There was a good smell of food in the air, pleasing because it was of the
country. The cooks had boiled venison and wild turkey together, which all
relished.
Seated, Abby and I ate and talked of our son to be … or daughter. And with our
food we drank the water of the Roanokes, as fresh and clear as water could be.
We talked of our home in the blue mountains, the home that was to be, and they
were fine, bold dreams we had.
Wa-ga-su came suddenly from the darkness and spoke softly to me, and I did not
move, but reached out with my swordcase and touched Jeremy upon the shoulder. He
glanced from me to Wa-ga-su and got up slowly, walking to the pot for another
helping, then back to us.
“Three canoes,” Wa-ga-su said, “twenty, thirty men. They are on warpath.”
“Jeremy,” I said, “as quietly as can be, send Slater, Magill, and Black Tom
Watkins to the boats to join Fitch, and do the rest move one by one to the
shadows and to the fallen trees near the boats. Leave the fires burning.”
“What is it, Barnabas?” Abby asked.
‘There will be a fight. Get to the boats, you and Lila.”
No sound disturbed the quiet night. Men walked away and darkness remained. The
men looked to their muskets. As for myself, I put three pistols in my belt and
carried a musket also.
The night was still. Somewhere a nightbird called.
They came with a rush.
They came with savage yells, intending to strike terror to our hearts, and had
they found us unawares or sleeping, the yells and the sudden attack might have
done so. Nor was the attack so well planned as I thought them usually to be.
They had seen our fires, and without closer inspection, decided we must be
gathered around them. They must have waited some time.
When they finally charged toward the firelight, spears and tomahawks poised to
strike, they came upon emptiness. One warrior, quick to perceive, had turned
sharply back when Slater shot him.
It was taken as a signal, and all of us fired. And in an instant they were gone
… vanished.
Three bodies lay upon the earth, two obviously dead, the third only wounded. Yet
he lay still.
I could see his eyes. They were open and alert, although he had been hit hard.
We reloaded our guns. The night was so still I could hear the rustling water
among the reeds at the shore. Pim was beside me and I whispered to him, telling
him to get the boats afloat and all aboard.
He slipped away. There was still the faint smell of powder smoke mingled with
the dampness of mud, wet foliage, and the smoke from our now dying fires. Behind
me I heard faint movements, and Glasco came up to my side. “I don’t like it,” he
muttered. “It was too easy.”
“You’re right. We’re going to pull out. I’d rather row all night than lose a
single man.”
From down the shore we heard a splintering crash, then another, and then a
third.
Then all was silent again.
At the last moment, with all aboard, I waited … listening. There were faint,
whispering movements, then silence. Overhead there were stars.
My hands touched the rough bulwark, and in utter silence we moved away. So
silently that I heard but once the sound of a paddle.
“Will they follow?” I asked Wa-ga-su.
“No canoe,” he replied.
“But they must have canoes.”
“No canoe,” he replied, and I detected a smug satisfaction in his tone. “I fix.”
The oars dipped deep, and we moved off into the night. Abby was close beside me.
I put my hand over hers and she leaned her head against my shoulder.
“Tired?” I asked her.
“Yes …”
“You’ve a right to be tired. We’ll find a good place and rest.”
“No, it’s all right, Barnabas. I’ll be all right.” She paused a moment. “There
is so little time before winter comes.”
It was in all our thoughts. We were alone in an unknown land, with danger all
about, and no hope of rescue if aught went wrong. We had cut all ties, but we
floated together in the vast interior of this green strange land.
We were moving toward the mountains where it would be cold during the winter,
and we had meat to kill, fuel to gather, shelters to build. Our only security
lay in ourselves, in what we were, and what we would become. But had I chosen
from thousands those who were with me, I could not have chosen better.
Leaving the bow, I went back to take the place of Tim Glasco at an oar, and
after a half hour I shifted across the boat to give Kane O’Hara some rest. When
I returned to the bow, Abby was asleep, as was Lila. I moved alongside Wa-ga-su.
“Tell me about the river,” I suggested.
“There are villages,” he replied. “One of them we will see tomorrow or the day
after.”
“Are the Catawbas a strong people?” I asked.
He shook his head somberly. “We are strong, but we have lost many men in war
with the Iroquois, and we have been driven from our country in the north. The
Iroquois fight everybody, kill everybody. Very savage, those people.”
He spoke English well enough, after his months with us, and I spoke a good deal
of his language.
“Then the Cherokee attacked us and we were driven to the place we live now. We
will go no further. We will fight them again and again, but we will not leave.”
“Are all of your people here?”
“No … some are still in the north, but they will come.”
“Wa-ga-su, we have told you how many are the English. Soon they will come here.
Many will come. Some will return, some will die, but more will come. We would be
friends to your people. Think on this, and say what you think to your people.”
“You wish me to say it is good for Catawba to join with the Queen’s men?”
“I cannot advise you, Wa-ga-su. Much harm may come from it. What is right for us
is not always right for you, and those of us who come are hungry for land—”
“There is enough for all.”
“That may be. I do not know if there is ever enough. And there will be trouble
with the English and the French and the Spanish even as there was trouble with
the Iroquois.”
Wa-ga-su was silent.
We continued to row.
The first light of dawn was upon the water, vaguely yet, but swirls of water
could be seen and ripples, and the trees began to outline themselves against the
morning sky. One last star hung in the sky like a far-off lamp. Turning, I spoke
to Jeremy, who was at the tiller. “There!” I pointed. “We will eat and rest.”
We went up to the shore in the dawning, and beached our boats on the water, not
too firmly, and tied them with slipknots, and a man remained armed with a musket
in each boat. The rest stepped ashore and I walked along, gathering bits of
brush and bark as I went. Others picked up driftwood, and behind some of the
logs and rocks we found a smooth place some twenty feet across. Pulling some
rocks together for a crude fireplace, I shredded some bark in my hands, put it
down, and added twigs. Spilling a thumbnail of powder on the flattest piece of
bark, I removed the charge from my pistol and, cocking it, pulled the trigger. A
spark leaped into the powder and in an instant the fire was going.
Wa-ga-su had disappeared into the brush. I warned the others, so that a hasty
shot might not kill him, and walked back to the boats.
“Keep down,” I said, “and keep your eyes open. They can be all around before you
see them.”
Matt Slater went down to the stream to fish. There was a deep pool just below
where the boats lay and he cast his hook there.
We ate and then slept on the grass with two men guarding; then those men slept
and two more took over. Wa-ga-su returned. He had seen many deer and turkey
tracks.
Shortly after noon we started upstream again, this time using sails, as there
was better wind. It was not much, but it saved us all the labor of rowing or
poling against the current. We moved up slowly. When we camped at dusk we were
more than twenty miles from the scene of the fight.
Day after day, we pushed on. The stream grew narrower, the water, if possible,
clearer. We hunted with our bows and arrows, killing turkeys aplenty and an
occasional deer.
And all of us were changing. We were better hunters. We had become stronger and
more confident. Traveling along a stream as we were, there was always game, and