The woman who had taken charge of Sam gently pushed him until he sat down. She dipped a turtle shell into the pot that hung over the fire and offered Sam a taste of stew. It was boiling hot, and Sam blew on it several times before he took a bite. The woman smiled and motioned for Sam to take more.
After he ate, she led Sam to a group of boys. He spent the day tramping through the woods with them. Using hand gestures and words, the boys taught Sam how to set out snares to trap small animals and how to catch fish by hanging a net in the river between stones.
In the days that followed, Sam forgot about his fear of living with these strangers. All of the villagers—men and women—were kind and patient with him. They gladly showed him whatever they were doing and answered his questions. Nobody seemed rushed or discontent. And Sam never heard the villagers shout or argue with each other.
Among the Warraskoyacks, men were hunters. Some of the older boys accompanied the men on hunts, but Sam knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up. The men ran long distances through the underbrush in search of game and even longer distances in pursuit of any game they had wounded. Instead, Sam helped the village boys with their work. He spent hours learning to shoot with a bow and arrows. He practiced setting snares and catching fish. The boys taught him dozens of words and howled with laughter when he used the wrong one.
Sam slept in the Indian woman’s lodge with her family. At night, with the flaps closed and the fire burning, the lodge was warm and smoky. Everybody slept on benches covered with reed mats. Sam was allowed to cover up with as many soft deerskins as he wanted. The woman even rolled a hide into a long pillow for his head.
Before dawn each morning, all the villagers dipped themselves in the river. Sam wasn’t used to bathing every day. At first he refused to take off his clothes and step into the freezing water. But the children giggled, and the woman who had taken charge of him frowned. So on his third morning, Sam peeled off his clothes and forced himself to dash into the icy river. All the village girls smiled when he ran out, his arms and legs covered with goosebumps and his teeth chattering.
In the evenings, the villagers usually danced around the fire between their houses until they felt sleepy. Sam learned to sing their songs, and the boys showed him their dances. After a few days in the village, Sam hardly noticed the Indians’ lack of clothing. In fact, the boys persuaded him to leave off his shirt and coat one day and spread bear fat over his chest and arms, as they did. Sam found this protected him from the cold at midday, when he was active, but when the sun went down, he was eager to get back into his coat.
Sam lost track of how many days he lived in Warraskoyack. One morning, the chief called him. Using both words and gestures, he said that three braves would take Sam back to Jamestown. He explained that Sam must not remain any longer because the weather was getting colder. Soon the river would freeze over, making canoe travel impossible.
“Thank you, Chief Sasenticum,” Sam said. He tried to use both Indian and English words to make a short speech. “You are a kind werowance, and I no longer feel like a stranger, a tasantasses. I have lived in your yihakans—your houses—and learned many things. Your people are now wingapoh, my friends, and I will miss all of you.” Sam meant what he said. The Warraskoyacks had treated him as an honored guest and taught him so much.
Chief Sasenticum nodded, a gentle smile on his face. He motioned to one of his men, who handed Sam a cape of animal skins. “Mescote,” the chief said.
Sam grinned and wrapped the cape around his shoulders. “Thank you,” Sam said. “This mescote will keep me warm and help me to remember the Warraskoyacks.”
Back at Jamestown, Sam described his stay in Warraskoyack to anybody who would listen. As the food supply in the fort dwindled during the long winter, Sam sometimes wished he could return to the Indian village, where there was always a pot of stew simmering over the fire.
Chief Sasenticum was right—the winter of 1608–09 was extremely cold. Trying to keep warm around their fires, the settlers grumbled and complained about the harsh conditions. John Smith was strict, and he continued to insist that every colonist work, including the highborn gentlemen. He had a simple rule: No work, no food. The punishment for shirking work was exile from the colony. Smith allowed only one exception—sick people, who were fed and cared for until they were strong enough to work again.
During the winter, all the council members died, some from sickness and some from accidents, and John Smith became Jamestown’s entire government. His word was the law. Complaints, rumors, and even plots to overthrow Smith multiplied as his authority grew and food became more scarce. In response to every problem, President Smith became more and more forceful.
Jamestown ran dangerously low on food by late winter, and again the Indians refused to trade. Smith lost patience with the chiefs who would not cooperate. He forced them to trade by threatening to destroy their homes and kill their villagers.
Even Sam was nervous about his master’s harsh treatment of the Indians. If we push the Indians any harder, they’ll attack us, Sam worried. He remembered the strength and stamina of the Warraskoyack men. It’s true that we have guns. But the Indians outnumber us by thousands! He didn’t mention his concerns to Smith, though. All the complaints and plots had made John Smith as snappy as a fox in a trap. He would snarl at anybody who so much as offered a suggestion.
By the time the long winter finally began to thaw, the colonists were sharply divided in their opinion of President John Smith. Some believed he had saved them from starvation. Others hated him for treating gentlemen like common laborers or for forcing settlers to live at outposts.
Sam defended his master when the boys complained about him. “John Smith is tough because he has to be. The only way he could keep us from starving was to be tough. Think of Jamestown as a test,” Sam said, repeating Smith’s words. “Only the strongest and smartest will survive.”
In August of 1609, the third supply arrived, the largest supply England had ever sent. Nine ships carrying five hundred settlers—men, women, and children—had set out from England. But the fleet had been battered by hurricanes during the crossing. When the ships straggled up the James River, they were severely damaged. Two of the nine ships, including the one commanded by Captain Newport, did not arrive with the others. On one of the lost ships was the man whom the Virginia Company had appointed to be Jamestown’s first governor. He was supposed to replace Smith as the colony’s leader.
With this flood of new colonists, Jamestown nearly burst at its seams. Although his term had expired, John Smith remained in charge until the governor arrived.
To house all the newcomers, Smith established two outposts along the James River and sent one hundred and twenty settlers to live at each. One, under the command of Captain Martin, was located downriver, near the mouth of the James, at Nansemond. The other, under the command of Francis West, was located upriver near the falls. That spot was so beautiful that the English named it Nonesuch because there was “none such” a lovely place.
“Sam, make haste!” Smith shouted. He pulled his jack off the peg on the wall.
Sam came running. He held open his master’s armored jacket while Smith slid his arms through the sleeves.
“I’m worried about the situation at Nonesuch,” Smith said. “I keep getting reports about Indian attacks. Get your armor Sam. We’re going up the river to Nonesuch to see for ourselves. I’ve already ordered the men to get one of the boats ready.”
“Why do the Indians keep attacking Nonesuch?” Sam asked.
Smith frowned. There had been repeated Indian attacks at Nonesuch where Francis West was in charge. “Because Francis West is a fool! I’ve told him over and over that you cannot govern by pleading and coaxing. A commander must command. Indians can spot a weak leader a mile away.” Smith stormed out of the house and headed for the river.
When they arrived at Nonesuch, Sam was amazed to find the colonists huddled behind the walls of their small fort, afraid for their lives. J
ohn Smith was furious. He sent for Master West and demanded an explanation.
West blamed Smith for failing to send a sufficient supply of gunpowder to the outpost.
“The problem is not the shortage of gunpowder,” Smith countered. “I’ve had reports that you’ve let the gentlemen here bully and mistreat the nearby villagers. What’s needed is strong leadership, Francis. You’ll find that if your men don’t provoke the Indians, they’ll be peaceable enough.”
“Watch your tongue, Smith!” West hissed. “Remember who you are speaking to. Since when does a man of your rank feel qualified to instruct me on the duties of leadership?”
Sam’s eyes grew round with alarm when he saw John Smith clench his fists. But Smith did not punch West. Instead, he stomped into the fort, identified several of the Nonesuch gentlemen who were causing the problem, and ordered them out of the settlement. He shouted at the other settlers to return to work.
“I’ll send gunpowder when we reach Jamestown,” Smith told West, his tone icy. “We’ll be in more danger aboard the boat than you are here.”
After several hours of sailing, Smith ordered the sailors to drop anchor. As they made camp, three men from Nonesuch ran out of the woods, their faces wild with fear. They reported that Indians had attacked as soon as Smith’s ship had sailed out of sight. Any settlers working in the fields or woods had been killed.
Smith ordered the boat to return to Nonesuch. As soon as he reached the settlement, he sent some of his men to search for the war party that had attacked the settlement. In spite of West’s protests, Smith insisted on putting the settlers back to work.
In a few hours, the culprits were caught: Twelve reckless warriors had attacked the settlement, using surprise and noise to confuse the Englishmen and make them think they were under assault by a large force.
“Why didn’t you open fire on them?” Smith asked West. “As soon as they began to run, you would have seen that only a handful of Indians were causing the problem. You could have captured them before they had a chance to ambush the settlers in the fields.”
Francis West glared at John Smith. “I blame you for this tragedy, Smith!” snapped West. “When you arrived at my settlement, I reported our shortage of gunpowder. You could have handed over the gunpowder on your boat. But you insisted on making us wait until you returned to Jamestown and sent a supply barge up the river. We were so short of gunpowder that I judged it best to hold our fire until we had a clear view of our attackers.”
Sam watched his master’s face. Smith’s lip quivered and his nostrils flared. “You are in command of one hundred and twenty men at Nonesuch, but you are telling me it’s my fault you could not defend yourself against twelve Indians?” Smith yelled.” God help you, Francis West. You’ve managed to show the savages that Nonesuch is full of frightened mice. Now they’re going to snatch you by your tails and roast you for dinner!”
West stared at Smith, his face as pale as parchment. Sam winced. He knew Master Francis West was a very high-ranking gentleman. No good can come of this, Sam thought. Scores of English gentry have come here aboard the ships of the third supply. Surely they will punish John Smith for speaking so harshly to one of their own!
Smith marched out of Nonesuch Fort. Avoiding West’s eyes, Sam followed his master. As soon as they reached the boat, Smith ordered the sailors to haul in the anchor and set the sails. Without another word, he went below deck. When they anchored for the night, their boat was halfway down the river to Jamestown.
In the morning, Smith sent a party of hunters ashore. He ordered the rest of the men to cast out lines for fish. Smith said they would sleep on board again that night and return to Jamestown with their catch the next morning.
It was a fine, cold December night, not a cloud in the sky. The moon was so bright Sam could make out the grain of the ship’s planks as he and Nate sat talking on deck. The boys spread out their blankets under the open sky to enjoy the crisp air. John Smith had stretched out on his blanket near the bow of the ship. When the boys finally curled up to sleep, only the footsteps of the night guard disturbed the peaceful rhythm of water lapping at the hull.
Past midnight, the boys were awakened by a loud bang followed by a man’s scream. Sam sprang to his feet, peering through the darkness.
“What’s wrong?” Nate hissed as he got up and stood beside Sam.
“I’m on fire!” howled John Smith.
Before Sam could locate his master, Smith tore past the boys. The bottom of his shirt was in flames. Smith vaulted over the ship’s rail and plunged into the river. Sam grabbed the rail and watched as Smith hit the water. Sam glanced at Nate, and without a word, both boys ripped off their shirts and jumped into the river after Smith.
The cold of the water sliced through Sam’s body. He bobbed to the surface, his teeth chattering, and searched for Smith. When his master came up, gasping for air, both boys streaked toward him. But before they could reach him, he went under again. Sam dove, grabbed at something moving in the black waters, but found he was holding Nate’s hair as both boys popped back to the surface. “There!” Nate shouted. “He’s over there!”
Sam wheeled around and saw a glistening black hump floating on the water. Both boys struggled toward it and groped for John Smith. Holding him by his hair and arms, they pulled his limp body to the side of the ship. With the help of a rope thrown out by the sailors, Smith was hauled aboard.
Smith vaulted over the rail and plunged into the river.
As soon as Sam climbed onto the deck, he ran to the dark figure dripping on the boards. Smith moaned, and Sam closed his eyes and said a short prayer of thanks that his master was alive. Then he fell to his knees, exhausted, and watched the men peel off Smith’s wet, charred shirt. Sam winced at the sight. Smith’s thigh had been badly burned. In the center of the wound, the flesh was bright red, streaked with black. To Sam it looked like a large, ripe strawberry that had been torn open by a bird’s beak and splashed with mud. Bubbly blisters trailed away from the raw wound across Smith’s stomach and leg.
Sam felt Nate’s hand touch his shoulder. The boys were dripping wet, shivering in the cold night air. Nate got up and grabbed two blankets. He draped one around Sam’s shoulders and wrapped the other around himself.
Sam watched the men dry his master. At every touch, Smith gritted his teeth. His mouth opened to scream, but with a mighty effort he stifled the sound before it formed.
When the men laid Smith on a dry blanket, he spoke at last. “How did this happen? How did my shirt catch fire while I was sleeping?”
After a pause, the night guard answered, his voice small and frightened. “It was an accident, Cap’n. I swear it was! I heard something splashing in the river, and I turned to see what was going on. I didn’t doze off—only turned to look, that’s all.” The man’s words tumbled out breathlessly. “It happened so fast. I didn’t know my powder was on fire.”
“Explain yourself, man,” asked one of the others, “You turned to look at something in the river. How did that set your powder can on fire?”
“When I turned, my m-match caught the edge of my collar on fire,” the guard stammered. “So I ripped off my powder can and tossed it away. I had to get rid of it, didn’t I? Else it would catch fire and blow up.” He locked eyes with the men. “I swear I didn’t realize the can was burning when I tossed it away.”
“You tossed your flaming powder can at the Cap’n?”
“I didn’t mean to throw it at him!” he cried. “I just tore it off my neck and tossed it aside so I could slap out the fire on my collar. Next thing I knew, there was a bang.” The night guard’s voice began to tremble. “It wasn’t my fault, don’t you see? Cap’n Smith has a lot of enemies, but I was never in favor of killing him.”
“Killing him!” screamed Sam. He jumped to his feet. “He’s going to die?”
One of the men put his hands on Sam’s shoulders, but he avoided the boy’s eyes. “Nobody meant that Cap’n’s going to die, Sam. The guard’s ju
st rambling because he’s upset. We’ll set sail for Jamestown as soon as the sky lightens. The surgeons will look at your master. John Smith is as strong a man as I’ve ever met, that’s sure. And he’s had many a brush with death and lived to tell his story.”
The men urged Sam to get some rest, but he sat by his master’s side as the boat sailed down the river. Sam wasn’t convinced that the gunpowder explosion was an accident. Even as the guard told his story, Sam remembered, the man admitted he knew of plots to kill John Smith. Until Smith was well enough to defend himself, Sam decided he would have to be his master’s eyes, ears, and hands.
The boat dropped anchor at Jamestown the next afternoon, and Sam helped the men carry his wounded master up to the fort on a blanket. Smith was in a great deal of pain. His face was white, and he clenched his teeth to keep from screaming. The surgeons spread salve on the wound and covered it with dressings, then bled Smith to cleanse his body of infection. Sam stayed nearby, ready to run for any supplies that might be needed.
That night, Sam and Nate took turns watching beside Smith. Their patient tossed and turned in misery. Smith could not stand the touch of a blanket against his wound. The boys built up the fire in the room so he wouldn’t become chilled.
For the next few days, Smith could barely hobble. Every movement made him grimace, and the mere flap of his shirt against his wound was agonizing. On the fourth day after his accident, Smith awoke in a terrible sweat. Sam ran to the river to fill a pitcher with cool water, and he soaked rags to lay on his master’s forehead. Nate went to get the surgeons, but both boys knew what Smith’s fever meant: His wound had become infected!
During the long days and nights that followed, Sam’s master slept fitfully, waking with a high fever that sometimes made him delirious. At times, Smith shot out of bed, ranting and screaming. It took both boys to hold him down. When he slept again, his head thrashed from side to side, and he moaned pitifully.
Surviving Jamestown Page 17