Calling Crow Nation (The Southeast Series Book 3) Page 7

  Fenwick watched the progress of the two braves in the water as he stood and moved forward. Calling Crow and his men continued to sit sedately and mutely on the floor of the skiff, as if the struggle no longer had anything to do with them.

  When the first of the swimmers drew close, Fenwick pulled his sword. Holding onto the gunnel, he leaned outward and swung. The man dived under the water and disappeared. Something thumped the bottom of the skiff and it lurched sideways, its forward progress slowed. On the spit of land ahead, the Timucua brave patiently sighted down the long barrel of the musket as he followed their progress. With a loud splash, a Timucua brave surfaced at the rear of the skiff, grabbing the transom and attempting to pull himself in. Samuel slashed at him with his sword and the man jumped back into the water, but not soon enough. A smear of thick blood adhered to the gunnel. The man’s bloodied head surfaced not far away and he began swimming feebly for the banks. The skiff suddenly wrenched sideways.

  “Miles!” shouted Samuel, “get him!”

  A brave had found solid footing on the mud of the stream and now held onto the bow eye, trying to pull the skiff to shore. Breuger and Patrick pulled hard at the oars as Miles leaned over the bow. Cursing, he brought his sword down and the brave let go. With the pull of the oars, the skiff lurched seaward again.

  “He’s going to take his shot now,” shouted Fenwick.

  “Christ in heaven,” said Breuger.

  “Everybody, get down,” said Samuel.

  They ducked their heads down as the musket erupted like thunder. The wood at the side of the skiff shattered and Breuger and Patrick quickly sat up to have a look.

  Samuel shouted at them. “Keep rowing, damn it.”

  Just forward of Samuel, a hole as big as a man’s hand had been opened in the side of the skiff only inches above the water line. With every swell, a quart or more of water slopped into the skiff. The musket ball had smashed one of the casks to splinters, spending its velocity before it could do any further damage. Samuel judged the distance to the ship and felt sick. Like most Englishmen, neither he nor his men could swim, and if the skiff took too much water-- He pushed the thought away; it was too gruesome to contemplate. He quickly knelt and took off his doublet, rolling it into a ball. He jammed it into the hole, but as soon as it got wet it collapsed and came out.

  Fenwick came back to look at the hole. “Lord above,” he said, “we’ll drown like rats!”

  “Shut up and bail,” said Samuel, “and get me a bloody bailing bucket.”

  Samuel got to his feet to take the bucket from Fenwick while Breuger and Patrick continued to pull for the ship. As he scooped up bucketsful of water, Samuel cursed. It was a losing proposition. He looked for something to fill the hole with. He noticed that one of Calling Crow’s men was hurt; his arm ran with blood. It didn’t matter, he thought, they were all going to drown anyway.

  Fenwick knelt to look at the man’s arm. “Wood splinters,” he said. “He’ll be all right.”

  Breuger and Patrick continued to row steadily but the skiff moved sluggishly as it filled with water.

  “We’re sinking!” said Fenwick plaintively.

  “Shut up and keep bailing,” said Samuel. Despair threatened to overwhelm Samuel and then he noticed that they had left the choppy waters where the river met the sea and the skiff was riding smoother in the long ocean swells. Very little seawater now came in the hole. Soon the water level had dropped and they were within hailing distance of the Contempt. The young native who was called Swordbrought touched Samuel on the shoulder. “Mire!” he said, pointing back to the shore. A hundred or so Timucua braves crowded on the beach, watching them expectantly.

  “Christ in heaven,” said Fenwick, “look at all of them.”

  “Give ‘em something to remember us by, Fen,” said Miles.

  Fenwick smiled and turned. He pulled his breeches down, exposing the pale white moon of his buttocks. The Indians on the beach grew visibly angry, some of them waving their lances, others shaking their fists in the air. Calling Crow and his men remained seated and said nothing. A while later they bumped into the ship and began climbing the ropes.

  The people of Coosa Town knew by the looks on the returning braves’ faces that they had not brought back their chief. The strong, brave men looked downward, their faces grim as they ran through the village toward the meeting house, the chokafa. The big brave, Little Bear, brought up the rear and seemed barely able to keep his feet. Reaching the large building, they filed inside and sat facing the sacred fire. Soon the Council members entered and took their seats solemnly. Several honored women entered, led by Green Bird Woman and Bright Eyes. They sat to the side, between the Council and the returned braves.

  Two Clouds stood. “Coosa warriors, what do you have to tell us?”

  Swift Arrow got to his feet. The other warriors looked downward at the mats. “I am sorry, but they are gone.”

  A deep moan escaped the people.

  Two Clouds’s voice boomed out. “Tell us what happened.”

  Swift Arrow looked around at the people and recounted the story of their search. “When we found the place where they had taken them,” he concluded, “there were still many Timucua warriors in the area. It appears that they are going to set up a camp there. We looked everywhere for our chief and could find no evidence of him, his son, or the others-- “

  “No!” shouted Green Bird Woman. “It cannot be.” Bright Eyes embraced her mother and she began crying.

  Swift Arrow went on, “We searched a place where many captives had been held and then some Timucua approached. We hid and overheard them talking about the raid. They said that all the captives had already been taken away on the white man’s floating house.”

  “Maybe they were lying,” said a man in the back. “You should have stayed and searched longer.”

  “Our great chief is dead,” an old woman shouted mournfully. Several other women began wailing. “We must pick someone else to lead us!” called out an old man fearfully.

  Green Bird Woman stood. “Stop,” she cried, and the commotion died down. “Calling Crow is not dead! He will come back to us.”

  For a few moments, the people tried to hold the hopeful words of Green Bird Woman close to them, to believe in them and draw courage from them. Then Swift Arrow turned slowly to her and said sadly, “It is true. We saw the floating house going away with our own eyes.”

  The people’s fear began to build again, manifesting in the sad buzzing of voices. Green Bird Woman bravely wiped away her tears and remained standing. Bright Eyes embraced her sadly.

  Two Clouds held up his arms. “This is a blue day for us; we have suffered a great loss. Now we must make preparations for war. The Timucua took our chief and his young son, and several of our best braves, and took them away on the white man’s floating house. For that we will take thirty of their best men. Let the preparations for war begin!”

  Chapter 8

  The Contempt sailed smoothly through calm seas, pushed by the trades. Samuel, John and Fenwick stood in front of the cowl built over the helmsman’s cutaway. On the deck below them, Miles manned the whipstaff, only his head visible as he steered the ship according to Samuel’s commands. Fifty feet away, Calling Crow and the other Indians stood in a group on the foredeck, watching the green-shrouded coast slip by. Samuel had offered them quarters out of the weather, below in the great cabin, the name given to the long, dark, unventilated deck that ran the length of the ship. Calling Crow had seemed to approve of the idea, but his men were loath to go below and so they had spent all their time under the weather. Fortunately, the weather had been good-cool and balmy at night, warm with steady breezes by day.

  Samuel’s fascination with the New Land natives was growing by the day. He wanted to know more about them but they kept themselves aloof and he thought it better not to approach them. They were solemn and quiet, as if possessed of great secrets. And they seemed to be aware of the Divinity. How did they come to this knowledge? And th
eir markings-- He thought of Fen’s wanting to know if they were Picts. The idea had seemed amusing, but now he wondered about it. Could there possibly be some connection between these men and the ancient wild people of England? Samuel was intrigued by this question and others. He wondered about their relations with the Timucua people. He especially wanted to talk to their leader, Calling Crow, about the crudely shaped iron club or axe in his belt. Did he get it from the Spanish?

  Calling Crow left his men and walked back toward the mainmast. He went over to one of the two remaining bales, which was lying on its side, and knelt to inspect it.

  “I’m going to talk to him,” Samuel said to the other men.

  “I am going with you,” said John.

  “Why is that, brother?”

  John frowned. “We don’t know this fellow.”

  Samuel shook his head. “Control yourself this time, man. I’ll not have any more outbursts on my ship!” John held his tongue, Samuel knew, at great effort to himself. They walked over to Calling Crow.

  Calling Crow looked up at them and said in Spanish, “How many shirts would this woolen cloth make?”

  “Over a hundred,” said Samuel.

  Calling Crow continued to examine the cloth.

  Samuel knew the Indian wanted the cloth. “Perhaps you would like to trade for it,” he said.

  Calling Crow looked up. “Perhaps.” He went back to inspecting the cloth.

  “He must have spent a long time as a Spanish slave,” said John. “He speaks their bloody language well. What is he saying?”

  “He is interested in the cloth.”

  Calling Crow addressed himself to Samuel. “Why have you come to these lands?”

  Samuel found the man’s eyes penetrating, as if he were trying to get inside his head and know his thoughts. “We came to trade with the Spanish,” he said.

  “I thought the English and Spanish were enemies.”

  “Yes, yet there is still trade between our two nations. But I will no longer be a part of it.”

  Calling Crow continued to study the two men. Finally he said, “I would like to trade with you.”

  Samuel nodded. “We have another bale of woolens in the belowdecks.”

  Calling Crow shook his head and looked at Samuel piercingly. “Wool is very good, but I want shooting sticks.”

  “Muskets?” said Samuel in surprise. He thought back to the Timucua and the idea repulsed him. He shook his head. “No, I’ll not trade any muskets, or swords. As I have said, we have another bale of woolens in the belowdecks. I will trade that.”

  Calling Crow paused for a few moments to look back down at the cloth. “Very well. After all the worry I have caused my people, I would like to bring home some presents for them.”

  Samuel nodded. “What would you give for the two bales?”

  “What do you want?” asked Calling Crow.

  “Enough food and water for our journey home.”

  “How long a journey?”

  “It will take us forty to fifty days.”

  “Come to my village,” said Calling Crow. “For the two bales of cloth I will see that you get enough food for your men for the return journey. Then we will talk more about shooting sticks.”

  “Well?” said John impatiently. “What is he saying?”

  “He wants to trade for muskets. I already told him we would not. Now he wants us to come to his village. He will victual us for the voyage home in return for the two bales of cloth.”

  John cast a quick look at Calling Crow and then looked back at Samuel. “Have you lost your senses, brother? Victual us? He will bloody victual on us if we go back with him!”

  “I will trade with him, John.”

  John’s face contorted in amazement. “Brother, making deals with the likes of him is like trying to make friends with a wild boar or an alligator.”

  “You are welcome to your opinions, John.” Samuel looked over at Calling Crow and went on. “This fine fellow has been a godsend. We must have victuals and fresh water, and he does seem to put great stock in honor. Therefore, we will trade with him.”

  Calling Crow watched the exchange between the two brothers and then continued to inspect the cloth.

  John spat over the rail. “I don’t want any more savage hospitality and I think you’ll have a hard time getting any of the others to go ashore with this lot too.”

  “Some will go.”

  “And the others and I will not rescue them if they get into trouble.” John walked off angrily.

  “Your brother does not like us,” said Calling Crow in Spanish. Samuel frowned.

  “No, it is not that,” he lied. “He is still angry and suspicious over what happened with the Timucua. He will calm soon.”

  “You love him very much,” said Calling Crow.

  “He is my brother.” Samuel’s face grew tense. “Calling Crow, I would like you to pray with me now.”

  “Why?” Calling Crow continued to inspect the cloth.

  “I would like to ask for God’s blessing on our friendship.”

  Calling Crow’s eyes narrowed as he looked up. “I will pray when I return to my village.”

  “But you don’t know how. I will teach you.”

  Calling Crow got to his feet and his face became hard. “Is your god like the Spanish god?”

  Samuel shook his head. “There is only one God.”

  “Then he is the same god?”

  Samuel nodded. “Of course.”

  “Then I already know how to pray to him. I have done so before in the Spanish churches.”

  One of Calling Crow’s men called over to him and he turned to listen.

  “I want to teach your people of God and his ways,” said Samuel, trying to hold the man’s attention.

  Calling Crow’s men continued shouting to him.

  “We are nearing our lands,” said Calling Crow. “Come, I will show you.”

  The Contempt hove to and anchored in a muddy bay. Seabirds wheeled inquisitively in a sunny blue sky as the skiff was lowered. Miles and Breuger climbed down with their muskets, setting them carefully in the skiff before taking up the oars. Samuel, John, Fenwick, and Calling Crow, his son Swordbrought, and the other Indian men, took their seats, and the skiff slowly moved toward the shore. When they were halfway there, they spied some boys upon the sand. The boys quickly disappeared and a few minutes later a dozen or so people appeared to watch their approach. Samuel grew concerned at the number of young men among them. Armed with bows and greatly agitated, their numbers grew by the minute.

  “Calling Crow,” said Samuel, “your people seem angry. What is the matter?”

  The tall Indian seemed unperturbed. “There is no need to worry.”

  John picked up one of the muskets, rapping his ring metallically against the barrel to get Calling Crow’s attention. “Tell him,” he said to Samuel, “that if there is any trickery, I shall open him up with this!”

  Miles and Breuger turned and cast worried looks at the growing group on the shore.

  Samuel’s voice was steady. “You keep yourself calm and steady, brother. If you can do that, then we shall be fine.”

  “Fine?” said John angrily. “Look at them! You are putting us at great risk. We should turn the boat around now before it’s too late.”

  Samuel said nothing.

  By the time they stepped ashore, the crowd had grown to more than a hundred noisy Newlanders. They crowded around the men from the skiff as they walked up the beach.

  John glared at them angrily and called to Samuel, “Tell the big one to move them back.”

  Breuger, Miles and Fenwick stayed close together, their hands on the pommels of their swords.

  “Calm yourself, John,” said Samuel. Samuel turned and had to shout into Calling Crow’s ear to make himself heard. “What is the matter with your people?” he said in Spanish.

  Calling Crow spoke without turning. “Some of them think it was you that took us away on your ship. They think that I am y
our hostage. I have told them that I am not, but there are still a few who think that I am in danger. Don’t worry. I will calm them.”

  One of the young warriors separated from the crowd and spoke excitedly to Calling Crow.

  Calling Crow raised his arms and the people quieted. Samuel noted the respect they accorded him. They evidently held him in great regard. Calling Crow spoke to his people in their tongue for a few minutes, calming them. He turned to Samuel and the people began talking among themselves again, the noise level rising. “We will go to our village now,” said Calling Crow. “It is called Aguacay. You will stay the night there and tomorrow there will be a feast in your honor. Come.”

  Calling Crow walked off, flanked by his lieutenant and his son. Samuel and his men followed close behind. The crowd of people closed in around them, staring excitedly at the Englishmen and their strange clothing.

  They followed a path that paralleled the river until they came to a small palisaded village. Samuel estimated there were about fifty houses. Calling Crow led Samuel and his men to a large building constructed atop a mound of packed earth. He spoke briefly to his lieutenant and then entered. Calling Crow indicated some woven mats in the center of the building, toward the front. “Samuel, sit. You will be fed.”

  Calling Crow turned to go and Samuel called out to him. “When will you return?”

  “In the morning. Make sure your men remain in here tonight.”

  Calling Crow turned and spoke to his men. They quickly filed out of the building, leaving the stunned Englishmen alone.

  Outside, Calling Crow turned and faced Red Feather. “Stay here tonight. See that the Englishmen do not wander around and do not allow anyone to get too close to them. There may still be a few in the village who mistakenly assume they had something to do with our capture.”

  “As you say,” said Red Feather.

  Calling Crow walked off.

  People called out to Calling Crow warmly as he walked slowly through the dirt streets of Aguacay in the gathering dimness. With a rolled-up length of the English woolen cloth tucked under his arm, he entered Green Bird Woman’s gate. Calling Crow ducked his head slightly as he entered her hut. Green Bird Woman knelt as she painted one of her pots. She turned and smiled at him, getting to her feet. She wore a doeskin gown with a pattern of geometric stick figures marching in squares and rectangles, all of them made up of colored stones. It was the prettiest gown Green Bird Woman owned and Calling Crow was touched that she had put it on for him. In her wavy black hair she wore one of her prized green feathers from the great parrot she once owned.