"Well ... you've met him, I'm sure, but not in his official capacity, and that's the only way to really know him. Come ... we'll go aft and see him."
"Now? I was enjoying this."
Taking her by the arm, we started toward the ladder to the afterdeck. We were almost at the top of the ladder, and John Tilly was waiting near the whipstaff with his Bible in his hand. Lila was there, and most of the crew were arranged in respectful rows on either side.
"What does this man do?"
"What does he do? Why, he marries people. He's a minister of the Church."
She stopped abruptly. "Barnabas ... ?"
"We mustn't keep the man waiting, Abigail. You can marry me now and resent at leisure."
"I shall never resent it or you." She looked around quickly. "Oh, Barnabas! You ... I must look a sight."
"You couldn't be lovelier. Come on now."
She looked up at me. "Why! You're laughing!"
"It is a fault I have. There is something about solemn occasions that always stirs my humor. I like them, I respect them, but sometimes I think we all take ourselves too seriously."
"You don't think marriage is serious?"
"Of course, I do. It is the ultimate test of maturity, and many find excuses for avoiding it because they know they are not up to the challenge, or capable of carrying on a mature relationship."
We stopped in front of John Tilly.
Out upon the sound a slight wind ruffled the waters. The morning sun was bright upon every wavelet, and on the shore-side trees the leaves stirred occasionally in the slight wind. Three gulls winged their way overhead on slow, easy wings.
The deck tilted slightly under our feet and Tilly's low, well-modulated voice began the service.
I looked at the girl beside me, saw her hair stir slightly in the wind. Her fingers clutched at mine and held on, very tightly.
She was far from home, her father was dead, and she was marrying a man whose future was bound to a strange, lonely land.
When the brief ceremony was concluded we walked to the taffrail and stood there together, not talking, just looking out over the water.
"This can only be our first home," I told her, "for later we must go to the mountains and build there. We must have a place to go when the Queen's officers come ... and they will."
That night we remained aboard the fluyt, which we now christened the Abigail.
We stood together under the stars, smelling the strange, earthy smells from the shore of rotting vegetation, of flowers and the forest, and some faint smell of wood-smoke from the fire of some of my men, who stayed ashore.
"My mother," I said, "made a prophecy before I was born. It is thirty years ago, I think, or near to that. A man was about to attack her, and before my father came, she told the man he would die by the sword of her son, in the ruins of a flaming town."
"Lila told me the story, as you told it to her. She also told me you had the gift."
I shrugged. "I think nothing of it. It comes and it goes, but my mother, I think, was only trying to frighten the man, for how could such a prophecy be?
That I should kill the man in the ruins of a burning town? I, who shall never see another town?"
"Who knows?" Abigail said. "Who can read what is in tomorrow's wind? Shall we go to the cabin?"
Chapter 16
Green lay the forest about us, brown and silent the moving river ... the land lay still, brooding, expectant. Now was the time for dreaming past, now was the time for doing.
Oh, what a fine and handsome thing it is to sit in taverns over flagons of ale and discourse bravely of what daring things we will do! How we will walk the unknown paths through lands of sylvan beauty, facing the savage in his native habitat, far from the dust of London crowds!
Warmed by wine, the rolling poetry of words and a fine sweep of gesture, a young man feels the world is his, with a pearl in every oyster, a lovely lass behind every window, and enemies who fade from sight at his very presence. Yet the moment of reality comes, and no eloquence will build a stockade, nor will a poetic phrase fend off an arrow, for the savage of the woodland has his own conception of romance and poetry, which may involve the dreamer's scalp.
Forever the dream is in the mind, realization in the hands.
An easy thing it had been when England lay about us to scorn the vanishing men of Roanoke, the disappearance of Grenville's men, for the giving up of Ralph Lane's colony. That was all very well for them. They had failed where we would succeed.
We had gone beyond help. If a man here should take a misstep on a path and fall with a broken bone, he need expect no doctor, no litter. If savages closed about him, no Queen's men would come with banners in bold ranks marching, nor would there be a skirl of pipes and the movement of kilts and the claymores swinging.
One would be a man alone, and alone he must fight and die, or fight and live.
The entry into a new land is a hard, hard thing as Black Tom Watkins said, and upon me lay responsibility for all of these who came with me. All men wish to be captains, but few men wish to shoulder the burden of decision, and in coming here with these others, I had staked a claim that I must wall against misfortune.
First, our food. We had come well-provided, but for how long? Well I knew how precious were the foods of home, so these must be carefully used, and we must hunt, gather, and plant, to prepare for the cold winter to come.
At once I drew a plan for a stockade, showed it to Jublain, John Tilly, and the others. A change was made here, an addition there, then the men went forth with axes. With Black Tom and Pim Burke I went to the woods, for meat Two were left with the ship's boat, and they were to fish.
We were twenty-seven men and two women, and to feed such a lot is never a simple thing.
Steadily, we walked into the woods, for I had no wish to hunt close to camp and so frighten away what game was near. Several times we saw wild turkeys, but it was deer I wanted, and more than one.
Yet each such venture was more than a hunt for food, it was an exploration, and after each venture of my own or others it was in my mind to note down what was observed and to piece together a map of the area for all to see.
Suddenly, we came upon deer, a half dozen of them feeding in a meadow, some hundred and fifty yards off. It was far to risk a shot upon which so much depended, so I began my stalk. Having hunted deer in England I believed these would be no different.
All were feeding. Indicating the one I would attempt to kill, I suggested to the others that they choose their target and shoot when I shot.
Slowly, silently I began moving upwind toward them. Suddenly I saw their tails begin to twitch, and knowing they were about to look up, I stood fast. Their heads lifted and they stared at me, but I made no slightest move, and waited.
Soon they decided I was harmless and resumed their feeding.
Moving on, I closed some fifteen yards closer before their tails began to twitch again. They looked about, looked longer at me for they must have realized that strange object out there was closer, then back to feeding. Again I moved, again I stopped.
Now I was within less than a hundred yards of my target, and lifting my gun, I took aim. My ball took the buck through the neck just forward of the shoulders.
He leaped, fell to his knees, then rolled over.
Tom and Pim had come closer also, and instantly, both fired. Pim's was a clean miss as his target, startled by my shot, made an abrupt move, paused, then began to walk away.
They came up to me and we waited, hoping the deer might stop not far off, but they continued to move on into the brush, and we let them go.
"The neck shot is best," I commented, "if chance allows. If shot through the heart or lungs they will often run a mile or more before dropping."
Tom was the most skillful butcher among us, so he began skinning the animals out, while Pim and I followed in the way they had gone. A deer will rarely travel more than a mile from his home grounds if it can be avoided, so we hoped they had but
circled around. Whatever they had done, we saw them not again.
With our meat and the skins we returned to our camp, killing three turkeys on the way.
So there was meat that night, but scarcely enough, and I knew we must go far afield, must kill and dry the meat and prepare for the winter to come. Supplying my small force was to be no small problem.
The days went swiftly by, working, hunting, clearing and planting land. During this time I kept several men aboard the fluyt, now rechristened the Abigail, cleaning her up, making minor repairs, and adding to her armament two guns recovered from the burned vessel.
The stockade was completed and four swivel-guns were mounted on the walls. Two more of the recovered guns from the burned-out wreck were hauled to the hilltop where the stockade had been built and mounted to cover the river itself.
We saw no Indians, yet from time to time their tracks were seen, and twice we saw canoes passing swiftly along the river in the dark.
"I do not trust them," Jublain protested irritably. "These, if I mistake them not, are Chowanokes."
"I know nothing of them," I said.
"Nor I," he admitted, "but I served with a soldier who came with Lane, and he spoke of them with no favor. They were allied to Wingina, who was a chief to the south and a great enemy to all whites.
"If the Roanoke colony vanished, he would be the likely culprit."
"And not the Spanish?"
"Aye, mayhap the Spanish, too."
It was a lovely land, alive with flowers and richness of soil, but except when cutting logs we avoided the swamp. There were alligators there as well as snakes, and a dismal place it was. Yet it was the easiest way for us to procure the timbers we needed, for a tree felled there could be towed by a boat easier than it could be moved upon land. Nor had we any wish to make our position more obvious by cutting trees. Taken from the swamp they left no gaping holes, nor any sign of activity likely to be seen.
If the Indians left us alone we were content that it be so, although it was trade with them I most desired, I preferred that we make our own position secure first, for in dealing with a people of so vastly different a culture and background we must ever be wary, for their understanding is not ours, nor is it based on the same considerations.
Now I was indeed thankful for the long talks with Captain Tempany, with Coveney Hasling, and with others, for each had served to broaden my viewpoint and the depth of my understanding.
There was much to learn of people, much to learn of the art of government, which had suddenly become my responsibility. I had already learned to listen to the advice of others but to act only on my own beliefs, and to make my own decisions.
The days went swiftly by, but soon there was on my table a growing map of the area in which we lived. Along with it I began to note down what I knew of Indians and what signs we had seen of them.
What of Potaka? On my earlier voyage we had met, and instantly had become friends. He was an Eno, of a tribe from somewhere inland, I knew not exactly where. It had been a year, perhaps somewhat more, since I had seen him. The Eno were good hunters, but careful farmers and shrewd traders, and if any might have a surplus for trade it would be the Eno ... from the little I knew of the Indians about here.
Our catch of fish was excellent, so I put more men to that service, and soon we had racks of fish drying in the sun and had to maintain a guard to keep off the birds. We killed many pigeons, of a kind that roosted in great numbers in the trees and could be taken easily.
Inside our stockade but backed up against the outer wall were our cabins. One for Abigail, Lila, and me, another for an armory, one for the storage of meat, another for grain, a third for our trade goods, and the largest yet a barracks for the men, although we maintained a crew of seven men aboard the Abigail.
We ate at a common table for I wished no stories to circulate that better food was served us than was prepared for all.
When would winter come? It worried me that I did not know, and could only guess, which made for bad planning. Despite the poor success of our hunting, for we found little game, the fishing went well, and our crops came readily up, promising a late but good harvest.
At the table, I explained the situation. "There are Indians up the river whom I know, they are called the Eno. There are other Indians a little way off called the Tuscarora, and I do not know them but other Indians fear them and they are spoken of as fighters.
"There are Indians near us called the Chowanoke or Chowanoc, but they are a small tribe. It may be that we can arrange an alliance that will offer protection for both.
"Avoid Indian women. It may be some of you will wish to have Indian wives, but first you must learn the Indian way, and to approach the father first and agree upon the present you will give him.
"We are very few here, and must walk with care, always respectful of these people."
"They are savages," Emmden muttered, "only savages!"
"But people, just as you and I, and they have customs as good for them as ours for us. Treat them as equals."
Emmden looked his disgust, but spoke no word against my order. Yet his manner worried me. He had been a sailor aboard the Flemish ship and I liked not his manner, and I spoke of him to Tilly and Jublain.
"Aye," Jublain agreed, "yon's a surly dog, and he's found others of his kind.
They talk continually of going a-pirating and I doubt not they'd try if they could find men enough."
Despite the fact that our fort was on a low hill it was shielded from view by the tall trees that made up the forest around the hill. That hill was stripped of brush and trees that might offer concealment and prepared a good field of fire for our weapons.
Meanwhile, those of us who knew how to use the bow resumed its use in our hunting. In the fens we had grown up as archers, each of us skilled in hunting with bow and arrow, so among us we numbered ten skilled archers and some who were good enough. Our hunting, to save powder and lead, was now done with bows and arrows.
The English longbow was a formidable weapon and despite the coming of firearms we in the fens and others in rural parts of England kept our skill in its use, competing in shooting at fairs and sometimes at markets. In the fens, where hunting was less restricted, many a fenman kept meat on his table with the bow.
In the evenings we made arrows, improved our bows, and sharpened axes and saws against the work to be done. They were quiet, busy times but we were in better condition to survive than had those who came before us, for all were accustomed to work, and aware of the need for it.
Nevertheless, we cut mast timbers and piled them above the ground to season, and some of the men were riving shingles, working with a hoe and a maul to split them off the larger chunks or logs. It was in my mind that sooner or later a ship would come, and then we might sell our timber or trade to good effect.
Yet we had our own quarters to furnish as well, so we made stools, benches, and chairs as well as buckets, ladles, spoons, and baskets.
And then we found the Indian.
It was Abigail who saw him first. She had gone with Lila to the edge of the forest to gather herbs. The morning was warm and still, but under the trees that bordered the swamp it was dark, mysterious, and very still.
Abigail had stopped inside the edge of the timber, to listen. Somewhere out across the swamp a woodpecker was working on a tree. Out upon the ship someone was hoisting something with a block and tackle. She could hear the squeak and groan of it. At the fort she could hear someone sawing ... here all was very quiet.
She saw the big alligator first. He was a huge, old fellow, all of ten or twelve feet long and when she saw him only his eyes and snout were above water. He was moving toward the shore, moving toward where she stood with a purposefulness that told her he was coming for something, or somebody.
"Lila?"
"I see him."
He was coming toward her. Maybe if she threw something into the water ... ?
She stooped to pick up a stick or chunk of bark ... an
d then she saw the hand.
For an instant she stood silent, holding her breath. It was a hand, a man's hand, and it lay half-clutching the damp leaves at the edge of the brush.
The hand had an arm. Then, half-concealed by the low-hanging leaves, she made out the body. A man's body, a man terribly wounded, bloody.
"Mam? We'd better go. He's coming!"
"Throw something at it. Anything."
Abigail looked quickly around. There was nothing. Catching hold of the hand, she pulled. It was all she could do to stir the body, but she did, she drew him slowly from the brush.
"Lila? Help me!"
Suddenly, Lila screamed. She had never heard the Welsh girl scream and she dropped the hand and ran quickly.
The 'gator was a big one, and he was coming out of the water, evidently drawn by the scent of blood from the man's body.
Abigail, who had lungs of her own, screamed also.
There was a shout, then running feet, and I was the first to reach them, running, sword drawn, expecting to find Indians or Bardle men.
Jublain was only an instant behind me, and Watkins came from the woods further along the shore.
"Look out for his tail," I warned. Where had I heard that? "He'll use it to knock you into the water or break your legs."
The big beast stood, half out of the water, staring at us with gleaming reddish eyes, his jaws opening and closing. The smell of blood and death drew him, yet our increasing numbers must have brought some thread of caution into his brain, for he stared at us, his eyes going from one to the other until I thought he might charge.
At my feet was a broken, rotting chunk of wood, and picking it up, I dashed it against his head. My shot was good, and it struck hard. He snorted and made an angry dash of no more than two feet, then retreated slowly, reluctantly, into the water.
"What is it, Abby?" I asked.
"There's a man ... he's not dead, I believe."
I walked past to where her finger pointed, and Jublain, sword still in hand, came to stand beside me.
The wounded man was an Indian, and of a type I had not seen before. He was a big man, well made, but from the marks upon his body he had been wounded, then tortured, and had somehow escaped.
To the Far Blue Mountains (1976) s-2 Page 14
