“And I’m eager to meet him, as well,” Newport said. “As soon as our affairs allow, Smith, I want you to take me to see this famous Powhatan.”
As they rolled up the blankets and tidied the quarters, Sam and Nate listened to the men talk. The boys caught each other’s eye when Newport said that he wanted Smith to take him to see the famous Indian emperor. Both boys hoped they would go along on that expedition!
“While I was in England,” Newport continued. “I selected some handsome gifts for Powhatan: A white greyhound, a suit of fine red cloth, and a plumed hat—gifts that would flatter the finest European prince. I think Powhatan will be very pleased.” Newport beamed.
Smith hesitated. “Captain Newport,” he said slowly, “I think it’s best to keep the upper hand with Powhatan. He may interpret your gifts as a form of tribute—a sign that we consider his empire mightier than our own. In my opinion, this would be a serious misjudgment of—”
“Nonsense, man!” Newport interrupted. “Do you think I’ve never traveled in the heathen lands? Why, the best way to keep the natives peaceful is to parade these showy trinkets before their eyes! It flatters their vanity.” Newport chuckled. “Listen, Smith. For all his power, Powhatan is merely a rustic savage. When has he ever seen the likes of a snow-white greyhound? Or beheld the vivid color of our best red cloth? Why, he’ll view these things as miracles! Such gifts are signs of our wealth and power. Once we establish our superiority, the man will quake before the might of England!”
Sam watched his master out of the corner of his eye. Smith started to say something, then thought better of it. With President Ratcliffe eager to blame Smith for the deaths of the men on the trading expedition, his master needed Captain Newport’s goodwill. To Sam’s great relief, his master held his tongue, and the two men smiled and parted as friends.
During the next few days, the guards kept a lookout for Newport’s companion ship, but there was no sign of the Phoenix. Newport began to worry that the ship had run aground in the fog and sunk. Meanwhile, the sailors unloaded the cargo from the John and Francis into the fort’s storehouse. They carried heavy sacks of grain and seed, and wooden barrels of flour. Boxes of shot and gunpowder were stacked from floor to ceiling inside the wooden storehouse. Smoked meats were tied to the rafters. Sam, Nate, and Richard offered to help with the heavy work of lifting and carrying, so they could see for themselves all the wonderful supplies the Virginia Company had sent to fortify the hungry colony.
Sam also helped the passengers from the John and Francis get settled in the fort. Until more sleeping quarters could be built, the newcomers would have to crowd in with the original settlers. The newcomers were nervous and uncomfortable in these strange new surroundings. They asked Sam questions about the climate in Virginia and what sorts of crops could be grown in the soil. Mostly, they inquired about the natives and what types of weapons they had.
When Sam tried to look at their colony from the viewpoint of these passengers, he had to smile. We must look as thin as saplings to them, and our clothes are no better than rags! The walls of our fort probably seem sturdy enough. But inside the palisade, our buildings are no more than huts. Sam suspected that the newcomers were amazed by how little progress seemed to have been made in Virginia. To think that more than fifty Englishmen have already given their lives to this paltry effort!
But things will get better now, Sam thought. With a well-stocked storehouse and eighty new men, our settlement will soon flourish. There’ll be enough hands to make our sleeping quarters snug against the chill of winter and to build more housing. When spring comes, planting will be a pleasure with so many to share the work.
Five days after the arrival of the John and Francis, Sam was standing guard duty. He squinted up and down the river in hope of spotting the Phoenix. When his eyes began to smart from the sun’s glare off the surface of the water, he turned and watched the activity in the fort.
A wisp of smoke drifted up from the center of the fort. Sam didn’t think anything of it. Gray curls of smoke were an everyday sight in the sky above the fort because all the cooking was done over open fires. But something about that smoke caught Sam’s attention. As he watched, the curl began to thicken. He heard a crackling noise, followed by popping. Horrified, Sam traced the tail of smoke downward. A flame was eating through the thatched roof of the storehouse!
It was hopeless—the fire had already spread.
Instantly, Sam jumped off the platform, screaming, “Fire!”
Men came running from all directions. But the storehouse was already a roaring oven. As the settlers watched helplessly, its thatched roof blazed, and clods of burning thatch fell inside the building. Sam’s only thought was their food—the smoked meats, the barrels of flour, and the rest. Almost the entire supply of the colony’s food for the winter was inside that inferno!
“Water!” Sam shouted. “We need water from the river!” He grabbed a pail and dashed through the open gate.
By the time Sam reached the river, the fort sounded like it was under assault. Sharp pops, loud cracks, and great exploding bangs were coming from inside the walls. Sam turned to see flaming balls shooting into the sky. They arced and fell back into the fort. The gunpowder! he thought with horror. All the gunpowder and shot are in the storehouse!
Sam and the others frantically filled pails, pitchers, jugs—any containers they could find—and raced to the fort. But it was hopeless—the fire had already spread. Clods of burning thatch shot into the air and landed on the roofs of other wooden buildings. Consuming the thatch like kindling, the fire quickly set the buildings’ walls and posts on fire. Men tore screaming through the fort, trying to grab their possessions as walls of flame leaped up on all sides of them. In the end, the colonists were forced to flee for their lives.
Settlers, both old and new, and sailors huddled outside the fort and watched the flames devour the buildings and the supplies inside them. Many of the men wept as they watched. Others ran their fingers through their hair and rocked back and forth mournfully.
Nate and Richard stood next to Sam. Soot streaked their faces. Richard had managed to grab a blanket, and he draped it around his shoulders. Its edges were charred and it was pocked with holes.
Sam looked into Nate’s eyes. He knew what his friend was thinking—Nate had said it often enough: “James Fort is a place of death.” Sam tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry, and he felt like a lump of ash was wedged in his throat. The smell of burnt wood filled his nose. The roar of the flames blasted his ears, and smoke stung his eyes. James Fort is a place of death, Sam thought. It is the worst place imaginable.
Above the noise of the fire, Sam heard John Smith’s voice. “The palisade!” Smith was hollering. “Look! The flames are so hot that the timbers are catching fire! We’ve got to douse the outer walls or we’ll lose the fort!” Sam edged through the crowd toward his master.
Smith took command. He ordered the men to bring barrels, jugs, kettles—anything that would hold water. Then he nudged the men into orderly lines leading from the river to the fort. Sam took a place in line beside one of the new settlers. Richard stood on his right. They worked feverishly without speaking, reserving all their energy to lift the heavy containers and pass them up the lines. For hours, Sam worked, thinking of nothing but grabbing the next container and passing it to Richard without spilling the precious water. Some of the men collapsed from exhaustion. Others filled their places in the lines. But Sam did not hear anybody grumbling about the backbreaking work. For once, the Englishmen worked as one body with a common purpose.
By nightfall, the fire had burned to embers. Although some timbers along the outer walls were badly charred, the fort would stand. Men sprawled on the frozen ground—faces blackened, bodies and minds exhausted.
Captain Newport and President Ratcliffe went to the captain’s quarters on the ships to get some sleep. Smith took charge of assigning the men to sleep on the ‘tween deck in shifts. While one group slept, he ordered the othe
rs to patrol the rubble and put out stray sparks.
When Sam awoke in the morning and climbed to the open deck, his heart sank. Although he had awakened during the night with the taste of ash in his throat, the fire had seemed like a bad dream. Daylight brought reality slamming into his brain. All those months of work! Now only three scorched buildings remained standing inside the walls. From the river, the fort looked like an ugly black nutshell, its jagged edges stabbing at the gray, wintry sky.
12
Outfoxing the Emperor
After the fire, the settlers moved about like sleepwalkers. They stared across the river with vacant eyes. All those months of misery in Virginia, and now their work was reduced to ash and rubble!
“I say it’s time to give up and go back to England,” one man muttered. “We’ll never survive the winter. We don’t have enough food to last a month here!”
“Impossible!” another argued. “The ships aren’t big enough to carry us all.”
Others nodded, their hands trembling. “Even if we could squeeze everybody onto the ships, what would we eat during the crossing? We have a better chance of finding food here than we do on board a ship.”
“Well, I say we’re better off to take the risk of starving at sea than stay here and freeze to death. We’re short of everything—clothes, blankets, tools!”
These conversations terrified Sam. As he listened to the men’s predictions of slow but certain death, he felt icy prickles of fear running up and down his arms.
To drive off his panic, Sam stuck close to John Smith’s side. More than ever, he admired his master’s determination. Smith was at his best in a crisis. He worked tirelessly. He slept in short snatches. While Captain Newport and President Ratcliffe held meetings with the gentlemen to discuss how to organize the process of rebuilding, John Smith concerned himself with immediate tasks. He assigned cleanup crews to carry burnt rubble out of the fort, he rationed the small supply of provisions left on board the John and Francis, and he sent out hunting parties. I’ve never seen my master hesitate, Sam reflected. Never heard him complain.
A few days after the fire, the guards spotted a small boat approaching the fort. Sam followed Smith onto the platform and looked in the direction the guards were pointing. A single canoe was making its way up the James River. Sam squinted. “Indians. And most of them are young women!” he exclaimed. He shaded his eyes with his hands. “I see two men in the canoe. The other three are Indian girls, Master Smith.”
Smith smiled as the canoe pulled close to the shore. “That’s Powhatan’s daughter,” he said. Jumping off the platform, he walked briskly to the riverbank.
Sam ran to catch up. “You know Powhatan’s daughter?” he asked. He wondered why Smith hadn’t mentioned the girl when he related his experiences as the Indians’ prisoner.
Smith nodded. “Her name is Pocahontas,” he said. “My life belongs to her.”
Astonished, Sam gaped at his master. Smith was already hurrying toward the canoe. Curious, Sam jogged behind.
Three Indian girls sat in the canoe, clasping animal furs around their shoulders. The hair over the top and sides of their heads was cut to a stubble, but in the back, it hung in a long, glossy black braid. Sam had seen this hairstyle on unmarried girls in the Indian villages during their trading expeditions.
Two of the girls, who looked about Sam’s age, pushed aside the hides and got out of the canoe. Wading through the cold water, they pulled their boat onto the shore. The men stayed in the boat, their faces stern as they watched Sam and Smith. The smallest girl stepped onto the shore. Sam thought she looked about eleven, the same age as his sister, Anne.
Smith clasped the girl’s hand in both of his. He nodded his head and said, “Welcome to Jamestown, Pocahontas.” Smith gestured at the gate to the fort.
Pocahontas studied the walls of the fort, shielding her eyes against the sun to gaze at the tops of the charred palisade.
“Would you like to see what’s left of our fort?” Smith asked, and motioned for her to follow him toward the gate.
Pocahontas smiled, but shook her head. Sam studied her face. Her deep brown eyes sparkled, and her skin was even and smooth. Like Anne, she stood a head shorter than Sam. But she’s not as slender as Anne, he thought. The muscles in her arms and legs look strong. And she’s not timid like the other Indian girls I’ve seen. Sam smiled to himself. This is the daughter of mighty Powhatan—the emperor who commands thousands of Indians in Virginia!
As Pocahontas spoke to Smith, she gestured with her hands. Sam couldn’t understand her words, but he was sure he heard her say the name Powhatan. But Smith nodded as if he understood. Then Pocahontas turned and spoke to her companions. The other girls picked up great baskets of food and unloaded them onto the shore, then carried a pile of furry skins out of the canoe and laid them on the ground.
As soon as they set the presents down, Pocahontas and the other girls got back into the canoe. Sam helped Smith push their boat into the water. As Sam released the canoe, Pocahontas looked him in the eye and smiled. Sam lowered his eyes and felt his cheeks grow hot. He was suddenly embarrassed to be wearing such filthy, torn clothing. He stood beside Smith and waved at the canoe as the girls paddled into the middle of the river.
“That girl who spoke to you,” Sam said, hoping to spark a conversation, “Pocahontas. She’s the daughter of Powhatan?”
Smith nodded. He picked up two of the baskets and headed toward the fort.
“Why did you say your life belongs to her?” Sam asked, as he lifted one of the baskets.
“It’s a long story,” Smith answered, as he strode to the fort to find Captain Newport.
Without shelters inside the fort, the colonists had to sleep aboard the ships. That night, Sam wrapped his blanket around him and huddled on deck to wait for his master. The others had gone below where it would be warmer. As soon as Smith came aboard, Sam sat up.
Grinning, Smith said, “I figured you’d be too curious to sleep, Sam Collier!” He leaned against the ship’s rail, and waited for Sam to join him.
Sam edged closer so they could speak quietly.
“As I told you,” Smith began, “the girl’s name is Pocahontas, and she’s one of the daughters of the Emperor Powhatan.” Although they were alone on deck, Smith spoke softly, so the sound wouldn’t carry to the sleepers on the ‘tween deck below. “Judging by the way the old ruler treats her, I’d guess she’s a favorite. As soon as the Indians took me to Powhatan’s court, I noticed her.
“She’s a lively girl, full of curiosity about our English ways. One afternoon, when I was living in Powhatan’s village, I set my coat down as I talked with an old brave. When I turned around, I realized that Pocahontas had crept up close to me. She was fingering the fabric and examining the stitches. Before she realized I was watching her, I saw her test the strength of the buttons with her teeth! Another time, I left my shoes by the edge of the river while I waded into the water to watch some Indians fish. When I looked back at the bank, I saw her slipping her feet into my shoes. She actually tried to walk in them.”
“Why did you say that your life belongs to her?” Sam asked. Remembering Smith’s stories about his captivity in Turkey, Sam added, “Are you her slave?”
“No,” Smith said thoughtfully, “she doesn’t own me as a master owns a slave. This is more of a ceremonial arrangement. When I was taken before Powhatan, the great ruler asked me many questions,” Smith continued. “A feast was spread before me. I ate, then two braves lugged heavy stones to the side of the fire and set them down so the edges touched to form a sort of flat-topped altar. Suddenly, many Indians surrounded me, dragged me to the fire, and forced me to lay my head on the stones. They held clubs above their heads and ran at me.” Smith paused for a moment. “I closed my eyes and made my peace with God, because I was sure they were going to bash my head in.”
Sam gasped. “Did they beat you?”
“No,” Smith said. “As soon as I closed my eyes, I felt small hands
gently stroking my face. I opened my eyes, and that child, Pocahontas, was bending over me. She stood up and faced Powhatan. When she spoke, her voice was without expression—it reminded me of the way a child might repeat a memorized poem. Powhatan answered, and his voice was deep and rhythmic, as if he was reciting the words of a ceremony. After he spoke, his braves backed away, and Pocahontas helped me to my feet.
“After that, the child visited my lodging and brought me presents of food and skins. I asked the guard what it all meant. He laughed and said my life belonged to Pocahontas. The guard seemed to think it was a grand joke—Powhatan had given my life to a child. And a mere girl, at that.”
As Sam tried to picture Powhatan’s ceremony, his mind kept flashing back to the clearing in the Apokant village, where he had witnessed the torture of George Cassen. He remembered how Cassen had screamed and begged. I wonder if Powhatan expected my master to scream when the braves dragged him to the fire. Sam couldn’t imagine his master begging for his life.
“You never spoke of this before,” Sam said. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Why didn’t you tell the council members about Pocahontas?”
“There was no need,” Smith said. “I’m the only Englishman who has actually seen and spoken to the mighty Emperor Powhatan. This gives me a powerful advantage. If I told the council about this ceremony, Ratcliffe and the others might think the Indians belittled me. I told the council as much as they need to know and no more.”
Sam was puzzled. “But what if the council discovers that you lied….”
“I never lie, Sam,” Smith said. “Neither do I engage in useless conversation. A wise man chooses to tell that portion of the truth that serves his purpose.”
Sam looked at the black sky dotted with tiny, glimmering lights and considered John Smith’s words. George Kendall, the spy, also told only that portion of the truth that served his purpose, Sam thought. Kendall admitted as little as he could to avoid being prosecuted for treason. But when a man is innocent, doesn’t he share the whole truth?
Surviving Jamestown Page 14