by Paul Clayton
“I have seen all these things before,” Calling Crow went on, “as have some of you. But, this time it is much worse. The Spanish ship is the biggest I have ever seen and will surely unload many men with shooting sticks. The village must be moved.”
This last statement elicited cries and shouts throughout the chokafa. An old woman wailed sadly. “Leave these lands? I would rather die here.”
Many other old people echoed her words.
“We can fight.” The top brave Swift Arrow said, leaping to his feet.
“Yes,” said Calling Crow, his powerful voice charged with anger, “there will be fighting, and I will put myself in the midst of it, along with you and the other braves. But-- ” Calling Crow slowly moved his outstretched hands across the crowd and the people watched mesmerized. “Still we must move the village, otherwise the young and old will be killed or, worse, enslaved.”
“What does the Council say?” said another brave.
Calling Crow remained standing as he turned to look at the Old Men sitting on their skin-covered, raised pallets behind him.
Two Clouds raised his hand. “Calling Crow is right in this. We must move the village.” He turned to look at the other Old Men. One by one, they slowly raised their hands, all but Sees Far.
“Sees Far,” said Calling Crow, “what do you say?”
Sees Far’s voice was very faint and the noise died as people strained to hear what he would say. “Calling Crow is very wise in the strengths and ways of the white people. That is why we should do as he says.”
Moans and cries rippled backward through the people as they passed Sees Far’s words along.
Swift Arrow again got to his feet. “No!” he shouted. “We must not do this. We should stay and fight. If we flee with young and old in tow, eventually our enemies will run us down. It is better to keep them here behind the palisade walls while we braves go out and fight the Spanish.”
Murmurs of agreement swept the crowd.
“Yes,” shouted Calling Crow, “some braves will stay behind and fight; that way the enemy will think that the village has not moved. Then these braves will break away and join the rest of us. You, Swift Arrow, will be one of them, but I must lead the village away from here!”
Evidently satisfied by Calling Crow’s choice of him to stay behind and fight, Swift Arrow sat down.
Calling Crow went on. “The people will leave, but they will not be run down and captured by the Spanish because they are going away on the English ship. It is hidden up the coast and we can reach it in two days.”
The crowd gasped as every set of eyes turned to the cluster of Englishmen. Samuel nodded his head and a buzz of worried speculation filled the air.
“Can the ship carry them all?” said Two Clouds.
“Samuel says that it can,” said Calling Crow.
The people talked with great excitement among themselves until Calling Crow raised his arms for silence.
“It is decided,” he said. “Gather your things up without making any noise. We will leave this night in the darkness after everyone is ready.”
Children cried and harsh voices erupted in argument and worded speculation as the people filed quickly out of the chokafa.
It was the middle of the night, and the little sacred fire in the chokafa had no effect on the cold air. However, the comforts of a roaring fire were farthest from the minds of the people assembled inside. Against the far wall, the Council of Old Men looked fierce in their war regalia, despite their great age. Mantles of whitened deer skin, ceremonially decorated with red paint, covered their now-sloping, boney shoulders, and conical caps of whitened deer skin crowned their wrinkled faces and hard-set eyes. Mounted on the wall behind each man were his war club, medicine pouch and sacred pipe.
Calling Crow had just been consecrated as the war chief and sat just forward of the Old Men on another raised, skin-covered pallet before the sacred fire. His red-painted big shirt of deerskin, cinched around the waist with a ceremonial sash, exuded red anger. Around his neck, the severe black of the crow feather necklace seemed to have magically broken his head apart from his body, giving him a forbidding, spectral appearance. To Calling Crow’s left, the village’s ark, a long, intricately decorated rectangular basket, sat upon a woven reed mat. Inside the basket were the village’s medicine-- consecrated bundles and vases. The thickest and sturdiest of the vases was still empty. This one would receive the embers from the sacred fire when it was time to go. A carved pole passed through two hide thongs woven into the basket would enable the two young men selected by the Council to carry the ark safely.
Closest to Calling Crow, on his right, sat Red Feather, Fox-Disappears, Swordbrought and Samuel, and farther off were the leading warriors of the village, six in all. All the men had dressed brightly so that if they died during the fighting, they would look good when they stood before the Great Spirit.
A messenger came and bowed before Calling Crow. “Most of the people from the river side of the village are ready to go.”
“How many are you waiting for?” said Calling Crow.
“Only four, old ones. They should be ready soon.”
“Good,” said Calling Crow. “Have them assemble now in the square ground with the others.”
The man ran out. Two Clouds, his jowly cheeks now firm with determination and concern, called over to Calling Crow. “How long will it take us to get to the English ship?”
Calling Crow looked at him calmly. “About a day’s march, perhaps a little more, depending on how fast the old and children can travel.”
A whisper of a voice called out. It was old Sees Far, who had again taken ill. “Calling Crow,” he said, “I cannot tell what the hour is. Will we be able to leave before daybreak?”
“Yes. There is only one man who has not reported. After we hear that his people are ready, we will go. That will be soon.”
Another man quickly entered the chokafa and walked over to bow before Calling Crow.
“All is ready.”
“How many altogether?” said Samuel.
“One hundred and sixty,” said Calling Crow.
No torches burned in the wide, dark expanse of the square ground as the people clustered together protectively. Calling Crow and Red Feather walked through the people, answering questions and offering encouragement.
Calling Crow was pleased. The people were orderly and most seemed bravely resolved to do what they must. Few of them knew of the terror Spanish weapons and horses could unleash, yet, despite this, they obeyed. This touched him deeply. As he and Red Feather were returning to the head of the square ground, a torch-bearing warrior ran up to them.
“People are already outside the palisade,” the man reported excitedly.
Calling Crow turned to Red Feather in puzzlement. “How could that be? No one gave the order to begin the march.”
The man shook his head worriedly. “Not our people, the invaders!”
“How many?” said Calling Crow.
“We’re not sure. But seventeen lights have been counted, equally spaced around the palisade.”
Calling Crow’s voice was steady. “Red Feather, go back to the chokafa and tell the Council and top braves. I will return after I have a look.”
Calling Crow turned to the messenger. “Tell the people to go back to their houses and remain ready to go. We will soon decide what must be done.”
The man turned and waded into the throng of people.
Calling Crow ran toward the front of the palisade. Fox-Disappears, Swordbrought and Samuel spotted him, and caught up with him as he climbed the stairs to the fighting platform.
They looked out. Six torches were visible, spaced evenly in the blackness in front of the forest. It was impossible to determine how many men there were, however. Someone climbed up the ladder behind the four men.
The others turned to look at him. It was Red Feather. They looked back out at the lights.
“Why haven’t they attacked?” said Fox-Disappears.
“They are here to hold us up until the others arrive,” said Calling Crow. “They want us as slaves.”
None of the men said anything further as they looked out at the distant pinpoints of light. Then Calling Crow said, “Red Feather, send out two scouts to determine their numbers and positions. I will go to the Council now.” He turned and headed for the ladder, the others quickly following him.
The mood in the chokafa was grim. The Old Men looked at Calling Crow and the braves expectantly.
Two Clouds was first to speak. “Perhaps we should go as planned. The braves are all eager to fight. They could draw off the invaders until the others are away.”
“I have sent scouts out to find the strength of the enemy,” said Calling Crow. “Let us wait till they report before deciding what to do.”
“It appears,” said Samuel in English to Calling Crow, “that they will lay siege to your village.”
Calling Crow nodded as the other Coosa watched him and Samuel with intent, hard faces. “We can resist them from behind the walls,” said Calling Crow, “but not forever.”
Calling Crow turned to Fox-Disappears and said in Muskogee, “We will once again have to ask the braves at Cussitaw Town for help.”
Fox-Disappears nodded. “I could go.”
“I want a younger man to go,” said Calling Crow. He looked at the Council. The Old Men raised their hands in agreement.
Swordbrought stood. “I will go,” he said. “I know the way now.”
“No!” Swift Arrow got to his feet. “I have been near there before and I can find it easily. I will go!”
A tall, slim brave called Fire Heart stood. His dark eyes were fierce with determination. “I will go with you,” he said. “That way one of us will get through.”
Little Bear got to his feet, his massive bulk looming over the other three braves. He looked at the council. “Send me. I have a better chance of getting there than either of them.”
Calling Crow looked over at the Old Men.
“Swordbrought,” said Two Clouds, “you will stay here this time.” Swordbrought sat and Two Clouds looked solemnly at the three remaining braves. “We will send Fire Heart this time, then, in three or four days, we will send Swift Arrow. Little Bear, there will be much fighting here. It is better that you stay.”
Little Bear sat and Two Clouds looked at the other Old Men. They raised their hands in agreement.
Calling Crow turned to the braves. “It is decided. Fire Heart, you will go immediately. Tell the Cussitaw Council that this time there will be many more men arrayed against us, and that they will probably begin their attack with the dawn. Go now.” Calling Crow looked at Swift Arrow. “You will go in three days’ time, to insure that one of you makes it. I will tell you when.”
Later that night, Calling Crow and Red Feather watched Fire Heart lower himself from the palisade and drop to the ground. The bright pinpoints of torchlight could be seen on either side in the distance as Fire Heart’s slim form glided toward the blackness of the forest. When Fire Heart melded into the relative safety of the trees, they relaxed some. Whether or not he made it to Cussitaw Town would depend on his personal medicine power, his speed and his fighting prowess.
Calling Crow and Red Feather climbed down from the fighting platform and started back toward the chokafa. Fenwick ran up to them. “Your Lordship,” he said to Calling Crow, “there’s a messenger at the gates!”
Calling Crow and the others followed the short, rotund Englishman as he ran awkwardly toward the fighting platform near the palisade entrance. Winded, Fenwick paused at the steps, breathing heavily as Calling Crow and Red Feather and the braves climbed the ladder.
Samuel met Calling Crow at the top. “There he is.” Samuel pointed to the closest torch.
The bearer of the torch was unrecognizable in the distance, but his distinctive voice boomed out loudly in Muskogee. “Coosa people! You cannot escape. Give up now before the Spanish soldiers arrive!”
A fierce anger welled up in Calling Crow at the voice of Mantua.
Chapter 43
Pedro Avila sat in the middle of the long dugout canoe as the Timucua paddlers stood. There were six of them and they sped the canoe along swiftly, despite the strong current running in the opposite direction. Although the sun was warming the day, a rainstorm had recently moved through the area and the creek was higher than usual, with much debris moving downstream. One of the paddlers pointed to a long, dark shape on the bank. At first Avila thought the unmoving shape was a log, and then he realized it was a large alligator that had crawled up to feel the weak sunlight on its back. Avila thought grimly that these creatures would get more to eat than was normally their due if the fighting for the village proved heavy.
At a great bend in the creek, the Timucua turned the dugout toward the bank. Avila disembarked at the barely recognizable camp and walked along the muddy bank. He saw one of Mantua’s headmen squatting down to talk with some other braves. The man got to his feet and led Avila along a path that came off the muddy riverbank. At one point they passed through a clearing and Avila could see the tops of the palisade’s timbers rising above the trees. They came to a grove of pines in which several dozen braves sat around talking.
Avila’s guide paused and pointed to where Mantua slept under a crude shelter. He lay on a pallet of skin spread upon a bed of sphagnum moss. Avila walked over, intrigued, for it sometimes seemed as if the Timucua chief needed no sleep.
Mantua opened his eyes at Avila’s approach. He started to get up and then noticed something upon his chest. Unconcerned at first, he then quickly swiped it off as if it were a venomous spider. Avila watched it flutter to the ground and noted that it was only a black feather of some kind. He could not understand the normally fierce Timucua’s fearful repulsion and thought that perhaps he was still not completely awake.
“General Ruiz sends his regards,” said Avila.
Mantua grunted as he got to his feet. He yawned loudly and scratched his buttock. “When will he send the big thunder stick?”
“Soon, tomorrow perhaps. They are already unloading it from the ship.”
Mantua grunted his approval and looked over at his men.
“The general wants you to position all your men around the palisade,” said Avila.
Mantua looked at him in annoyance. “There is no need. I already have a dozen sentries around the town.”
“I know,” said Avila tactfully, “but the general is concerned. He thinks that they may attempt to flee.”
Mantua scowled. “They will not flee! With their women and children, their old people in tow, where could they go that my men could not run them down in a day or two?”
Avila frowned. Mantua could be as stubborn as a mule. “Double your guard then, and I will send you a cask of wine tonight.”
Mantua’s eyes grew larger with anticipation. “Send the wine. Good. Then we will talk some more. Now we will eat.”
Calling Crow, Samuel and Red Feather stood on the ramparts looking at the distant tree line. The men hidden in the forest could not be seen, but every now and then a puff of musket smoke blossomed like a white flower from the deep green, followed by a booming report, giving them away. No one had been hit by the wildly inaccurate long shots, and the Coosa and Englishmen on the ramparts returned fire. Calling Crow glanced up at the blood-red clouds over the trees. The sun had already set and soon it would be dark enough for him and the others to leave the palisade. The last report Calling Crow had received was ominous in its implications. The Spanish had mounted a large gun in one of their longboats and were preparing to bring it up the river.
Calling Crow frowned as he thought of the impact such a thing would have on Coosa Town. Not only would the noise and the sight of the thing’s belching fire and smoke frighten the people, but with it the invaders would easily breach the palisade walls. The Cussitaw Town braves would not get here for at least another five days. There was only one thing to do; tonight they would attack and steal
the cannon. Calling Crow had already worked out a plan with Red Feather and Samuel. Red Feather would lead a group of braves who would launch a diversionary attack against the main camp of Timucua, while Calling Crow and his braves, along with Samuel and three of his men, attacked the guards and stole the cannon. Calling Crow’s scouts had reported that the cannon was tied up at the mouth of the river and guarded by at least eight Timucua. Calling Crow’s plan was risky, but if successful, it would leave the palisade walls intact. Then, hopefully, they could repel the attack that would soon come.
In the chokafa, the drum-driven wailing of the singers abused Samuel’s ears. He tried to ignore it, to appreciate the primitive passion and sincerity in the voices, but the feverish ague that had assailed him after the blow to his head had returned, and it would allow him no pleasure. Not five feet away, two men sat on the reed mats beating their drums. The blind priest’s two young helpers moved about, using a hawk’s feather to waft smoke from a clump of herbs over Calling Crow and his braves. Samuel coughed, the smoke catching in his throat. He thought that Calling Crow did indeed look fierce in his war paint. His red ochre-painted war axe looked as if it were already smeared with the blood of his enemies.
Samuel turned round to look at his own men, the motion sending aches up and down his neck and a shuddering chill deep into his bowels. He had had the fever for two days now, and with the ministrations of Bright Eyes and her many teas, it seemed to be receding, but not quickly enough. Fenwick smiled in amusement, but Philip and Taylor looked bewildered and uncomfortable. Samuel knew they did not like the noisome ceremony, but because he had chosen them to go along to take the cannon boat, Calling Crow had insisted they be present for his priest’s blessing too.
“Although it looks nothing like one of us praying to the Lord, God, on bended knee,” Samuel had explained to them earlier, “still, it is their way of asking God to protect them during battle.”