by Paul Clayton
Samuel’s face was as red as freshly carved beef. “Yes, senor, your men will surely kill us, but you will be the first to die.”
Valenzuela’s soldiers drew nearer, but, not understanding English, did not know what was being said.
Samuel slowly put his hand on the pommel of his sword as he held the Spaniard’s eye. “My brother and I will chop you into so many pieces the fish will thank us!”
Valenzuela’s face grew taut.
“Comprende ud?” said Samuel.
Valenzuela said nothing for a moment, then a weak smile appeared on his face. “Senor, my belly is full from a wonderful meal, the sun shines, my hold is full of fine hides-- I feel very generous today. I tell you what.” He indicated John and the two Indians. “I will make a gift of these three to you.”
Valenzuela bowed gracefully and called to his soldiers. “Leave them!” The men sheathed their swords and began climbing the chains up into the galleon.
The Englishmen untied the hawsers and the two ships slowly drifted apart. The men of the Contempt held their breath as they stared at the bristling guns of the San Miguel.
“She will blow us to splinters before she puts up any sail,” said Fenwick, voicing everyone’s thoughts.
No one said anything as they stared at the run-out guns.
“Why the hell don’t they fire?” said John.
“They won’t,” said Samuel, “not now.” He pointed.
The ship the Spaniards had spotted was closing. The red cross painted on a pennant flying high on her mainmast identified her as English. The San Miguel unfurled the mainsail and the Englishmen cheered. Valenzuela turned the big ship and she sailed swiftly away.
John Newman was the first to speak. “Thank you, brother.”
Samuel shook his head in anger. “If it had been you alone that they wanted, I would have let them take you. I swear it!”
“Ha!” John laughed loudly, looking at Breuger and Miles. The two men smiled nervously. Samuel glared at them and walked off, Fenwick and the Indians following him.
Breuger looked at the backs of the departing Indians. “Well,” he said, “that’s the end of the great trading company, eh? All this time and money wasted!”
Miles fingered his dagger as he stared at them. “Yeah. It’s been a bloody disaster. Let’s get rid of the savages tonight. I’m tired of looking at them!”
John turned to look at them. “No. Don’t you dare hurt them.”
Miles looked at him as if he had gone crazy.
“They are all we have to show for our great trading venture. We’ll have to find some use for them, won’t we?”
Breuger nodded appreciatively. Miles screwed up his eyes in confusion.
Chapter 19
To the men of the Contempt, the treeless, grass-covered cliffs appeared to push out of the distant mist one morning. Regular in height, they looked to have been carved from the land by a giant with a mighty sword. Now they held back the gray sea like a wall. The sight of the cliffs began to dispel the damp aura of disappointment and impotent rage that had gripped the Englishmen. While intriguing, the sight changed nothing for Calling Crow and Red Feather. Neither man spoke as they stood at the rail, their buffalo robes wrapped around them. The cold salt spray wetted their faces and the rolling deck at their feet. They thought of the past few day’s events and pondered their meaning. Calling Crow had wanted to talk to Samuel about the loss of the hides, but he had disappeared below after the big Spanish ship departed.
Fenwick walked by and Calling Crow called him over. “How do we get the shooting sticks now, Fenwick?” Calling Crow asked him.
Fenwick looked at Calling Crow with suspicion. “What do you mean?”
“Now that the Spanish took Samuel’s skins, how will he get us shooting sticks?”
Fenwick frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Where is Samuel?”
Fenwick looked back toward the mainmast distractedly. “Samuel has fallen into a faint from exhaustion and lack of sleep. When he awakes, I will tell him of your concerns.” Fenwick walked off.
“It is all a trick, Calling Crow,” said Red Feather.
Calling Crow looked at him.
“The men on the other ship will give Samuel the skins later; that is what I think.”
Calling Crow said nothing. He knew the Spanish and English were enemies, and that Samuel would not trick them. But Red Feather was willing to believe the worst about Samuel and Calling Crow knew it would be useless to talk to him. Calling Crow saw a small, single-masted ship off the port bow, moving up the coast. He pointed it out to Red Feather.
“It is an English ship,” came a voice from behind them.
It was Samuel. Calling Crow thought he looked stronger, but he was still evidently deeply disturbed by the loss of the skins. Fenwick stood at his side. Red Feather turned away to look at the sea.
“It is a small fishing boat engaged in the herring trade,” Samuel explained. He tried to smile. “I am sorry about your skins.”
Calling Crow shook his head. “They were your skins, Samuel.”
Samuel frowned. “Yes, I suppose they were. Well, now they are Senor Valenzuela’s skins.”
“How can we get shooting sticks, Samuel?” said Calling Crow. “We have nothing to trade.”
Samuel looked around at some men working. “It will take me longer, but I am sure we can get the muskets. I will have to get them on credit.”
“What do you mean, credit?” said Calling Crow, mouthing the strange new word.”
“I will convince the merchants to give me the muskets for no skins now,” said Samuel, “and to trust me to bring the skins to them later.” Samuel’s tone grew somber. “Will you be able to get your people to procure the skins we shall need?”
“Yes,” said Calling Crow.
Samuel nodded. “Then I will bring the skins back to England to pay our backers.”
“Are you sure they will give us the shooting sticks, Samuel,” said Calling Crow, “on credit?”
Samuel nodded and turned away to look at the approaching coast.
“They will gladly do it,” said Fenwick emphatically, “because if he does not return with the skins, they will take his house instead.”
“One house for twenty muskets?” said Calling Crow, thinking of his own house, a house that could be constructed by a dozen people in a day or two. He looked at Red Feather and then Fenwick. “That is good, is it not?”
Fenwick frowned in consternation at not being able to dispel their confusion. He threw up his hands. “One way or another,” he said, “they will get their pound of flesh.”
Later, with only the mizzen sail set, Samuel stood by the helmsman as he guided the Contempt into the crowded harbor. A noisy cloud of gulls circled expectantly overhead, craning their heads as they searched in vain for a meal of fish guts. The harbor was filled with the usual assortment of ships-- large English and Dutch galleons, fishing cogs, small lateen-rigged caravels and a dozen or so rowed boats passing between them with passengers or goods. Along the quay, a row of three-floored, peaked-roofed houses and warehouses faced the harbor. Their white mortar facades were x-ed geometrically with massive, dark timbers in the black-and-white style. Some of the buildings had cranes affixed to their upper windows. Hundreds of bales and wooden barrels cluttered the street.
Calling Crow and Red Feather watched from the waist as one of Samuel’s men threw a rope to some men on the quay. The Contempt groaned as her beams flexed against the quay. A boy spotted the two American natives and exclaimed in wonder. He ran down the quay, telling all he came across about the pair of wild men on the deck of the Newmans’ ship. Before the Contempt was completely tied up, a crowd had gathered. Seamen, schoolboys, peddlers and fishwives looked up at the two native men with faces of dumb mirth or wondrous awe.
John Newman, Miles and Breuger were the first to leave the ship. John pushed angrily through the crowd, Miles and Breuger close behind him. Their progress slowed by the press of bodies
, Miles and Breuger stopped to talk with the crowd. John pushed on, disappearing. Breuger’s and Miles’s faces glowed with self-importance and newfound vigor as they talked about their ordeal. They repeatedly pointed up at the two natives.
Red Feather moved closer to Calling Crow to speak above the noise. “They are going to kill us!” He glared bravely upon the agitated faces of the crowd.
Calling Crow looked round and spotted Samuel. The Englishman nodded calmly and came up to them. “Let us go,” he said.
Samuel and Fenwick preceded Calling Crow and Red Feather down the plank. On the quay, the noisy talk and laughter swelled as the people pressed closer to Calling Crow and Red Feather. An old man, jostled round by the others, found himself face-to-face with the Newlanders and screamed, recoiling in shock and fear.
The crowd continued to grow, pushing in on them. Samuel turned to Calling Crow. “Stay close to me,” he shouted.
Samuel pushed through the milling throng, approaching a man with a white beard and reddened cheeks. The man wore a full-length leather jerkin and stood beside a large box full of small, silver-sided fish. The man’s hairy, muscled arms were encrusted with a whitish accumulation of fish scales. Samuel shouted into the old man’s ear and the man nodded.
Calling Crow and Red Feather followed Samuel and Fenwick into the shop and the old man came in behind them. Without a word he closed the heavy door and the wooden shutters, muting the noise of the crowd.
“Why are they so angry?” Calling Crow asked Samuel.
“They are not angry,” said Samuel, “just excited. Welcome to England.”
The old man led them through the shop and into an apartment in the back. They passed through a sitting room and a great kitchen. Then the old man opened a door and let them out into a quiet, stone-walled alleyway. They hurried down the stone passageway, past puddles of black water reeking with stench and flies. Coming out onto a broad carriageway, they walked quickly toward the fields at the edge of the town.
The crowd continued to linger in front of the fishmonger’s shop. With wide eyes and animated faces, they compared the fleeting glimpses they had had of the two savages. Not far away, a boy left a print shop and hurried to a posting board affixed to two uprights at the quayside. Using a small hammer and some tacks, he posted a paper upon which was printed:
In this year, 1575,
two men were found in new lands
far beyond Iceland,
by two merchants of Bristol.
These men had their bodies painted
like the Picts of olde,
and were dressed in animal skinnes.
They were as rude and wilde as beastes
and ate their meate raw.
Chapter 20
Calling Crow and Red Feather stood before Samuel’s large stone house. Samuel stood up on the steps at the doors, looking down at the other two men.
“What is the matter with him now?” said Samuel in exasperation.
Calling Crow turned to Red Feather and spoke rapidly in Muskogee. “He does not want to enter,” Calling Crow said to Samuel. “He will wait out here.”
“Very well,” said Samuel. “But, Calling Crow, you must come now. I want you to meet my wife and child.” An old woman appeared at the doors and opened one of them. Samuel entered and Calling Crow followed him. Calling Crow found the house to be much like the boxes the white people used to put their things inside of. It was a grand box for people, with massive thick walls. There were many prettily colored things inside, but Calling Crow did not have the opportunity to look at them closely as he followed Samuel along one of the many square tunnels. Samuel paused and opened the door to another box. “You and Red Feather can stay here.”
Calling Crow went inside. The air was hot and stale, and there wasn’t enough of it. Calling Crow knew that neither he nor Red Feather would be able to sleep in such a place. “We will sleep outside,” he said.
“And when it rains?”
“I like the rain,” said Calling Crow.
“You can stay in the spring house,” said Samuel. “Yes, that is where you and he shall stay.”
“What is that?” said Calling Crow.
“The house is built over a spring and it is cooler there. It is where we keep our food.”
A cry came from out in the long square tunnel, then running feet, one pair belonging to an adult, Calling Crow heard, the other to a child. Samuel turned and the whitest woman Calling Crow had ever seen embraced the Englishman. Her tear stained face was oval and pallid, her eyebrows plucked out. A mass of thick brown hair pushed out from both sides of a hat pulled down tightly upon her head. Her cheeks were painted with two small red discs. Calling Crow thought that perhaps she had painted her cheeks that way to pay homage to Father Sun. She wore a long black dress down to her feet, but the top was cut open to reveal much of her white breasts. A charming girl clung to her dress. Although dressed like her mother, the girl was evidently in good health, with a full round face and natural color.
“Thank God you have returned to me!” the woman cried. “How did you fare? We worried so for you!” The woman turned to the girl. “Didn’t we, Catherine?”
Samuel held the woman’s hand and gestured into the room. When the woman saw Calling Crow, her face showed much fear and she moved closer to Samuel.
“This is Calling Crow. He is the lord of his town. Calling Crow, this is my wife, Frances, and my daughter, Catherine.”
The woman said nothing and Samuel went on. “He and his lieutenant, Red Feather, will be staying in the spring house for a time.”
Frances attempted to smile. “Make curtsy to the gentleman, Catherine,” said Frances.
The little girl bowed sweetly.
“I will see that Elizabeth brings some supper for them,” said Frances. She walked away, pulling the smiling girl along reluctantly behind her.
“Come,” said Samuel, “let us rejoin Red Feather and I will show you the spring house.”
As they walked through one of the long square tunnels, Calling Crow asked Samuel, “Why did you build your house so solidly?”
“Well,” said Samuel, “it is better that way, I suppose.”
“But,” said Calling Crow, “what do you do when it is time to move the town?”
Samuel laughed. “We don’t move our towns. This town will be here for a long, long time.”
Calling Crow and Red Feather spent an uneventful night in the cave-like spring house. When they stepped outside in the morning, a waist-high mist covered the land, and the grasses were wet with dew. Calling Crow looked with longing at the dark, distant patch of forest. Then he and Red Feather walked through the stone gate and across the field to a small stream. They followed it as it snaked across Samuel’s land, stopping at the place where the stream dropped down to the height of a man’s knee. It splashed onto some rocks and gravel before meandering on and into one of two small woods rising from the mist in the distance. The two men separated to wash and pray silently.
Calling Crow knelt at the stream. As he looked down at the smooth, colored pebbles beneath the water, he thought of his son and wife, his daughter and the tiny one in her belly. He thought of his people, all of them so far away on the other side of the great water. Already he had suffered a major setback in his plan to bring back the shooting sticks. His people desperately needed these guns or they would have to flee from the Timucua. He prayed to his spirit guide for help; he must not fail them.
He heard the flutter of a bird overhead. A dark blur raced toward the distant woods. The smell of strange herbs and flowers intrigued his nose as he rested his eyes on the green grasses growing on the stream bank. He became aware of the voice of the stream. It seemed to be singing to him, offering him reassurance. “All will be well,” it sang. “All will be well in time.”
Yes, he thought, it is so. Did not Sees Far see that in his vision?
“Yes,” the waters sang, “all will be well.”
When Calling Crow and Red Feather returned
to the spring house, one of the white slaves whom the English called servants was just leaving. She looked back at them worriedly before hurrying into the big house. Calling Crow and Red Feather saw that she had left some meat and bread for them. They sat in the grass as they ate.
After the sun rose to burn away the mist, Samuel came out of the house with Frances and little Catherine. Samuel told Calling Crow he was taking them to his church to pray. A horse-drawn carriage pulled up. Calling Crow was familiar with horses and carts from his days as a slave on the Spanish island of Hispaniola. However, although Red Feather had once seen some Spanish horses from a distance, he had never seen one up close, and he had never seen a carriage. He stood on the road in a state of confusion as Samuel and his family climbed inside.
“Let us go inside,” Calling Crow said.
Red Feather remained immobilized by his fear. “No. This is bad medicine. I will not get inside.”
Calling Crow climbed up and onto the wooden bench seat with the coachman. Red Feather looked worriedly about and then followed his chief.
The carriage lurched forward and soon they were speeding along the flat road. Red Feather’s fear changed into awe at their flight. Several times he stood to turn around and watch the earth moving rapidly away behind them.
Calling Crow and Red Feather climbed down from the carriage and looked up at the tall dark stone structure. There were other carriages and horses tied up, but the people had all gone inside.
“Why do they come here to pray?” said Red Feather in their native tongue. “It looks like such a sad place.”
“This is where their god is,” said Calling Crow, “the Spanish god too.
“They will reside only in great houses such as these?” said Red Feather. “Not in the forest or behind the sun?”
“No,” said Calling Crow.
Frances led the way up the stairs of the church and down the stone aisle between the wooden benches. Calling Crow and Red Feather were aware of the people turning to point and talk about them, but they couldn’t take their eyes off the strange pictures of red and blue light that shone down from the walls. Calling Crow and Red Feather walked slowly down the aisle. A loud voice, such that they had never heard before, sang out suddenly in a sorrowful wail. They stopped and looked around as the sound grew in volume. Samuel, Frances and Catherine had already seated themselves and turned to them.