Surviving Jamestown

by Gail Langer Karwoski

  “And would you do us the courtesy,” President Ratcliffe said sharply, “to explain how you, Master Smith—the commander in charge of the trading party—came to be separated from your men?”

  “As I told you,” Smith said, “a few days after we hired the Indians and their canoe, we made our evening camp. Our supper was boiling over the fire when I decided to survey the nature of the soil. I took one of our Indian guides with me. I left the other Indian guide with Robinson and Emry. Before leaving, I made sure my men had their guns on their laps and their matches lit. I ordered them to fire if they caught sight of any Indians near the camp.

  “I had been gone about a quarter of an hour when I heard a loud cry and shouting, but no gunfire. I guessed my men had been surprised by a band of Indians. Supposing our guides had betrayed us, I seized the fellow with me and tied his arm to mine so he could not run off. In truth, the fellow seemed as surprised as I was by the ambush. He urged me to run away. But before I could take flight, an arrow struck my right thigh. Fortunately, it glanced off without doing me harm. I whirled to see two Indians drawing their bows, and I fired my pistol at them. One fell down, and the other ran off.

  “Three or four more Indians came at me. I fired again and pulled the Indian guide close against my back as a shield. At least twenty arrows were shot at me, but they fell short. I discharged my pistol three or four times before I was surrounded by about two hundred braves carrying drawn bows. They were led by their king, whose name is Opechancanough. Later, I found out that he is the brother of the mighty Powhatan.”

  Smith paused and looked around the room. Every man was absorbed in his story. Sam smiled, remembering the many nights he had listened to his master’s stories of hair-raising adventures in Turkey and other faraway lands.

  “And how was it that the savages were convinced to spare your life, Master Smith,” Ratcliffe asked, “after they had murdered both of your companions?”

  “My pistol was loaded, and I aimed it at my attackers. If the braves made a rush for me, I intended to kill as many of them as I could. My Indian guide was still fastened to my arm, and he began speaking. Said I was the captain of our party. The warriors seemed to understand him, so I told the fellow to let them know that all I wanted was to be allowed to leave their territory. That I would go peacefully. They commanded me to throw down my weapon, and this I refused. Stepping backward, I lost my balance and fell into a muddy hole. The braves closed in on me. They pulled away my Indian guide—I never found out what became of him. I decided my best hope was to try their mercy. So I threw aside my weapon and let them lead me to their king.

  “I had a compass in my pouch, and I offered it to the king. He demanded to know how it was used, and I showed him. I drew pictures in the dirt to explain how the device helps a man locate his whereabouts. King Opechancanough has a lively mind, and he was intrigued. He tried out the compass, moving it around in a circle to watch the dial move. Then he seated himself upon a mat and bid me sit by him. The king asked me all sorts of questions. I told him about the roundness of this earth and the course of the sun, moon, stars, and planets. While he listened, the king ordered his attendants to bring me bread to eat. Then he made a speech welcoming me to his country, which is the land of the Pamunkeys. At my request, he conducted me to the camp where I’d left my men, and I saw the body of John Robinson. After that, I fully expected the Indians to execute me. But instead, they took me to their village, which is about six miles from where I was captured.”

  As soon as Smith said the word, “village,” Sam remembered the village of Apokant. An image of George Cassen—his naked body tied to a stake and blood running down his arms and legs—flashed into his mind. Forgetting his manners, Sam burst out, “Did they torture you, Master Smith?”

  “That’s what I was expecting, Sam,” Smith said. “But when we reached the village, all the women and children came out to greet us. The warriors formed lines and ran back and forth in some sort of display. Afterward, they formed a ring and danced. Then I was led to a fire, like a guest, and served a quarter of venison and about ten cakes of bread! What I could not eat was sent with me to King Opechancanough’s lodging, where I was given shelter for the night.

  “Each morning, three women served me, bringing me great platters of their bread and more venison than five men could devour. They returned my compass and everything they had taken from me, except my weapons. Although eight warriors guarded me at all times, the Pamunkeys did everything they could to make me comfortable.

  “The king often came and spoke with me. He asked me questions about our ships and our fort and even about our God. I told him how strong our fort is. I described how Captain Newport was coming with more ships and more Englishmen. I told him that any Indians who attacked our fort would feel the terrible sting of our revenge.”

  “And you remained a prisoner—or rather a guest—of this King Opechancanough all these weeks? Since your capture?” Gabriel Archer asked.

  “No, I was moved to several villages. One day, an Indian stormed up to my lodging with his knife drawn. He demanded that I be handed over to him. He was the father of an Indian that I shot when I was trying to escape capture, and he wanted to avenge his son’s death. The king refused. After that, I was moved to another town to keep me safe from the relatives who wanted revenge.”

  “I suppose you were also treated kindly in this other town?” Archer asked.

  Smith nodded. “I was feasted and treated with great courtesy there and in several other Indian towns. But I was kept under such careful guard that I expected the Indians to put me to death as soon as they were satisfied that all their questions were answered.”

  “Then how did you manage to escape from your Indian guards and get back to our fort?” Ratcliffe demanded. His voice grew shrill. “Master Smith, are you saying there’s an Indian war party searching for you, as we speak? Should we be preparing ourselves for an attack?”

  “President Ratcliffe, I don’t think we have anything to fear from the Indians who held me captive. Four of them escorted me back to this area. They were very pleasant—even carried my gear for me. They packed bread sufficient for weeks of travel. When we came in sight of the fort, they politely waved good-bye and left.”

  Smith glanced around the room to be sure all the men were listening to his next words: “Among the Indians, Emperor Powhatan’s commands are law. After I met him, Powhatan ordered his warriors to escort me back safely.”

  “You met Powhatan? The emperor of the Indians?” Sam blurted out. In the silent room, his words sounded like an explosion.

  President Ratcliffe glared at the boy, and Sam shrank back against his master’s knee.

  Smith smirked, delighted by the dramatic emphasis that Sam’s outburst had added to his announcement. “Yes, I met the great Powhatan,” he said. “In fact, we had quite a long talk.”

  “What manner of man is this chieftain?” the men asked. “How is he treated by his people?”

  “When I was brought before him, he was lying on mats piled ten or twelve high. He wore a cape made from raccoon pelts and several strands of shining pearls around his neck. Powhatan is lean and his skin is leathery from age. His hair and beard are gray, but his arms and chest ripple with muscles. I suppose he must be at least sixty, because he is the father and grandfather of grown men.

  “When Powhatan sits in state, he is surrounded by ten of his chief men. These men sit tall and straight as statues, and they keep their eyes fixed steadily on their emperor. At least as many women also attend him. The women wear great chains of pearls, and each one has her head and shoulders painted red. Powhatan conducts himself with as much dignity as a king in a European court. He’s a ruler, accustomed to command and respect.”

  A long pause followed Smith’s description of the Indians’ emperor. At last, President Ratcliffe cleared his throat and caught the eye of Gabriel Archer. “Master Smith,” Ratcliffe began, “as extraordinary as your experiences were, they do not absolve you of resp
onsibility.”

  Sam sat up, gaping at Ratcliffe. He turned and looked at his master.

  “My responsibility?” Smith exclaimed. “What are you saying, Ratcliffe? Speak plain!”

  Ratcliffe’s nostrils flared and he pursed his lips. “What I am saying, Master Smith, is that three of our men were ambushed and put to death by savages while under your command. And now you come back to the fort, pleased with yourself and telling us tales of the savages’ dignity and courtesy.” Ratcliffe’s voice rose. “Those men were your responsibility, John Smith,” he thundered, “Their deaths are your responsibility!”

  Smith’s jaw fell, and he stared openmouthed at the president.

  “I am removing you from the council, Master Smith, because you are not fit to lead other men. As for your punishment—”

  “Punishment!” Smith roared, jumping to his feet. “Punishment? I spent a month as the prisoner of savages who are more civilized than my own people, it seems. Now I am come back to English justice, and I am stripped of my rightful place on the council without a trial. And you have the gall to speak of punishment! How dare you….”

  Reverend Hunt stood and strode across the room. He put a hand on Smith’s shoulder and turned to face Ratcliffe. “If there are accusations against John Smith, then we must investigate the evidence and proceed according to the laws of England. Surely, any thoughts of punishment are premature before the charges are examined, Mister President.”

  Ratcliffe rose and pointed at the doorway. “If you will step outside, Master Smith. The council will consider this matter immediately and—”

  “May I remind you that I am still a member of this council, Ratcliffe!” Smith shouted.

  “During your extended absence, Smith,” Ratcliffe said in a voice that trembled with anger, “the council appointed Gabriel Archer to replace you.”

  “Under what system of law shall a man be replaced by another before he has even been removed from office?” Smith demanded.

  Most of the councilmen were on their feet by now, and the room shook with angry voices. In the midst of the hubbub, one of the guards charged into the room wearing his helmet and breastplate. “Begging your pardon, gentlemen,” he announced breathlessly. “A sailing ship has been sighted on the river. It looks like an English ship.”

  The men stopped shouting and poured out of Ratcliffe’s house. By the time they reached the southern guard platform, the guards were cheering.

  “It’s Cap’n Newport!” one guard yelled. “He’s returned!”

  11

  Fire!

  A ship was slowly making its way toward the bank. Sam could see English sailors on deck, gathering in the sails and tying them down. Finally, the ship lay at anchor, bobbing gently beside the shore.

  Clapping and cheering, the settlers gathered around Captain Newport, who had just stepped ashore. Smiling triumphantly, he began shaking hands with the gentlemen. “Are the others in the fort?” he asked.

  “The others are dead,” said one of the men. “This is all we have left—barely forty men, Cap’n.”

  Newport’s smile vanished. His eyes scanned the group standing around him. “Are you saying that more than half of our settlers died?”

  The colonists nodded sadly. Sam remembered the summer day almost six months ago, when they had assembled on this riverbank to shout farewell to Captain Newport before he sailed for England. Sam realized how pathetic this small group of ragged men must look to Newport.

  Newport stared. “President Wingfield?” he asked, searching for the face of the man he had left in charge.

  John Ratcliffe stepped forward instead. “Master Wingfield is no longer our president, Captain. He was found guilty of hoarding supplies and suspected of cooperating with a spy. He is under guard aboard the Discovery. I’m the president of the council now.”

  Newport absorbed this news. “You say there was a spy? Here, in our colony?”

  Ratcliffe nodded, his face reddening. Sam knew that Ratcliffe had been close friends with George Kendall in the weeks before the treachery was discovered. He suspected that Ratcliffe would have liked to avoid discussing the Kendall matter.

  John Smith, on the other hand, was delighted to tell Newport about Kendall’s treachery. “Yes, Captain,” he said, pushing his way through the crowd. “We caught George Kendall stealing a ship loaded with supplies. As soon as we tried him, we executed the blackguard!”

  “My word! So George Kendall was a Spanish spy!” Newport exclaimed, shaking his head. “And Captain Ratcliffe is now president of the council. What about Bartholomew Gosnold? Where is he?”

  “Captain Gosnold died of the—” Smith began.

  Ratcliffe rushed in. “Captain Gosnold died of the sickness,” he said, glaring at Smith. As the colony’s president, Ratcliffe felt he should be the one to deliver the report to Captain Newport. “A terrible sickness has claimed the lives of scores of our men.”

  “One sickness took the lives of more than fifty men?” Newport asked, astonished.

  “Our men were weakened from lack of food,” Ratcliffe explained. “But not all the deaths were caused by sickness. Many died of wounds inflicted by the savages. Although we have engaged the savages in trade during the months since we last saw you, Captain Newport, they cannot be trusted. They have repeatedly demonstrated their cunning, murderous natures.

  “And some of the blame must fall on our leaders, I regret to say,” Ratcliffe continued. “There are those amongst us who have been reckless in dealing with the savages. Why, just last month, irresponsible leadership during a trading party cost the lives of three of our men.” Pausing to catch his breath, Ratcliffe scowled at John Smith.

  Sam watched his master’s eyes narrow. He expected the shouting match from the council meeting to resume.

  But Captain Newport’s attention had strayed, his gaze wandering through the crowd. “William Brewster is dead?” he asked. “And Master Edward’s young kinsman, Stephen Calthrop? What of John Robinson?” he asked. “And Eustace Clovell? All dead?”

  As he recited each name, the survivors nodded sadly. “I had no idea how difficult the conditions were here in Virginia,” Newport said. The captain’s voice took on a more encouraging tone. “But I’ve brought a ship laden with supplies. And eighty Englishmen are aboard who’ve come to join the colony. Another forty men and more provisions are following on my companion ship, the Phoenix. She was close behind me until we lost sight of her in a cloud bank yesterday.” Newport looked from man to man. “Consider your ordeal at an end, my friends!”

  The men cheered. Some of the laborers smiled and slapped their neighbor’s backs. Tears streamed down the cheeks of a few gentlemen as they clasped Captain Newport’s hands.

  Sam clapped a hand on Nate’s shoulder, “You heard Captain Newport—our ordeal is over! We’ve got to stop looking behind us now, Nate. We survived the seasoning, and we’ve got our future ahead of us. All of England will hear that we did what we came to do—we planted a colony in the New World!”

  Nate looked at Sam, but he did not smile.

  In the excitement following Newport’s arrival, thoughts of punishing John Smith were set aside. Everyone was eager to have a look at the goods the sailors were unloading. A treasure trove of food and ammunition, tools and weapons, fabric and clothing was stored on Newport’s ship, the John and Francis. In addition to the provisions, the ship had brought letters from England.

  Smith sent Sam to collect his mail. A gentleman handed the boy a pile of letters for his master. “I think this one’s for you, son,” he said, handing Sam another letter.

  Sam looked at the writing on the outside. He recognized his brother Thomas’s scrawling letters. Running to deliver the mail to his master, Sam trembled with excitement. This was the first letter he’d ever received.

  Thomas’s letter was dated late summer. He’d written a few lines. He said their parents were healthy and often talked about what Sam’s life might be like—so far from Lincolnshire. Sam’s two litt
le sisters were doing well. Anne, Sam’s favorite, particularly sent her regards. Thomas reported that the farm was enjoying a good harvest, and Father did not expect them to run short. Mother wanted to know about Sam’s health and if he was keeping warm and getting enough to eat. They all missed him and hoped Master Smith was kind to him.

  That was all. Sam read the words over and over, trying to squeeze more information from them. Sam read the letter again by firelight, then tucked it under his bedroll. It made him feel important. He was becoming a man, old enough to leave home and receive a letter from his family. He felt proud that he could read the words himself.

  But the letter also made Sam restless. He kept thinking about home—the livestock in the old barn, the fields, the loft in their cottage where he and Thomas slept. He tried to imagine how everyone looked. As he pulled his blanket up to his chin, Sam thought of his mother, and he could almost feel the gentle touch of her hand against his cheek. He remembered how the hem of her skirt would be stiff with mud when she came inside on rainy days. He could see her upper lip glistening with sweat as she worked near the hot kitchen fire. But he could not remember what her face looked like! How could I forget what my own mother looks like? He started to sweat under his blankets. If Mother came to James Fort tomorrow, would I be able to pick her out of a crowd? For a moment, Sam felt completely alone. Deep within his chest, he felt a heaviness that nearly took away his breath. Sam clenched his fists. “Quit thinking like a baby,” he whispered to himself. “Of course you’d recognize your own mother!”

  Lying in the dark sleeping quarters, he listened to Nate’s even breathing beside him. Finally, he fell asleep.

  In the morning, Captain Newport visited their lodging. He’d heard about Smith’s capture by the Indians, and he wanted to hear about Smith’s experiences firsthand. In particular, Newport was interested in Smith’s meeting with Emperor Powhatan.

  Smith repeated the description he had given to the council. He told Newport about the talks he had with the emperor. “I told Powhatan that you were our ‘father’ in Virginia. The emperor is eager to meet you, Captain.”