to the Far Blue Mountains (1976) (20 page)

Now I was indeed thankful for the long talks with Captain Tempany, with Coveney Hasling, and with others, for each had served to broaden my viewpoint and the depth of my understanding.

There was much to learn of people, much to learn of the art of government, which had suddenly become my responsibility. I had already learned to listen to the advice of others but to act only on my own beliefs, and to make my own decisions.

The days went swiftly by, but soon there was on my table a growing map of the area in which we lived. Along with it I began to note down what I knew of Indians and what signs we had seen of them.

What of Potaka? On my earlier voyage we had met, and instantly had become friends. He was an Eno, of a tribe from somewhere inland, I knew not exactly where. It had been a year, perhaps somewhat more, since I had seen him. The Eno were good hunters, but careful farmers and shrewd traders, and if any might have a surplus for trade it would be the Eno ... from the little I knew of the Indians about here.

Our catch of fish was excellent, so I put more men to that service, and soon we had racks of fish drying in the sun and had to maintain a guard to keep off the birds. We killed many pigeons, of a kind that roosted in great numbers in the trees and could be taken easily.

Inside our stockade but backed up against the outer wall were our cabins. One for Abigail, Lila, and me, another for an armory, one for the storage of meat, another for grain, a third for our trade goods, and the largest yet a barracks for the men, although we maintained a crew of seven men aboard the Abigail.

We ate at a common table for I wished no stories to circulate that better food was served us than was prepared for all.

When would winter come? It worried me that I did not know, and could only guess, which made for bad planning. Despite the poor success of our hunting, for we found little game, the fishing went well, and our crops came readily up, promising a late but good harvest.

At the table, I explained the situation. "There are Indians up the river whom I know, they are called the Eno. There are other Indians a little way off called the Tuscarora, and I do not know them but other Indians fear them and they are spoken of as fighters.

"There are Indians near us called the Chowanoke or Chowanoc, but they are a small tribe. It may be that we can arrange an alliance that will offer protection for both.

"Avoid Indian women. It may be some of you will wish to have Indian wives, but first you must learn the Indian way, and to approach the father first and agree upon the present you will give him.

"We are very few here, and must walk with care, always respectful of these people."

"They are savages," Emmden muttered, "only savages!"

"But people, just as you and I, and they have customs as good for them as ours for us. Treat them as equals."

Emmden looked his disgust, but spoke no word against my order. Yet his manner worried me. He had been a sailor aboard the Flemish ship and I liked not his manner, and I spoke of him to Tilly and Jublain.

"Aye," Jublain agreed, "yon's a surly dog, and he's found others of his kind.

They talk continually of going a-pirating and I doubt not they'd try if they could find men enough."

Despite the fact that our fort was on a low hill it was shielded from view by the tall trees that made up the forest around the hill. That hill was stripped of brush and trees that might offer concealment and prepared a good field of fire for our weapons.

Meanwhile, those of us who knew how to use the bow resumed its use in our hunting. In the fens we had grown up as archers, each of us skilled in hunting with bow and arrow, so among us we numbered ten skilled archers and some who were good enough. Our hunting, to save powder and lead, was now done with bows and arrows.

The English longbow was a formidable weapon and despite the coming of firearms we in the fens and others in rural parts of England kept our skill in its use, competing in shooting at fairs and sometimes at markets. In the fens, where hunting was less restricted, many a fenman kept meat on his table with the bow.

In the evenings we made arrows, improved our bows, and sharpened axes and saws against the work to be done. They were quiet, busy times but we were in better condition to survive than had those who came before us, for all were accustomed to work, and aware of the need for it.

Nevertheless, we cut mast timbers and piled them above the ground to season, and some of the men were riving shingles, working with a hoe and a maul to split them off the larger chunks or logs. It was in my mind that sooner or later a ship would come, and then we might sell our timber or trade to good effect.

Yet we had our own quarters to furnish as well, so we made stools, benches, and chairs as well as buckets, ladles, spoons, and baskets.

And then we found the Indian.

It was Abigail who saw him first. She had gone with Lila to the edge of the forest to gather herbs. The morning was warm and still, but under the trees that bordered the swamp it was dark, mysterious, and very still.

Abigail had stopped inside the edge of the timber, to listen. Somewhere out across the swamp a woodpecker was working on a tree. Out upon the ship someone was hoisting something with a block and tackle. She could hear the squeak and groan of it. At the fort she could hear someone sawing ... here all was very quiet.

She saw the big alligator first. He was a huge, old fellow, all of ten or twelve feet long and when she saw him only his eyes and snout were above water. He was moving toward the shore, moving toward where she stood with a purposefulness that told her he was coming for something, or somebody.

"Lila?"

"I see him."

He was coming toward her. Maybe if she threw something into the water ... ?

She stooped to pick up a stick or chunk of bark ... and then she saw the hand.

For an instant she stood silent, holding her breath. It was a hand, a man's hand, and it lay half-clutching the damp leaves at the edge of the brush.

The hand had an arm. Then, half-concealed by the low-hanging leaves, she made out the body. A man's body, a man terribly wounded, bloody.

"Mam? We'd better go. He's coming!"

"Throw something at it. Anything."

Abigail looked quickly around. There was nothing. Catching hold of the hand, she pulled. It was all she could do to stir the body, but she did, she drew him slowly from the brush.

"Lila? Help me!"

Suddenly, Lila screamed. She had never heard the Welsh girl scream and she dropped the hand and ran quickly.

The 'gator was a big one, and he was coming out of the water, evidently drawn by the scent of blood from the man's body.

Abigail, who had lungs of her own, screamed also.

There was a shout, then running feet, and I was the first to reach them, running, sword drawn, expecting to find Indians or Bardle men.

Jublain was only an instant behind me, and Watkins came from the woods further along the shore.

"Look out for his tail," I warned. Where had I heard that? "He'll use it to knock you into the water or break your legs."

The big beast stood, half out of the water, staring at us with gleaming reddish eyes, his jaws opening and closing. The smell of blood and death drew him, yet our increasing numbers must have brought some thread of caution into his brain, for he stared at us, his eyes going from one to the other until I thought he might charge.

At my feet was a broken, rotting chunk of wood, and picking it up, I dashed it against his head. My shot was good, and it struck hard. He snorted and made an angry dash of no more than two feet, then retreated slowly, reluctantly, into the water.

"What is it, Abby?" I asked.

"There's a man ... he's not dead, I believe."

I walked past to where her finger pointed, and Jublain, sword still in hand, came to stand beside me.

The wounded man was an Indian, and of a type I had not seen before. He was a big man, well made, but from the marks upon his body he had been wounded, then tortured, and had somehow escaped.

"Get four men," I said, "and have them bring a litter. We'll take him to the fort."

"A savage? Inside our fort?" Jublain protested. "If he lives he'll betray us."

"Nonetheless, we'll try to save him. He escaped them somehow; he's come a long distance. If a man in such condition can do so much, he deserves to live."

Chapter
17

That the Indian had lost much blood was apparent, for he had been shot with an arrow in the back of the head, the stone arrowhead almost burying itself in the bone behind one ear.

From the looks of his skull he had been struck with a club. His black hair was matted with blood. There were many minor wounds and burns.

When he was bathed and cleaned and his wounds treated as well we might, I spoke to him, in the few words of the Eno tongue that I had learned, and he grunted something in reply, from which I gathered that he understood.

Then, touching my chest, I said, "Barnabas," very slowly. Indicating Lila, who stood over him, I said, "Lila."

Then I pointed to him. "You?"

"Wa-ga-su," he said.

He was wary as a trapped animal, but he was not cringing.

"Abigail and Lila," I said. "Be very careful. We are strangers, and to him every stranger is a possible enemy. He does not know why he is here, or why we try to make him well. He may think that we make him well only to torture him again."

"What kind of Indian is he?" Lila asked. "He seems to understand you."

"Aye ... a word or two. Perhaps we can learn from him about the country to the west, for I do not think him an Indian of this area. I think he is from far away, for his stature is different, and even his facial structure, and he is of larger frame than the Eno that I have seen."

For three days, then, I saw him but rarely, for my work was great and the time of the season was short. Our gardens were growing, and there was hope in me that we would make a good crop. For I was worried about winter.

Of furs we had but few, for most of the skins were needed in the preparation of clothing for the winter. Yet we had the skins of several foxes and some small dark animals of the weasel type that were called mink.

On the fifth day after the discovery of the savage, I went to the room where he was kept and cared for. Jublain had come with me, and suddenly the Indian began to speak in broken Spanish. It was a language Jublain well knew, having been a prisoner among them at one time.

"He is a Catawba ... whatever that is, from the west." Jublain paused, listening. "From the edge of the mountains."

"Ah!" I exclaimed, with pleasure. This was what I had wished for. "Ask him about the mountains."

"He asks about you. How, he wonders, do you speak some words of his tongue?"

"Tell him I was once a friend of an Eno named Potaka."

The Catawba looked at me several times as Jublain explained how Potaka and I had become friends, and how we had traded there.

"Tell him we are his friends and we would like to be friends of his people. Tell him that when he is well enough we shall, if he wishes, help him to return to his people."

Several times I sat with him then, each time learning a few words or phrases that I might use in speaking his language. Yet I am afraid he learned my language more swiftly than I learned his. There came a day when I took him with me and showed him about the small fort.

Wa-ga-su looked at everything, but he was especially impressed with the cannon.

"Big voice!" he exclaimed suddenly.

"Aye," I showed him one of the balls, but he was not so impressed as I had expected.

"Too big for man," he said, "throw away too much!"

Of course, he was right. I explained to him that the gun was for use against stockades or ships, and when he seemed to question the presence of the gun inside the fort I told him ships might come of men who were not friendly to us.

"Wa-ga-su," I said, "someday I shall go to live in the mountains."

"Is good," he said. "I show you."

He drew lines in the dust to show me where his country lay, and the rivers that bordered it. He showed me as well the trading paths leading cross the country that were used by all Indians. Little by little, each of us learned more of the language of the other, and he warned me that his enemies would be searching for him, and even now might be lurking in the woods around us.

"What enemies come after you?"

"Tuscarora ... they are many. Great fighters."

"You are safe here, Wa-ga-su. And when you are well, we will take you to your people or put you far upon the way."

Little by little I got the story of his escape. They had captured him while hunting, had tortured him for three days, making each day worse. Then they had tied him to a stake for burning. Using his two feet he had edged a burning brand around, working with the still unburned end, and tilting it, got it to fall against the rawhide that held his ankles. His legs free, he had somehow gotten free his hands, sprang through the flames at the back, and run into the woods.