by Paul Clayton
The voice spoke in agitation, “They told me I must tell him!”
“You go!” This was Green Bird Woman. “I will tell him when he wakes; he must sleep more.”
Calling Crow climbed higher, coming out of the warm netherworld, feeling the wet coolness of the house now, smelling the sweet smoke and the turtle soup.
“He must be told now!”
“Go,” said Green Bird Woman softly, but harshly. “I will tell him soon.”
Calling Crow was awake now. “Send him in,” he called over to Green Bird Woman.
“Aieyee, “ she said. “You should rest some more. The others will deal with this.”
Calling Crow got to his feet. He was stretching when the young man stood before him. His name was Thunder-From-The-Sea, and his face was pinched with concern.
“A scout just arrived,” the young man said. “He reported that the Spanish appear to be making something on the beach, but what it is, he cannot say.”
Calling Crow glanced at the entryway. “Come,” he said. “We must get over the wall before it gets too light.”
Green Bird Woman watched worriedly as they ran out of the house and toward the palisade wall.
The rain had stopped and the sun was well up when Calling Crow and Thunder-From-The-Sea climbed up into a tall, gnarled mulberry tree. Hidden in its thick greenness, they watched the many Spanish and Timucua braves moving about on the beach in the distance. Calling Crow saw the boat drawn up in the sand and the structure erected beside it. Mostly Spanish soldiers crowded around the thing and Calling Crow could not tell what it was. Out on the sea, the huge Spanish ship rocked gracefully with the swells, its many sails furled. Calling Crow and Thunder-From-The-Sea watched for a long time. They were ready to leave their perch and go closer when something changed. The Spanish formed into a long, thin line which stretched from the thing up to the tree line. They began moving slowly and then the thing separated into two. A long black shape followed the line of men moving into the forest, leaving a scar in the sand of the beach.
Calling Crow began climbing down.
“What is it?” said Thunder-From-The-Sea.
“It is the end of Coosa Town,” said Calling Crow. “Come, we must run. There is not much time left.”
Bright Eyes was looking down at Samuel when he opened his eyes. Her tea had worked its miracle and Samuel’s fever had gone. He felt his strength returning, and along with it, a feeling of hope. With the cannon boat out of the way, perhaps they could hold out in the palisade. Calling Crow had just sent another brave to Cussitaw Town for help and he was sure it would be forthcoming.
Bright Eyes frowned and touched him on the chest. “You stay,” she said in halting English. “Ship go. Ship come back. You stay.”
He gave her a sad smile. He would, of course, return to England when the skins were ready. She must know that, he thought, despite her question. It was the best possible solution. The trading post he would establish here would give him reason to come and go. He would see Frances and little Catherine, and he would see Bright Eyes and the boy too. Destiny had dictated that he belong to both worlds. No one could force him to choose one over the other.
“I will go with the ship, but I will come back.”
“No go,” she said angrily.
He said nothing further.
She turned away from him and got to her feet. She quickly pulled her gown over her. Taking the boy from his pallet, she went out into the early morning mist.
The figure up on the fighting platform noticed Bright Eyes moving toward the place where the stream passed under the palisade and came into the town. He had been hoping she would come out of the hut. She carried the baby with her and swung it from side to side as she sang in a whisper, “Heya, heya, I have loved and now my heart is heavy.”
Without a sound, unseen, he dropped down from the parapet and followed at a distance. Somewhere in the billowing clouds above, a hawk cried out as it searched the ground in vain for food. Moving stealthily, the figure caught up with her and stopped.
She turned, suddenly aware of him. Red Feather said nothing to her and she did not run away from him. Instead she continued her singing. He stepped closer and still she did not run away. They stayed that way for a while, her singing and rocking her child, him standing his silent, watchful vigil, until the village began to wake.
She looked at him once more, kindly, he thought, and then she walked back in the direction of her house.
Samuel stood up on the fighting platform with his men as a fine rain fell, turning the surrounding land a dull, greenish gray. They watched a mass of smoke billowing up from the trees about a mile or so to the south, where the main group of Timucua Indians made their camp. A boy climbed the ladder behind them and tugged Samuel’s sleeve.
“Keep a sharp eye on the tree line,” Samuel said to his men. “I’ll return within the hour.” He climbed down the ladder and followed the boy back to the chokafa.
Under the flicker of torchlight, Calling Crow sat before the Old Men. His right-hand man, Red Feather, his son, Swordbrought, and the Cussitaw brave, Fox-Disappears, sat beside him. A few feet away, the town’s top braves sat in a cluster.
Calling Crow gestured for Samuel to sit.
“Samuel,” he said, “I have seen something which is very bad.”
Samuel nodded and Calling Crow went on. “The Spanish and their Timucua allies have taken another cannon off their ship. All night they worked, putting it onto a wheeled cart. Now they are pulling and pushing it here. We will have to leave the palisade.”
Samuel frowned. It was ominous. Because Calling Crow and he had successfully attacked the cannon boat, the Spanish and the Timucua would have too many soldiers and braves guarding this gun to attack it directly. “How long do you think it will take them to get it here?” he said.
“Two days at the most,” said Calling Crow. “The trail from the sea is wide.”
“Yes,” said Samuel, “but it is boggy in places and the cannon is very heavy. That might add another day. But you are right. We must leave.”
“Yes,” said Calling Crow. “Are you sure your ship can carry us all?”
Samuel nodded. “What about the Cussitaw Town braves?” he said. The thought of Bright Eyes and the baby having to flee frightened him. It would be very dangerous.
“If Fire Heart reached Cussitaw Town,” said Calling Crow, “they will arrive in another three or four days. Too late for us.”
Samuel nodded, lapsing into grim silence.
Calling Crow turned to the Old Men and told them of his recommendation. They talked softly among themselves for a few minutes and then Calling Crow said, “We will leave tonight.”
“Calling Crow?” It was Sees Far.
“Yes?”
“Last night I had a dream that a great white fog will descend on the land. It will be so thick that no one will be able to see anything.”
“It is good,” said Calling Crow. “We must get everything ready.”
“No,” said Sees Far, “it will not come tonight.”
“When, Grandfather?” said Calling Crow, concern in his voice.
“It will come tomorrow night,” said Sees Far.
“Calling crow,” said Samuel. “We must not wait! If they get that cannon through the bog faster than we anticipated, well-- “ Samuel left the thought unspoken.
Calling Crow said nothing as he looked at Red Feather and the top braves. Finally he turned to the Old Men. “Sees Far has never been wrong in these things. I say we wait until tomorrow night.”
Two Clouds said, “You speak wisely, Calling Crow. We will go tomorrow night.”
Calling Crow looked at his top braves. “Some of you will attack the main camp of Timucua. This will help divert them while we evacuate the people.”
Red Feather, Little Bear, each of you pick five men and bring them back here. Swordbrought, go tell the headmen to get all the people ready. We will go tomorrow night.”
Samuel, Taylor, Philip an
d the other Englishmen stood upon the fighting platform, clutching their muskets tightly.
“To have conjured this,” Fenwick whispered in awe, “the ancient, blind one is a powerful sorcerer.”
“He did not conjure it,” said Samuel, “he dreamed about its coming.”
The Englishmen said nothing further as they looked out upon the thick, cold fog lapping against the palisade walls like a milky white sea. It had come out of the woods in the middle of the night and now looked thick enough to walk upon.
Someone climbed up onto the fighting platform behind them. It was Swordbrought. “It is time,” he said softly.
They climbed down. A mist was gathering within the palisade walls, but it was nowhere as thick as what lay outside. Samuel and Fenwick followed Swordbrought past the thick column of people and possessions. Men with bows over their shoulders carried large baskets and bundles. Interspersed between them were their women, also carrying baskets and bundles, with babes and small children asleep in their arms. Samuel saw Wilfredo the black and Gregorio Rojas the Spaniard and their families among them. In the middle of the column, they passed a phalanx of muscled, fiercely painted and armed young braves. The old men councilors, the village’s ark and its bearers, Calling Crow’s wife and several other revered people of the town were all in their center. Sees Far the conjurer was tied to a large brave’s back for the journey. Bright Eyes stood behind him, John-Who-Listens asleep on her back. Each person carried a length of cord which would enable them to follow along behind one another in the fog. The sight soothed Samuel’s nerves. No one would be able to see them this night. They could only be discovered by accident. And if that happened, well, he and his men would be at the front of the column. He could get back here quickly, and with the phalanx of braves around her, she and the boy were as well-protected as was humanly possible.
They came to the head of the column. Calling Crow wore his red battle paint and carried a red lance in one hand, his large iron club in the other. The tiny carcass of a small black bird was affixed in his hair above his ear and he wore his big shirt painted with a scene depicting the Contempt riding very low in the water with many people crowded upon its decks.
Red Feather, Little Bear, and about a dozen other braves, formed a tight knot as they faced their chief. Samuel understood that these were the men who would divert the enemies’ attention by attacking the main force of Timucua.
Calling Crow stood before them, speaking softly, but at the same time fiercely and powerfully. The braves raised their clubs and lances skyward and then it was time to go.
Calling Crow watched Red Feather and Little Bear lead the braves at a trot back along the column toward the palisade entrance. As they passed, Samuel heard the people calling out to them to be brave. The fog swallowed them up and all was quiet.
Calling Crow motioned to Swordbrought, and Samuel and his men. They walked to the front of the column, where they joined two older braves, Calling Crow’s best trackers. They would read the ground and guide the villagers through the fog. Calling Crow led the column to the palisade wall. Several stout men rushed forward and removed two of the tall timber uprights which had been loosened during the night. Thick fog poured through the breach, running along the ground like milky water. They waited in silence until the muted sounds of the distant diversionary battle erupted. The people took up the cords that linked them together and walked through the breach and into the thick fog. Samuel had to check his match continually, bringing the cord up to his face to blow on it till it again glowed cherry-red; the dampness threatened to put it out.
General Ruiz paced in the clearing. Beside him, the big cannon waited on its carriage, five gunners standing by to man it when given the order. Dozens of heavily armed men, all of them wearing breastplates and helmets, faced out into the trees around them. The fog was blowing into their camp, patches of it moving across the ground like ghosts. General Ruiz’s men watched the fog warily, holding their crossbows and harquebuses at the ready.
General Ruiz stopped his pacing. He thought he heard muted, sporadic musket fire. He listened closer, but heard nothing further. He turned to a tall sergeant carrying a cross bow. “Sergeant Valencia, we cannot wait any longer. Take a half dozen men and go and find Avila and his Indians. We must begin the attack.”
As the big soldier gathered his men, a shout came from the distance. Avila the Slaver and Mantua ran out of the fog and into the camp, followed by at least forty of the fiercely painted Timucua Indians.
General Ruiz called over to the tall sergeant. “Wait, they are here.”
Avila ran breathlessly up to Ruiz, Mantua holding back a few paces.
“Well,” snapped General Ruiz, “are the bravos in position for the attack?”
Avila shook his head. “It is too late,” he said, “the villagers have escaped.”
“Impossible,” said General Ruiz. “With all the bravos surrounding the village, how could they get through?”
“They sent some of their men against us while the others slipped away in the fog.”
General Ruiz slapped Avila across the face. “You let them escape?”
Avila’s face quivered with shame. “Mantua had the bulk of his men on the major trails. If not for this fog we would have detected them leaving.”
General Ruiz’s eyes bulged. “All of them gone!” he shouted. “This is your fault!”
“We captured three,” said Avila.
“The English?” said General Ruiz hopefully.
Avila shook his head. “No, three bravos.”
General Ruiz scoffed and turned away. He called to his sergeant. “Valencia, form the men up. We are going back to the ship.”
Sergeant Valencia began shouting; men ran to form ranks.
Mantua walked up behind Avila and spoke in his ear.
Avila called to General Ruiz over the noise. “Sir, I told them they would be paid tonight. I would like to give them a partial payment. They will track the town people down in the morning when the fog lifts.”
General Ruiz glared at Avila as if he were mad. “Fool, there will be no payment! They are gone and it is your fault.”
Avila turned to Mantua to explain, but the Timucua chief had already heard enough. With a scream of fury he swung his axe, clubbing Avila over the head. Avila dropped down dead from the blow.
General Ruiz ran, shouting, into the center of his men. “Close ranks,” he yelled, “close ranks.”
Mantua shouted an order to his braves and they unleashed a rain of arrows. Several soldiers cried out in pain but most of the arrows clattered harmlessly off the Spaniards’ armor.
General Ruiz’s men formed a tight iron ring around him and the gun as they began moving backward. The Indians followed, aiming for the gaps in their armor as they fired their arrows.
“First rank, fire!” General Ruiz called out, and the harquebuses boomed. Several of Mantua’s men fell dead.
“Second rank, fire!” Again the harquebuses boomed and Timucua braves fell with gaping, bloody wounds.
“Ready the gun,” came General Ruiz’s call, as more arrows clattered against them.
From his long association with Avila the Slaver, Mantua knew what a big cannon could do to a mass of men. He shouted a warning to his men and they melded into the surrounding trees, continuing to fire their arrows at the retreating Spaniards.
The long column of Coosa people walked slowly, but steadily. At one point, Calling Crow recognized the distant sound of cannon fire, but he did not stop the column to listen further. The night passed without incident and in the morning the sun penetrated the fog, tingeing it with a pale white glow. Calling Crow held up the column while the people ate the parched corn that they all carried in their pouches in silence. No longer needing the cords that linked them together, they tucked them away and began walking again. They moved faster now in the strange glowing light.
Under the thick canopy of the trees, the fog survived unharmed by the sun for most of the day. Despite the length
of the column, and the numbers of aged and children among them, they traveled at a surprisingly fast clip. Samuel felt that God must have been with them. They would make the ship now; he was sure of it. At full day, when they were only a half-day’s march from the Contempt, two of the Coosa braves that had been part of the attack force rejoined the column. Calling Crow ordered the column to halt, and he, Swordbrought, the top braves and the Old Men moved off the trail to counsel. Samuel and Fenwick joined them.
One of the returned braves with a bad, partially closed eye, did the talking. Samuel knew enough of the Muskogee language to understand what he was reporting. He and his fellow brave were all that was left of the attack force, the others having either been killed or captured. The other brave said suddenly that he thought that Red Feather and Little Bear had been captured and were alive, but he could not be sure. He lapsed back into silence and let the lame-eyed one finish the report.
Afterward, Calling Crow spoke in soft tones with the Old Men. Finishing, he called Samuel over.
“Fox-Disappears and I are going back with one of these braves to try and free the others,” said Calling Crow. “Wait for us on your ship for one day only. If we do not return in that time, take the people far enough north so that they will be safe.”
Samuel nodded. “I think we could wait longer once everyone was aboard,” he said, “but, of course, I will do as you wish.”
A commotion came from behind them. A knot of people talked in excited tones. Green Bird Woman called out to Calling Crow and he went back to her.
Samuel looked over at Swordbrought. “What is it?”
The young man frowned. “My mother is very frightened. The medicine man, Sees Far, has asked to see Calling Crow before he goes back. Sees Far said that it will be the last time he sees him and he wants to say goodbye.”