trying to hoe and weed as women do. It was such a foolish sight. Of course they were doing it ad wrong. They also were dressed in so much clothing that I could see how uncomfortable they were, especially in the great heat of the sun. It made me want to laugh, but I kept quiet.
Naukaquawis tapped me on the shoulder and gestured with his chin toward one part of the tall wall of logs built all around the Coatmen's strange camp. There was an opening there. A man stood in front. He was holding the longest spear I had ever seen, guarding the entrance to their town. But he was not a very good guard. He had not seen us at all.
Two young men from Paspahegh had joined us as we came close to the Coatmen's camp. There are always a few of them keeping watch on the Tassantassuk. Of course, they knew who Naukaquawis and I were. They were treating us with great respect, as they certainly should. But they were also finding it hard to keep from joking about the foolishness of the Coatmen.
"I do not know why we are crouching down like this," the first of the Paspahegh men said. "The Coatmen are so blind that they would not see us if we stood up and waved at them."
"Just be grateful that the wind is blowing away from us," said the second Paspahegh. "Otherwise we would be choking from the scent of those skunks!"
"It is true," Rawhunt said, "it is true. Wait until the wind changes. Just wait."
We were so far away from the stockade and the fields that Naukaquawis and I thought those words were only teasing. But then the breeze did shift, as it often does when the tides change. It blew up from the river, bringing us the smell of the salt and the marsh, rotting grass and dead fish. But that was not all we smelled. The rank odor of dirty clothing and men who washed even less than they cleaned their clothes also came to us. It was so strong that it was funny. Choking with laughter, my brother and I turned away from the camp of the Coatmen and followed Rawhunt back up the trail toward home.
14. JOHN SMITH: The Sickness Time
The 3 of July, 7 or 8 Indians presented the president a deer from Pamaonoke, a wyroaunce desiring our friendship. They inquired after our shipping, which the president said was gone to Croatoon. They fear much our ships, and therefore he would have them think it not far from us. Their wyroaunce had a hatchet sent him; they were well contented with trifles.
A little after this came a deer to the president from the Great Powhatan. He and his messengers were pleased with the like trifles. The president likewise bought divers times deer of the Indians, beavers and other flesh, which he always caused to be equally divided amongst the colony.
About this time divers of our men fell sick; we missed above forty before September did see us.
—FROM A DISCOURSE OF VIRGINIA,
BY EDWARD MARIA WINGFIELD
JULY 27TH–SEPTEMBER 5TH, 1607
OUR EXTREME LABOR in bearing and planting pallisados had strained and bruised us. Our continual toil in the extremity of the heat had weakened us. None, save our president, escaped want or sickness. Like all the others, I, too, became ill. But the many years spent in travel and at war had strengthened me far beyond those whose only labor had been the lifting of a finger to bid a servant wait upon them. I was among the first to regain health. By my good care, Martin and Ratliffe were preserved and relieved. Most of the soldiers recovered with the skillful diligence of Master Thomas Wotton, our chirugeon general.
My friend, the good and simple George Percy, was among those who survived this time of sickness. Though a gentleman, he never feared tod and was in dismay at our sorry state.
As he and I stood beside the river, Percy gestured toward those of our company who were dipping water. They did so like men half-asleep, not even troubling to brush aside the green scum which coated the surface.
"It is full of slime and filth now," Percy said, "yet when the tide is at flood it is very salt. With no other drink than this is it any wonder that we sicken?"
I nodded. I also bethought myself of the aqua vitae and communion wine which had vanished into the care of the president.
The eyes of the forest were upon us. So our timid president ordered us to stay always close to the walls. Though there would be food aplenty further afield and springs of fresh water there, too, we might be found by the arrows of the naturals. From May to September, we lived upon sturgeon and sea crabs. But our nets which once brought up four or five fish at a cast now caught fewer and fewer fish.
On the sixth of August, John Asbie died of the bloody flux. It was the beginning of a sad toll that brings tears to the eye yet to tell it. On the ninth died John Flower of the swelling. On the tenth, William Brewster, gentleman, of a wound given by the salvages. The fourteenth day, Jerome Alikock, ancient, died of a wound; the same day, Francis Midwinter and Edward Moris, corporal, died suddenly. The fifteenth day, Edward Browne and Stephen Galthorpe; the sixteenth day, Thomas Gower, gentleman; the seventeenth day, Thomas Mounslic; the eighteenth, Robert Pennington, gentleman; the nineteenth died Drue Pig-gase, gentleman.
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Good Captain Bartholomew Gosnoll had questioned the wisdom of planting our colony in this place, preferring that point of land Master Archer most modestly named "Archer's Hope." The sod there was good and there was great store of vines, many animals and birds. Our president and the other members of the council had disliked it because the ship could not ride so near the shore, though we might have settled there to the contentment of all. Despite this disagreement, and our president's jealousy, Captain Gosnoll had yet remained a voice of reason. He never sought to overthrow, but only to give counsel. All men admired him for his kindness and wisdom. Even such plotters as Master George Kendall, who worked to sow discontent, grew silent when Gosnoll spoke his calming words.
On the fifth of August, Gosnoll himself grew ill. Despite the efforts of our chirugeon, his condition worsened each day. I begged that his ration of food be increased, that he be given such wine as might yet remain.
"Our rations must remain the same," President Wingfield replied, puffing his chest out like a virtuous pigeon and allowing none to enter his house, where the stores of food were jealously guarded. "Every man shall have his portion according to his place. There is no wine to be had. We cannot favor the sick over those who are well, even those who are your favorites. I will not yield to your warrants."
I marked those words, as well as the fact that the earth was disturbed in the presidents tent, as if something had been hastily buried there. I went then and sat by the bedside of Captain Gosnoll, who had drawn me into this enterprize. I held the hand of the good old man and spoke to him of the fine times that would yet come, of how fair this land of Virginia yet might be for us all.
"Upon your life," I said, "stands a great part of the good success and fortune of our government and colony."
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