by Paul Clayton
Calling Crow approached the seated old men as Samuel had his men lay the boxes down in two neat piles. Calling Crow felt nothing but coldness from the English leader and wondered if he could still trust him. Samuel’s desire for trade, what he called “commerce,” burned fiercely in his heart, but would this desire make him a reliable ally? Calling Crow did not know. These English were almost as puzzling to him as the Spanish had been. He decided to watch them closely and put the question aside for now. He spoke rapidly to the old men in his native Muskogee, then came back to Samuel and his men.
“Sit,” said Calling Crow, indicating the mats spread out in front of the old men.
Samuel and his men seated themselves before the old men and Calling Crow sat facing them. When the people had quieted, Calling Crow stood and addressed the council and the attendees, telling them of the wonders of England. He told them of their capture and imprisonment, but left much out, instead praising Samuel for his role in getting the shooting sticks and taking them back across the great water. Halfway through Calling Crow’s talk, four women ran into the airy structure, hovering near the entrance. Green Bird Woman cried out at the sight of her husband. Calling Crow paused briefly and turned to her. He was very moved to see her. His daughter, Bright Eyes, stood beside her mother, cradling his grandchild in her arms. He longed to go see them, but that would have to wait. He went on with his report to the Council. Green Bird Woman wiped away a few tears with her hand as she listened with the others. Bright Eyes watched her father, surreptitiously glancing over from time to time at the group of sitting Englishmen. Samuel noticed her and craned his head to get a better look at the child. Failing, he again turned his attention to Calling Crow and the old men. When Calling Crow finished his talk, the old men concluded the meeting and the people began leaving.
Outside the chokafa, the light of day had faded. Samuel left the side of his men and went over to where Bright Eyes stood with some other women.
“You look well,” he said to her, not touching her.
She nodded shyly.
Samuel looked closely at the child and was taken aback. He had known all along that it was probably his, but still, part of him thought it might have been fathered by another man, perhaps Red Feather, who, even now, watched Bright Eyes from a distance, his eyes haunted and sad.
But the child was mixed; there was no doubt about it. Its skin was the color of its mother’s, but its hair was auburn and its features angular. Samuel stepped closer to it, staring down in amazement. It was a boy. He saw himself in the tiny face, and guilt and discomfort threatened to overwhelm him. He felt faint and looked around.
He called his men over, then turned back to Bright Eyes. “We must pray over the child,” he told her.
She nodded worriedly as the Englishmen got to their knees. Bright Eyes knelt and held the child upon her knees so the men could see him. Samuel intoned the Lord’s Prayer as a crowd of people gathered to watch. Some of them knelt and moved their lips in sincere imitation of the Englishmen.
Calling Crow and four of his men approached when Samuel had finished.
Samuel got to his feet and turned to Calling Crow. “I have named him John. I shall bring a parson with me on my next trip and have him baptized properly.”
“Bright Eyes has already named the child,” said Calling Crow.
Samuel looked at her in surprise.
“I call him Little One Who Listens.” She looked at her father and smiled. “Now I will call him John Who Listens.”
Calling Crow nodded and indicated a dozen men who had gathered behind him. “Samuel, these men are going to begin gathering the skins to repay your debt. They will start tomorrow. My son is calling all the braves together for a war council. We will pick the braves who will use the shooting sticks. I want to begin teaching them how to use them tomorrow. Our enemies, the Timucua, are very close now and could launch their attack at any time.”
Samuel nodded. “Very well. Where are the two lads we left here? Patrick and Kevin?”
“They ran away,” said Calling Crow. “Two Clouds thinks they may have been captured by the Timucua.”
Samuel frowned. “I will have some of my men make a search in the morning.”
“As you like.”
“Where can my men and I stay?”
Calling Crow pointed to the chokafa. “They can stay in there tonight. Tomorrow I will have my people construct some houses for you.”
That night Swordbrought, Red Feather and the Muskogee brave who was called Fox-Disappears, sat in the chokafa across from Calling Crow. A few feet away a single fire cast its wobbly glow, and over at the far wall, Samuel and the twelve Englishmen sat together. Calling Crow welcomed Fox-Disappears and they smoked the pipe of peace together. Afterward, as Calling Crow carefully wrapped up the pipe, they mourned the passing of Crying Wolf by recounting stories of his courage and fighting prowess. Then Calling Crow asked Swordbrought to report on everything they had seen at the Timucua camp. When he finished, Calling Crow’s eyes were fierce. “Now we will give the Timucua a good fight. We must begin training the braves in the use of the muskets.”
Swordbrought took the black crow feather from his medicine pouch. “Mantua of the Timucua people told me to give you this, and to say that he would personally turn us both over to the Spanish slavers.”
Calling Crow’s eyes showed amusement. If not for the dangers Mantua posed to his family and people, he could have enjoyed this contest with the Timucua leader. He reached out his hand to Swordbrought. “Give me the feather. I will return it to Mantua at the first opportunity.”
For the next three days, an air of tense expectancy hung over Coosa Town. Scouts were sent to watch the movements of the Timucua and the people of the village worked tirelessly from sunrise till sunset, making arrows and gathering rocks to be thrown from the palisade by the children and old men and women. Samuel and Calling Crow drilled the Coosa braves and Fox-Disappears and his three braves in the use of the muskets. Fox-Disappears, who impressed Calling Crow greatly, was promised one of the muskets for his own when the battle concluded. Periodically the rattle of musket volleys echoed from the forest and caromed through the village. When this happened, the people would stop what they were doing and listen for more. On the fourth day the scouts returned with grim news. A force of roughly two hundred Timucua, many of them armed with muskets, was approaching the village. As evening drew near, Calling Crow brought the musket-armed braves into the palisade, positioning them on the catwalk that Samuel had advised be built on the inside of the timber walls. Calling Crow then met with his top braves, and Samuel and his top men, in the chokafa.
“The Timucua will probably arrive tomorrow afternoon,” said Calling Crow, “or perhaps by evening.”
Samuel shook his head. “Your musket men are not ready. They reload much too slowly, some of them improperly. They need at least another week of drilling.”
Calling Crow nodded. “That is true. But now they are not afraid of shooting sticks.” Calling Crow looked around at his men proudly. “They will not freeze upon hearing the thunder of the muskets. And after they fire their own muskets, they can pick up their bows. After they exhaust their arrows, they can pick up their axes and knives.” Calling Crow looked around briefly at the Englishmen, then back at Samuel. “When do you and your men leave for your ship?”
“We will leave first thing in the morning,” said Samuel.
A runner entered the chokafa and hurried over to speak with Calling Crow. Finishing, the man ran out again.
Calling Crow turned to Samuel and pointed to the west. “A large group of warriors has been spotted in that direction. It will take them only as long as two or three of your English hours to reach here.”
“Are there any Spaniards among them?” asked Samuel.
“My scouts saw two.”
Samuel nodded. “My men and I will stay in the village until it is safe to travel. Then we will wait for delivery of the skins at the ship.”
Calling
Crow nodded. He reached behind him and brought out the pipe. “Will you join us in a smoke, Samuel?”
Samuel got to his feet, his men doing the same. “No. We will go out to the palisade and wait there.”
All night long Samuel stayed on the catwalk with his men, periodically peering out at the darkened forest. Calling Crow and his men were now painted for battle. They squatted in small excited groups and talked among themselves. Calling Crow came and went, talking to his leading braves and scouts. Before first light, a thin mist exuded from the forest and drifted across the fields, obscuring them from sight. Everyone was tired and tense and there was still no sign of the invaders. Samuel and Fenwick lay down to rest and were almost on the point of sleep when a shout rang out. Samuel awoke to see Calling Crow and Red Feather looking out onto the fields. Calling Crow saw him and exclaimed, “They come!”
Everywhere people were moving. Men pointed their heavy muskets at the tree line, resting the barrels between the logs of the palisade. Women and boys grabbed fist-sized rocks from baskets and waited expectantly.
Men emerged from the forest and walked boldly through the chest-high mist. It was hard to see them clearly, but there appeared to be very many of them. Samuel watched them gather for a while and then he went over to speak with Calling Crow.
Calling Crow turned to his men. “Do not fire until I give the word.”
Their legs obscured, the invaders moved quietly through the mist like ghosts, coming ever closer.
Samuel called to Calling Crow as every eye watched the advancing men. “They are now within range, Calling Crow. You should give the order to shoot.”
Calling Crow said nothing. The invaders moved ever closer. Suddenly a voice sang out happily. “Not enemy!” it said. “Not enemy!” It was Fox-Disappears. He ran over to Calling Crow. “They are from my village. They are Muskogee men from Cussitaw Town. Don’t shoot. Tell your men not to shoot!”
“Don’t shoot,” called Calling Crow, and the word went quickly up and down the line of men.
“Put down those muskets,” shouted Samuel. He ran along the catwalk, grabbing the muskets from the men and laying them carefully at their feet.
Fox-Disappears called out a greeting to the men and one of them called back, recognition in his voice. Soon everyone was shouting and the fort erupted in a loud, excited buzz.
Samuel’s ears hurt from all the singing. The newly arrived Muskogee Indians filled the field against the palisade wall, jumping in time as they sang a compelling battle song. Calling Crow stood in their midst, Red Feather, Swordbrought and Fox-Disappears about him as he talked with the leader of the newcomers.
Fenwick waved Samuel over to the palisade and they looked out. Three of Calling Crow’s men were hurrying toward the palisade opening. Samuel watched them thread through the shouting, dancing mob of warriors to shout into Calling Crow’s ear. It was time.
Calling Crow raised his musket to the sky and the others did the same. The warriors ran toward the palisade entrance. Calling Crow caught Samuel’s eye, inviting him and his men to join them in their battle. Samuel looked away. It was then that he saw Bright Eyes farther down the palisade, her tiny baby strapped to her back. Together with an older woman, she was carefully stacking rocks between the palisade logs. Even though he was too far away to see the baby, in his mind he clearly saw that tiny face. The thought of him and her up here with musket balls filling the air horrified him. Along with that thought was the certain knowledge that she would not retreat to the relative safety of the village interior. There was no point in asking her.
Samuel turned to Fenwick and his men. “Do you want to join them in their fight?” he said.
Fenwick frowned. “Our business is commerce, m’lord, not Indian fighting.”
“That is true,” said Samuel, “but if Calling Crow and his people do not prevail here, there will be no commerce.”
An older man named Nicholas grew agitated. “Commerce or no,” he said angrily, “we should go to the ship.”
Samuel shook his head. “We won’t be going anywhere until this is concluded. It’s too dangerous.”
“I say we fight.” It was William, their smith and pilot. He looked angrily in the direction of the forest. “There are supposed to be two bloody Spaniards with them and I’d like to get my hands on one of them. I tell you, I’ll wring ‘is neck like a pigeon’s.”
Samuel looked at the others.
The large, flaxen-haired, ruddy-faced farm lad named Philip, brother of Tom, who was killed on their first trip out, came forward. His hands shook at his side as he spoke. “I understand these Timucua Indians are the same lot that killed my brother. I want to fight.”
Samuel looked at the others.
“Aye,” said Taylor, a middle-aged, barrel-shaped stevedore from the docks, “we’ll fight.” The others nodded their heads.
“Let’s go then,” said Samuel.
They climbed down the ladder and fell in behind the river of braves pouring out of the palisade.
The Coosa and Cussitaw braves spread out, moving in a wide mass through the trees of the forest. Calling Crow was at the forward edge of the movement, watching closely for signals from his scouts ahead. The forest was silent, the four-leggeds and winged-ones having already either hidden themselves or fled. Calling Crow was convinced an attack would turn things to his advantage. After all, Mantua and the Timucua had a good idea of the relative strength of Coosa Town and probably figured that they would fight a defensive strategy within the walls of the palisade. But everything had changed with the arrival of all the Muskogee braves from Cussitaw Town.
One of Calling Crow’s scouts motioned them to a halt. Calling Crow called to his men and watched as the scout crept stealthily forward. A solitary musket erupted and the scout staggered backward, clutching his stomach painfully. He fell and another musket erupted. Then another, but there was no coordinated volley of musket fire. Calling Crow waved his men forward, indicating that they should flank the approaching column of Timucua. The braves began moving into the thicker foliage ahead and scattered fighting broke out. Still, however, the firing was sporadic. The Timucua had been surprised by the attack; Calling Crow was sure of this. This was why they did not deploy their men skillfully. The battle would be over quickly, and so Calling Crow raced forward with the others to enjoy it while it lasted.
A Timucua darted from behind a saw-palmetto where he had been hiding. Calling Crow easily sidestepped him, swinging his iron axe to drop him in a heap. War cries split the morning air as more groups of men closed and fought. Calling Crow ran ahead, coming to a small clearing. It appeared that the Timucua had abandoned the battlefield. Over by the edge of the clearing, Calling Crow noticed two of the Englishmen. One was stretched out on the grass and appeared to be badly wounded. It was Fenwick. Samuel knelt by his side, ministering to him. Calling Crow heard someone behind. He whirled about, his club at the ready. It was Swordbrought. Swordbrought fought to catch his breath, “It is a complete rout, father. The Timucua were totally surprised by our numbers and the muskets. Now they are retreating.”
Calling Crow smiled. “Tell Fox-Disappears to pursue them only as far as the swamplands and then to return. I don’t think we will have to concern ourselves with them again.”
Swordbrought nodded obediently and ran off.
Something moved smoothly across the periphery of Calling Crow’s field of vision, then froze. Calling Crow turned and saw a man run out of the cover toward Samuel. The figure wore red breeches and a breastplate of Spanish armor, and carried a Spanish sword. A familiar, tiny arrow was woven into his topknot. Before Calling Crow could move, Mantua had struck the Englishman a glancing blow to the head with the flat of his sword, knocking him down.
Calling Crow began running as Mantua knelt to take Samuel’s scalp. Mantua was tugging Samuel’s head backward when he turned and saw Calling Crow. He leapt to his feet and swung the steel sword at Calling Crow. Calling Crow’s axe deflected the blow and Mantua twisted quickly
out of the way. Calling Crow swung again, the blow glancing loudly and harmlessly off Mantua’s breastplate. Mantua whirled and Calling Crow leapt backward. The long sword gave Mantua the advantage. Mantua swung again and again, the tip of his sword slicing open Calling Crow’s medicine pouch. A black crow’s feather fluttered to the ground between the two men, “I wanted to return my gift to you,” said Calling Crow. “Why don’t you pick it up?”
Mantua snarled and ran at Calling Crow, swinging his sword powerfully. Calling Crow parried a swing and managed to land another, normally-stunning, blow to the Timucua warrior’s armor-protected chest.
Mantua pressed his attack, backing Calling Crow up with a series of whistling blows. Mantua slowed suddenly, distracted by something Calling Crow could not see. A musket ball whizzed close by, followed almost by a thundering boom. Mantua eyed Calling Crow hatefully. “Next time we will settle this.” He turned and disappeared into the thicket.
Calling Crow heard people running up behind him. It was Swordbrought, Red Feather and Fox-Disappears. Fox-Disappears’s musket was still spewing smoke. He and Red Feather paused to speak to Calling Crow, but Swordbrought ran on, pursuing Mantua.
Calling Crow called his son. Swordbrought emerged from the thicket a moment later, his face cast with angry determination. “He is alone, Father. I can catch him.”
Calling Crow shook his head. “No. I am the one who must confront him. Our paths run together. When the time is right, he and I will meet again. Then one of us will prevail and the other will die.”
A moan came from the direction of the Englishmen. Samuel sat up weakly, blood running down his face. Calling Crow, Swordbrought and Fox-Disappears went to them, Fox-Disappears kneeling to inspect Samuel’s wounds. “He was hit quite hard on the head, but his skull is intact.” Fox-Disappears moved over to look at Fenwick. “This one appears to have been stabbed with a lance. We’ll have to get them back and let the healers tend to them.”