Sam smirked—he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to yell, “Who’s the criminal now, Richard? Does your master still think we should hang our criminals?”
As Richard came closer, Sam noticed the boy’s face. It was bright red, and he looked as if he might cry. Sam remembered how he had felt when John Smith was taken prisoner during the crossing. An ocean separated Richard from his family, and the man he served was accused of treason! Sam didn’t have the heart to taunt Richard, even if the bully did deserve a taste of his own medicine.
The scorching days of August drew slowly to a close. Each morning when Sam left his tent, he saw new corpses sprawled on the ground. The dying crawled out during the night in search of relief from their misery. As soon as the sun came up, flies buzzed around their bloated bodies. The smell was even more revolting than the sight.
The living settlers were too weak and exhausted to organize proper burials. They simply dragged the new corpses to one corner of the fort to be put in shallow graves and covered hastily with dirt.
“If Captain Newport ever does return with supplies, he may not find any colonists alive to feed,” Nate muttered.
Sam nodded. He noticed that Nate’s clothing hung loosely on his skinny frame, as if he wore hand-me-downs from a giant. When Sam looked at his own threadbare shirt and torn pants, he knew that he looked just as pathetic as Nate—a bony body swimming in baggy rags.
One morning in early September, the guards opened the gate of the fort and began to shout. Sam sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He nudged Nate. The boys scrambled out of the tent and headed toward the noise.
Two baskets filled with vegetables had been left outside. The astonished guards carried them inside, cheering triumphantly. Later that morning, several Indian men approached the fort in a canoe piled high with baskets. As they paddled toward the riverbank, the braves called, “Wingapoh!”
The Indians carried the baskets up to the gate and waved at the guards. Then they returned to their canoe and paddled away.
Inside the fort, some of the settlers examined the food suspiciously. They didn’t trust anything that came from savages. Unpacking the corn cakes, shellfish, and meat cautiously, they sniffed for unusual odors that might indicate if the food was poisoned.
Sam was too hungry to be cautious. I’d rather die from a belly full of poisoned food than die slowly of starvation! Many others shared his feeling, and they fell upon the loaves of Indian bread.
Breaking off a hunk and stuffing it in his mouth, Sam sat down to concentrate on eating. The smell made him wild with hunger. He wanted to gulp down his first mouthful, but he forced himself to chew slowly and thoroughly until every crumb dissolved, until he tasted every morsel of its flavor. Then he allowed himself to swallow and take another mouthful.
“If somebody offers me a basket of gold in exchange for this bread,” Sam announced, his mouth stuffed full, “I’m choosing the bread!”
John Smith grinned and helped himself to some bread. He told Sam he wasn’t worried about poisoned food. Why would the Indians send poisoned food to kill them when they were already dying from starvation and sickness? But this unexpected gift puzzled Smith. Like the other settlers, Smith had come to the conclusion that the Indians wanted the Englishmen to die. Even the Powhatans, who had pledged themselves the allies of the English, had ignored the colony’s suffering. It didn’t make sense that the Indians would suddenly decide to help.
Tempting aromas began to drift out of the cooking pots in James Fort. Vegetables simmered in broths thickened with chunks of oysters. Venison roasted over fires and dripped rich fat onto sizzling flames. The smells were so bewitching that Sam couldn’t concentrate on anything else.
Before noonday, Reverend Hunt gathered the colonists who were strong enough to walk for a brief thanksgiving service. The men bowed their heads and thanked the Lord for saving them from certain death.
Hunt reminded the colonists that their salvation had come from Indians, a most unexpected source. “Indeed those very savages who attacked ye and murdered thy comrades!” he exclaimed. “During all these weeks of agony, whilst ye watched thy fellows succumb to horrible starvation and deadly sickness, the savages delivered nought but brutality to thy gates. Behold, it is from the hands of the enemy that ye now receive thy salvation! The same savages who shed thy blood hath delivered the bread of life to thy gates. From thy mortal enemies, thou taketh the seeds that enable thee to plant civilization in this wilderness.”
Hunt told the colonists to pray. “For our Lord works in strange and wonderful ways. Remember that thy suffering, though it tests the very roots of thy faith, is part of a divine plan. Yea, a plan greater than thy human ability to understand.”
Sam shut his eyes and tried to thank God with all his might. But his stomach whined for food. All he could think about were the aromas drifting out of the cooking pots.
After that first full meal, Sam’s enthusiasm returned in a rush. He understood that many of the settlers were too sick to recover, even with the Indians’ food, and he felt sorry for their misery. But Sam refused to let death and fear fill his thoughts again. “We’re alive, Nate! Master Smith says that the sickness took nearly half of our men. But you and I survived our seasoning,” Sam said. “We were meant to be men of this new world!”
The boys were on a mudflat beside the river, poking sticks through the weeds in search of mussels. Their bare feet squished through the warm, gooey mud.
Nate gazed at the river. “Maybe so. But some are saying there’s a curse on this colony,” he said. “That James Fort is a place of death.”
Nate’s brooding made Sam uncomfortable. He punched his friend’s arm. “Look here, Nate Peacock, I’m too lucky to die,” Sam said with a grin. “And you’re my best friend. The way I figure it, you’re not about to die, either. Because I’m too lucky to lose my best friend!”
Sam noticed a thick tree stump at the edge of the woods. He leaped over the mud, flopped down in the weeds, and planted his right elbow on the stump. He knew Nate could never resist an invitation to arm-wrestle. I’ll lose, of course, Sam thought. because Nate’s bigger. But at least he’ll stop worrying about death and curses for a few minutes.
Nate knelt down on the other side of the stump. He grabbed Sam’s hand and drove it hard against the stump. Then he grinned.
The sound of honking brought both boys to their feet. A wedge of geese flew over the distant treetops. As the flock came closer, the clatter of squawking resounded through the air.
“Look at all those geese!” Sam exclaimed. “There are enough birds up there to feed every man in James Fort for a month!”
The boys dashed through the thicket to see where the geese were going to land. Then they ran back to the fort to alert the hunters.
Fowl continued to fly in from the north in great flocks. They settled on streams and ponds near the fort. The hunters brought back fat geese, snow-white swans, and little green and brown ducks. Indians visited the fort, bringing more baskets of food—corn on the cob, beans, squash, and corn cakes. With a greatly improved diet, the colonists’ strength began to return.
But Nate was not the only colonist who had lost his taste for Virginia. Around every campfire, Sam heard grumbling and complaining. “James Fort is a cursed place,” they said. “Its waters carry sickness and death.” Some of the men said the Indians had cast a spell on the land and river. “Do you see how their villagers prosper? Why don’t they fall ill with the sickness?”
“Nonsense!” Smith spat. “The Indians prosper because they work the land and fish the river—not because they cast spells.”
All over the fort, Sam heard rumors that some of the colonists planned to take the Discovery at night, load her with the colony’s supplies, and return to England.
When Sam asked his master about the rumors, Smith frowned. “No one will take the ship if I can prevent it! We can’t spare any of our supplies, especially with winter approaching,” he said. “Taking our supplies or one
of our ships is stealing, plain and simple. By English law, we punish thieves severely.”
For the most part, John Smith ignored the campfire complaints. While others grumbled, he organized work parties. Smith was convinced that some of the sickness was caused by sleeping on the damp ground, and he knew the colonists would need better housing when the weather turned cold. He urged the men to build houses so they could discard the moldy, threadbare tents. To keep a supply of food coming from the Indians, Smith encouraged James Read, the blacksmith, to make small tools out of iron so the colonists had something to trade.
But the rumors multiplied. Since Smith was now a member of the council, many of the men complained to him about the president. “Look at Master Wingfield, would ye? How come he’s still got his weight and strength? All the rest of us have been dropping like flies!”
Sam was often at Smith’s side, and he overheard many of these conversations. Sam knew that some of the colonists suspected that President Wingfield had put aside food for himself and his favorites, while other men were starving. He even heard rumors that Wingfield was plotting to steal the ship and set up another colony in a different location!
Although John Smith disliked sitting idly in conversation, Sam noticed that he listened patiently to every complaint about Master Wingfield—no matter how petty. Master Smith never brushes aside the men when they complain about the president. He’s not sorry that Master Wingfield has lost everybody’s respect!
To put an end to the rumors, the council met to hear evidence against Wingfield. The councilmen decided to remove Master Wingfield from the presidency and from the council. Master Wingfield was placed in custody on the Discovery until all the accusations against him could be investigated. At the same time, George Kendall was released from confinement, since no further evidence had been found to support the accusations against him.
Now, the colony needed a new president. John Ratcliffe was the last remaining ship’s captain, so he was the natural choice. The councilmen also acknowledged Smith’s talents. Since he was such an energetic and able organizer, they appointed him cape merchant, the officer in charge of supplies and equipment.
As cape merchant, Smith’s first concern was finding and storing enough food to last the winter. He directed a group of workmen to strengthen the colony’s storehouse. Smith told Sam and Nate to work alongside the men, since carpentry was a useful skill for the boys to learn.
The boys carried buckets of mud up from the river, and the men packed the mud around a frame of woven saplings to make the storehouse walls. When the walls were thick and sturdy, Smith instructed the men to build plenty of shelving to keep a winter’s supply of food from rotting on the ground. He checked carefully to be sure that the thatch on the roof was dense and even, so rain could not seep in and dampen the sacks of corn and beans.
The storehouse completed, Smith divided the workers into teams to build sleeping quarters. Sam watched with longing every night when other colonists ducked inside their new houses to bed down. Smith insisted that he and the boys would remain in a tent every night until all the others had permanent sleeping quarters. That way, nobody could accuse him of making himself comfortable at the expense of others.
Now that the settlers were able to hunt and fish, the Indians gradually stopped bringing gifts of vegetables and game. So the Englishmen bartered iron tools to obtain a supply of dried corn and beans from the Indians. But after a while the neighboring Indians had as many iron tools as they could use, and they refused to trade any more, since they would need their food to get through the winter.
Each day, Smith checked the storehouse and estimated how much food remained. Soon, the fort’s food supplies had dwindled to only enough for a few weeks, and Smith volunteered to lead a trading party. He planned to take the shallop to an Indian village farther down the river, thinking that the natives who lived some distance from the fort would still be interested in trading corn for iron tools.
Smith chose seven of his best workers for the journey. He told Sam to load the shallop with his iron helmet, breastplate, gun, and provisions for several days. “And put in a helmet and breastplate for yourself, too.”
“And what about Nate?” Sam asked. “Can we take him on the trip, too? Please, Master Smith. He’s been so miserable since Master Calthrop died.”
Smith raised his eyebrows, and Sam wished he’d held his tongue. He was only a boy. It wasn’t his place to tell his master what he should or shouldn’t do.
To Sam’s relief, Smith nodded. “Yes, Sam, Nate can come along,” he said. “You don’t need to worry. Now that he’s on his own, I intend to watch out for him. Nate’s a fine lad, and I appreciate how he looked after you—and me, for that matter—when the sickness was upon us. As I see where his talents lie, I’ll assign him a trade to study, so he’ll be assured of a livelihood. We need all kinds of craftsmen here in Virginia. Meanwhile, he can come along with us. I feel sure he’ll make himself useful.”
The trading party set out, heading down the James River toward Chesapeake Bay. Sam remembered that the Kecoughtan Indians lived at the mouth of the river, and that they had welcomed the colonists when they first landed in Virginia.
When the shallop reached Kecoughtan, Smith left two men to guard the boat and took the others to visit the village. The chief was polite and offered them some corn cakes. He was willing to trade a few handfuls of dried beans for a hatchet, but he seemed uninterested in any further bartering.
Some of the village children ran by and tossed scraps of food at Sam and Nate. Stamping his foot, Nate sent the children scampering away. “Do we look so ragged that they take us for charity cases?” he snarled. “It’s a wonder that Master Smith stays here—we’re being treated more like beggars than traders.”
Sam shrugged. “Perhaps this is a poor village,” he said, “and they don’t have enough food to trade.”
Nate squinted at Sam as if his friend had lost his senses. “Open your eyes, Sam. You saw that garden by the river!” he exclaimed. “It was full of squash, pumpkins, and beans. These villagers don’t look like they’re starving.”
Nate is right, Sam thought. He was confused. My master is acting like this is a social visit. He doesn’t seem to care if the chief wants to trade.
As Smith led their group back to the river, he pulled aside one gentleman. “Hide in these bushes,” he told the man. “Keep a close watch. Find out how much food the villagers have stored and where it’s kept. Estimate how many warriors live here. We’ve come to get food for our settlement, and I will not return empty-handed. If these Indians aren’t willing to make a fair trade, then we’ll take what we need!”
After dark, the gentleman returned to the shallop. He reported that the village consisted of about eighteen houses spread across three acres of fertile plain, and the Indians had plenty of food. Early the next morning, Smith ordered the sailors to haul up the anchor and take the shallop out to the middle of the river. There, he told his men to put on their helmets and breastplates and make ready to fire their guns. He ordered the sailors to row with all their strength, until they ran the boat onto the shore in front of the village. Immediately, Smith ordered his men to open fire, and the Indians fled screaming for cover.
Sam and Nate marched behind Smith and the others into the empty village. The boys’ eyes were round with amazement.
“Has your master gone mad?” Nate whispered. “These savages aren’t going to let us march in and seize their food. They’re sure to attack us! There aren’t even ten of us, and they’ve got a village full of warriors. They’ll kill every one of us!”
Before Sam had a chance to answer, seventy Indians rushed out of the woods, chanting. Their faces and chests were streaked with black, red, and white paint, and they carried clubs as well as bows and arrows. When all the Indians were in the open, they stood and faced the little row of Englishmen. So many armed warriors! Their scowling faces and bright paint made them look ferocious. Sam feared his knees would collapse and he woul
d fall to the ground.
Suddenly, one of the Indians held up a statue shaped like a man. It was made of stuffed skins and decorated with copper chains. With the statue held at arm’s length in front of his face, he began a different chant. All at once, the Indians charged!
Smith stood his ground and yelled, “Fire!”
The blast from their guns instantly stopped the charge. Several warriors fell to the ground, howling. In the confusion, the Indian in front dropped the statue. As the Englishmen reloaded, the Indians scurried into the woods, moaning and screaming.
A little while later, one of the Indians came out of the woods, his face and chest wiped clean of paint. He bowed respectfully to Smith and pointed to the statue, which he called okee. Smith gestured for the Indian to fill the boat with food. He said he’d give up the statue and also give beads, hatchets, and copper in return for food.
Shortly afterward, six Indians appeared, each holding baskets of food. They loaded the shallop with dried corn, venison, wild turkeys, and corn cakes. When they were finished, Smith gave the Indians the trade goods he had promised, and he returned the statue. Then he boarded the shallop to return to the fort.
As they headed up the river, Nate sat in the stern and stared at the water. When Sam approached him, Nate snapped, “Your master risked our lives in that village. What if the savages hadn’t run away after we fired our guns?”
Sam defended Smith, and the two boys quarreled.
“What’s wrong, lads?” Smith called.
Both boys fell silent. They didn’t speak to each other again until they reached the fort.
Although Sam didn’t really understand why his master had decided to attack the village, he waited until that night when he brought Smith his supper to ask. “I counted more than seventy warriors in that village, Master Smith,” Sam said. “But we had less than ten grown men, counting the two who were guarding our shallop. What if the Kecoughtans had continued to fight?”
Surviving Jamestown Page 10
