Dark thoughts crowded into Sam’s head. Mutiny is almost as bad as murder. Sam frowned. He was certain that mutiny had never entered Master Smith’s mind.
My master did quarrel with Master Wingfield. And my master made Captain Newport angry when Reverend Hunt was so sick. But mutiny? My master never plotted to seize control of the ship. A man would have to be desperate or crazy to even think of such a crime. Sam couldn’t think of any reason for John Smith to feel desperate. And he knew perfectly well his master wasn’t crazy.
Reverend Hunt closed the service with a prayer for the fleet’s safe and speedy crossing of the Atlantic Ocean. The colonists headed toward the water’s edge, where sailors waited to row them back to the ships.
Nate pulled at Sam’s sleeve. Keeping his head bowed as if he were finishing a prayer, Nate whispered, “Master Calthrop has been ordered off the Susan Constant. We’ll be sailing aboard the Godspeed instead.” Nate’s eyes glanced sideways at Sam. His voice cracked. “I shall be the only boy aboard that ship. If our ships get separated in a storm—”
Before Nate could finish, James interrupted. “You’ve been ordered off the Susan Constant?” he asked, amazed.
“Shhh!” Nate hissed, his eyes fastened on the sand. “I’m not supposed to speak of this. Master Wingfield wants my master separated from John Smith. He says Master Smith is a bad influence.”
Sam stood stiffly on the beach. He groaned. Smith was under guard, and so far Sam hadn’t been allowed near his master. Now his friend Nate would be sailing aboard another ship. That left white-faced, weak-bellied James as Sam’s only companion on the voyage.
“What about that other boy?” James asked.
“What other boy?” Sam snapped. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“The fourth boy. The other page,” James said. “A stout boy, with freckles. He’s nearly as tall as a man. He’s sailing on the smallest ship, the Discovery.”
Nate frowned. “Now what good will it do me if there is a boy sailing on the Discovery? I’ll still be the only boy on the Godspeed.” Nate kicked the sand and trudged down the beach in search of Calthrop.
As Sam waited his turn for a place on the rowboats, he was only faintly aware of James chattering beside him. “Well, do you think you will tie yourself to the mast or not?” James said, his voice rising impatiently.
Sam stared at him. “Why would I want to tie myself to the mast? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You didn’t listen!” complained James. “I was talking about a shipwreck. If the Susan Constant is wrecked, will you tie yourself to the mast to keep from washing into the sea? Or do you think it would be better to jump into the water and grab a floating board? If there are giant sea crabs, like the pictures on the maps, they could pick away your flesh while you’re tied to the mast. But sea serpents could rear up from the deep and knock you off a floating board.”
Giant sea crabs and serpents! Sam rolled his eyes. No wonder James hates the sight of the sea—he actually believes those tales about the horrors of the deep! It was only February 21—two months since the ships left England. How many months, Sam wondered, will it take to reach Virginia?
As soon as all the passengers were aboard and the longboat tied securely behind the Susan Constant, the sailors hauled up the huge, heavy anchor. They unfurled the ships’ big white sails, and the voyage to the New World was underway.
Sam stood on the deck, enjoying the sun on his face and the wind ruffling his hair. He squinted across the water at the deck of the Godspeed. He fancied he could spot Nate. Sam waved, but nobody waved back. Truth was, Sam could hardly see a person on the distant ship. But the sight of the Godspeed and the Discovery—billowing white sails above sturdy brown hulls—lifted Sam’s spirit. The ships populated the clear blue sky and gave Sam a feeling of companionship.
The next few days were long and dull for Sam. John Smith was a prisoner, and a sailor was assigned to guard him. Sam took Smith his daily portion of food and beer, but the guard ordered Sam away as soon as he delivered the meal. Smith’s wrists were bound, and he did not look at Sam.
On the third day, Master Wingfield took charge and appointed passengers as guards. They were less strict. They let Sam sit beside Smith as he spooned up his soup and chewed on his ship’s biscuit. Smith ate his meal in silence. The sparkle has gone out of my master’s eyes, Sam worried.
On the fourth day, Master Wingfield allowed Reverend Hunt to visit Smith. Sam stood quietly, holding a bowl of broth and some crusty biscuit, while Hunt prayed with the prisoner. Wingfield stood nearby and watched. He scowled when the minister made a few encouraging remarks after the prayer.
Except for the few moments each day when Sam attended Smith, the boy had no duties to keep him busy. Sometimes he climbed on deck looking for something to do. He was glad when the sailors asked him to scrub the deck or feed the chickens and pigs that were kept in wooden coops.
Sam spent hours staring across the waters. Molly, one of the ship’s cats, took a liking to him and rubbed against his leg until he picked her up. She was striped black and gray, like most of the cats that lived in his family’s barn. As he rubbed Molly’s soft ears, Sam thought of his family. He tried to picture what each person would be doing. When he remembered his mother kneading dough by the kitchen fire, his eyes began to sting.
Quickly, he shifted his thoughts to his brother Thomas. How they used to race each other across the fields! Whenever there was an errand to run, they turned it into a competition. In the evenings by the fire, Sam and Thomas often had contests of strength—arm-wrestling or seeing who could hold a handstand the longest. Thomas was older and bigger than Sam, so he almost always won. But Sam was clever, and he used his wits to outsmart Thomas.
Once, Sam had suggested that they see who could climb higher in the big tree near the barn. Sam knew his smaller size and lighter weight would give him an advantage. But their father spotted them and shouted at them to come down. Oh, how he scolded Thomas—his firstborn son who was supposed to be learning the responsibilities of running the family farm—for letting Sam talk him into such a foolish contest!
Thinking about Thomas made Sam lonelier. He put the cat down and both of them prowled around the ship. The cook was usually willing to chat and always had a task for Sam to do. For helping, Sam was rewarded with an extra ship’s biscuit.
For want of other companions, Sam sometimes sat with James on the ‘tween deck. James had finally gotten used to the long, steady roll of the ship. He sometimes complained that his belly felt queasy, but he was able to keep down his share of hard biscuit and soup. He still refused to climb up to the deck, though, because the sight of the ocean frightened him.
Sitting in the dark, cramped quarters, the boys played games that required little space. One of the passengers let them play with a set of draughts, a board game that both boys had enjoyed in England. When they tired of that game, they had contests to see who could flip a button the farthest. Or they took turns hiding the button and played a guessing game to discover where it was hidden. Occasionally they shared stories about their families. James was barely eleven when he was sent to serve Master Wingfield. Both Sam and James had younger sisters, and they laughed about how silly girls were. Sometimes, the boys imagined aloud what they’d be doing if they were back at home. Sooner or later, thoughts of home and family made both boys feel gloomy.
One day, Sam suggested playing a game with words. “New,” Sam called. He made up a line that ended with his word: “We cross the waves to find a world new.” He looked at James.
James concentrated, his lips pursed. “We cross the waves to find a world new,” he repeated, then added his own line to rhyme with Sam’s. “A hundred settlers, not just a few.”
Now it was Sam’s turn. He repeated the two lines: “We cross the waves to find a world new. A hundred settlers, not just a few.” Then he paused, concentrating. “The sky’s our church, the ship’s our pew.”
“James!”
&n
bsp; The boys looked up, startled.
Master Edward Wingfield called again, his voice impatient. “James! Where are you, lad?”
James scrambled to his feet. “Here I am. What shall I do for you, Master Wingfield?”
Sam edged into the shadows, hoping Master Wingfield would not notice him. He did not like to be under Wingfield’s harsh gaze, and he suspected that Wingfield did not like to see him with James. As soon as James trotted off to do Master Wingfield’s bidding, Sam climbed to the deck. He walked the length of the ship and inhaled great whiffs of the chilly sea air to clear his lungs of the stink of the dank, close sleeping quarters.
The fleet had been at sea three weeks when, one evening, the guard asked Sam if he’d like to sleep beside his master. Sam nodded eagerly and ran to get his blanket.
Sam flipped it open, stretched out on top of it, and rolled from one side to the other to make a woolen cocoon around himself. He strained to hear Smith’s breathing. As soon as he was sure that his master was awake, Sam spoke. “What did she look like?”
Smith chuckled. “Who do you mean, Sam?”
“The Turkish lady,” Sam said. “The princess. Remember that story you told me? About when you were captured and made a slave. Then you were given to that princess.”
“Ah,” Smith said. “She had hair as dark as midnight and her eyes were coal-black and gleaming, like the eyes of a wild animal.”
Smith said slowly, as if he was looking at a picture and trying to find the words to describe it. “She wore heavy bracelets that jangled. Whenever she spoke, she waved her hands in the air. I could understand only a few words of her language. But when I watched her hands, I could sometimes tell her meaning.”
“Did you think she was beautiful?” Sam asked. “You said she wanted to make you into a Turk so she could marry you. Would you have liked to marry her?”
Smith paused. When he continued, his voice was thoughtful. “No, Sam, I did not want to marry the heathen princess. But I wanted my freedom. So I watched her wave her small hands when she spoke. I studied her and I waited. At last, I found the moment to grab my freedom.”
“How old did you say you were, Master Smith?” the guard asked. “When you were captured by the Turks?”
The guard is listening! Sam tensed. His master might be annoyed that the guard was eavesdropping, and Sam knew that if Smith was angry, he would refuse to talk.
“I was twenty-two when I was wounded in battle and taken captive by the Turks,” Smith said quietly.
Sam waited, wondering if his master was going to continue. Molly jumped on Sam’s tummy and turned around before curling up. She began to purr. If Smith did resume his story, Sam didn’t hear it. It was comforting to be near his master again. The warmth of the cat soothed Sam’s worries, and the rolling motion of the ship rocked him to sleep.
Sam awakened to the sound of Reverend Hunt’s voice. “John, wake up! I have secured permission for you to walk on deck,” Hunt said as he bent over Smith.
Sam sat up and rubbed his eyes. Hunt and Wingfield, both wearing coats, were standing between him and Smith. Sam caught Wingfield’s eye and was greeted with a scowl.
Master Wingfield cleared his throat. “You will, of course, be escorted while you are on deck, Master Smith,” he said. “You will refrain from conversation with the sailors and passengers. I am understandably hesitant to allow so much liberty to a prisoner such as yourself. One who has been accused of such a serious crime. However, the good Reverend Hunt has appealed to my benevolent nature. Reverend Hunt is concerned that a long confinement will prove destructive to your physical health. Consequently, I have granted permission for a brief walk on deck. Your own conduct will determine whether my generosity will be repeated on a future occasion.”
Smith opened his mouth to reply, but Reverend Hunt held up his hand. “I believe the brisk morning air is most healthful, John,” he said quickly. “So I recommend that you dress yourself immediately.”
Wingfield led the way, with Reverend Hunt behind him. When they reached the open deck, Hunt walked beside Smith. The guard followed close behind the prisoner, and Sam took up the rear. Each man wore a coat, the collars drawn up to shield their faces from the wind. Nobody spoke. The sailors stared at them. This is like a funeral march, Sam thought. Master Wingfield nodded when he passed Captain Newport. The captain returned the nod then looked away.
Without waiting to be invited, Sam spread out his blanket beside his master again that night. The next morning, Hunt and Wingfield came to take the prisoner for another walk on deck, and Sam again followed behind.
Each night, Sam thought his master’s voice grew stronger as he recounted adventures from his youthful travels. Each morning as they climbed to the deck and breathed the brisk sea air, Sam thought Smith’s step grew firmer. Although Wingfield continued to oversee the morning walks, the prisoner gave him no cause for alarm. Smith made no attempt to speak with sailors or other passengers. My master is waiting and watching, Sam noted. He’s studying how to please Master Wingfield and the captain so he can regain his freedom.
Nearly every afternoon before the meal was served, Hunt came to pray with the prisoner. Wingfield did not always remain by the clergyman’s side during these prayers. Master Wingfield has begun to trust John Smith, Sam thought happily. Any day now, Captain Newport will surely order the guard to release my master. When Sam ate beside him, Smith talked and smiled. He chatted pleasantly with his guards.
One day, after Sam had taken Smith his evening meal, he went up on deck. A fair wind was blowing the Susan Constant across the water. The weather seemed to be smiling on the small fleet, and the sun glittered on deck. It was warm enough for Sam to roll up his shirtsleeves as he leaned on the rail to watch the glow of the evening sunset.
3
The West Indies
Land ho!”
When Sam heard the call from the sailor on the topmast, he scrambled up the ladder and raced to the railing. It was March 23, nearly a month after the fleet had left the Canary Islands. Far to the west, Sam could see a gray shadow topped by clouds on the horizon. Captain Newport announced that their ship was fourteen degrees north of the equator, near an island in the West Indies called Martinique. As the shadow slowly rose up from the sea, Sam could distinguish mountains poking into the clouds. A bright spit of sand appeared, framed by emerald green bushes and slender palm trees. Sam’s muscles tingled at the sight of land. All that space! He was eager to feel the sand beneath his toes, to stretch his legs and run along that beach.
The three ships continued sailing, and the next morning they reached an island called Dominica and dropped anchor. The longboat was brought around, and Captain Newport ordered some of the sailors to row ashore with barrels to fill with fresh water. Sam asked permission to go with the sailors, and the captain smiled and nodded.
Sam scrambled down into the longboat. The sun glinted off the surface of the water, making shimmery reflections. A pleasant breeze rustled the leaves of tall palm trees leaning over the beach. Sam took off his shirt, then his shoes. He wrapped his shirt around the shoes and tied the sleeves together. As soon as the boat grounded on the sand, he tumbled into the surf, holding his bundle above the waves.
The salty water woke up the skin on his feet. Sam rubbed wet sand over his ankles, scouring off weeks of grime. When he reached the beach, he peeled off his wet britches and threw them and his bundle of clothes on the damp sand. He splashed back into the surf and stuck his head under the clear aqua water. He scrubbed his skin and hair with scoops of sand and saltwater.
Sam brought up handfuls of shiny shells from the ocean floor. The shells sparkled in the sunshine, and Sam thought them more beautiful than rubies or sapphires.
Kicking his legs as he ran through the shallows, Sam sent up sprays of water. When he tired of running, he threw himself on the sand and let the warm sun and gentle breeze dry his skin. The earth beneath him was solid, and the sky seemed endless. Sam inhaled the clean air, the salty smell of t
he sea mixing with the wonderful fragrance of green plants that grew along the edge of the sand.
Another rowboat approached the beach. Sam sat up and squinted, searching for Nate’s face. When he didn’t see his friend, Sam splashed slowly through the blue-green water. Schools of colorful fish darted away when he approached.
At last, he heard a loud whistle. Sam squinted at a rowboat in the deeper water. This time, he spotted Nate waving his arms and shouting.
Sam waded into the waves. Nate was sitting in the boat beside Stephen Calthrop, and both of them were grinning. “Look, Nate,” said Calthrop, pointing at Sam, “a heathen boy is come to greet you. Naked as the day he was born!” Calthrop chuckled.
Nate tugged off his shoes, stripped off his shirt, and jumped out of the rowboat. The boat rocked, and water splashed on some of the men. None of the gentlemen complained—they were as delighted to be off the ship as the boys.
Bobbing up and down in the waves, Nate turned to Sam and said, “Race you to the beach!”
Sam began to push his way through the water, but movements on the beach caught his eye. Sam stared. Strange-looking men were coming out of the trees! Nate knelt beside Sam in the shallows, and both boys strained to see and hear.
Unlike the Englishmen, the strangers’ faces were as smooth as children’s, with no beards or mustaches. They were naked, and their brown skin was painted red. Designs of a deeper color were tattooed on their faces, arms, and chests. When the strangers turned, Sam could see that their hair was braided into three long plaits that hung down their backs to their waists.
Some of the sailors approached the natives and made gestures with their hands. A sailor lifted a wooden barrel, then held up his hands as if he were drinking from a cup.
Surviving Jamestown Page 3
