39

CHAPTER 5

Silently the men lined the rail to look at the land. Morning mist was still smoking off the surface of the river and the forested slopes, placing screens of greyness and mystery between one range of treetops and the next. At the water's edge marched endless ranks of trees, rough-barked pine and red cedar, their trunks emerging like pillars from the shadows and fading into them again, never changing, never quite the same.

Everyone was awed; no one spoke. There was no sound except the noises made by the ship and the voices of the men who were taking soundings and carefully trimming the sails. Even they called out no louder than was strictly necessary.

'Can you believe it?' muttered Ben Macquarie, standing next to Thomas.

'It's all ours,' breathed Thomas.

After so many weeks of flat horizons, the mere sight of the trees hemming them in so closely made Thomas feel giddy. The trees alone were menacing, aside from any threat they might conceal. Yet they were beautiful. The smells of land drifting towards him, of rotting leaves and seaweed drying on stones, intoxicated him. The forest, huge and luxuriant, seemed to reach back to the dawn of time. He felt, dimly, like a tiny child taking its first steps alone into the great, mysterious world.

Yet, looking round at the faces of those who stood near him, he wondered if he was mad to feel this way. Some of the men looked gloomy, others eager for the voyage to be over, but everyone looked afraid. Everyone except John Smith. Giving tiny nudges to the wheel and directing the men by hand and voice like a bandmaster with several groups of musicians, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Thomas wondered if Governor Ratcliffe was looking at the tree-lined shore from the window of his cabin just below, and whether he was afraid.

The largest treeless space they had seen yet opened out before them on the left bank of the estuary. There was a narrow beach of boulders bounded by a cliff only a few feet high, and then a hummocky, grassy meadow some hundred yards wide. At one end of it a stream emerged from the trees and wound its way in a silted bed down to the water.

'Here?' Captain Smith called to the sounder.

'Five and a half fathom. Mud.'

'Go in a bit closer. Free off ... slowly ... now?'

The lead splashed.

'Four and a half.'

'Stop! Bring her head to wind... Drop the anchor!'

The chain paid out, hissing and rattling. The ship swung, steadied, and came to rest, bows upstream; the falling tide flowed past more slowly than before.

Ben let out a long breath. 'Well – here we are, then!' he murmured to Thomas.

'Virginia!' returned Thomas gleefully.

*****

Pocahontas ran, climbed and crept through the trees along the river, heading downstream, keeping well back from the shore but every now and then peering cautiously between the branches to the pale water. At last, when she had gone perhaps a couple of miles, she caught sight of the strange object that had seemed to be carrying the clouds. It was standing still, out on the water. The clouds were gone but it was clearly the same thing: unreal as a child's nightmare, a canoe bigger than a chief's longhouse, breasting the water like a new island. It was frightening, but its shape was beautiful. Of all things that might have happened in answer to her dream, Pocahontas had never imagined anything like this. Had it really anything to do with her dream at all? Why should something so completely new be addressed to her, rather than anyone else? It certainly concerned the whole people and she knew that she should go home as fast as possible to warn the village, but still she lingered, in case something did happen which she, especially, was chosen to understand.

She wondered if it was a visitation of gods or spirits, but knew in her heart that it was not. Gods would become visible through the clouds, the rocks or the trees where they had always been worshipped. Something as bizarre, yet as real and tangible as this had to be the work of men. But what men?

The question was soon answered. From the ship, a boat of a more usual size and shape was coming to shore. She craned between the branches to see. It was coming to the field of the old village – there had been a village of her people there before she was born, but it had been destroyed in a raid and all the inhabitants had died; it was a sacred but unlucky place, and would have to be left for many years before anyone could make a home there again. She herself was afraid to go any closer in case she angered the spirits, but she had to see what would happen. In such a special case, they might forgive her. Murmuring a protective charm, she edged closer to the shore at one end of the meadow where the cliff was higher. Here a slaty headland projected into the river from the level of the forest. She took cover among dense bushes at the shore end of the headland, screened also by the branches of trees that grew lower down the cliff and almost on the beach itself, and peered over the edge.

The men – six, seven – were getting out of their boat and landing. Pocahontas gave a shiver of repugnance. Never had she seen such ill-assorted figures as these. It was not what she had expected, when there was so much beauty in the vessel that had brought them.

Each one was different from the others, in shape, size and colour, as if each was a carving that had turned out wrong in a different way. They wore bulky clothes all over that made them look misshapen, and they had strange hard-looking headdresses, pointed at the front and back. Their skins, she noticed, were pale, like fallen leaves whose colour has been leached out by the rain. They had hair on their faces as well as on their heads, and in none of them was it an ordinary black: it, too, was pale, in dull shades of dun or fox-colour, and one man's hair was yellow like kernels of ripe corn. Pocahontas looked more sharply at the man with the yellow hair, which was the first thing about any of them to strike her as attractive. He was tall and well-made under his odd clothes, and seemed to be in command. She faintly heard him speaking, in a language with sounds so strange that she could not have repeated them even immediately afterwards. He pointed the others this way and that; they scattered across the beach and meadow.

They behaved in a strange and impious way. Strangers landing on an unknown shore should first declare themselves to the spirits of the place and make an offering, and then call to make themselves known to the people, before exploring or taking anything. These men did no such thing. They shouted, but only to one another, with the bravado and familiarity of trespassing children. They scrambled up the bank, kicked the soil and looked at it. They went to the stream and drank of the water, then spat. They seemed to argue over the berries on a clump of bushes growing in the middle of the clearing before eating some. (Pocahontas's hand moved carefully between her mouth and a berry-bush next to her hiding-place; that was all the food she was going to get before noon, clearly.) And then – her throat suddenly tightened on the mouthful she was swallowing – they noticed the burned and almost buried remains of the old village, went right up to them and stood there talking and stirring the stumps of posts and wattle with their feet. Nothing happened to make the men look frightened, beyond the suspicious glances they had been casting around them ever since they landed.

Pocahontas was disgusted. These men were animals – prowling and pecking around with no more idea how to behave than carrion-birds. Even the spirits of the dead despised them too much to punish them. She almost wanted to take a stick, shout aloud and drive them off. But although she was not afraid, she was aware of her danger and stayed hidden. Some of the men were coming close to her now. Their faces were as strange as the rest of them, with unnaturally wide, staring eyes.

She started, and shrank deeper into the undergrowth. One man had taken a running leap into one of the trees growing at the base of the headland, and was climbing up. His head and arms, then the rest of him, came into sight only a few yards away from her, on the far side of a flat-topped rock. It was the man with yellow hair. She saw his face for a moment before he turned – shifting one hand at a time and kicking his feet firmly into their holds – to look out over the beach and the land. That face made sense. Suddenly she saw what these men could be – what their faces were supposed to look like. And now she really was afraid, although she could not tell why.

'You spotted anything, Captain?' shouted one of the men from below.

'Just taking a look,' John Smith replied.

He tipped his helmet off his head to hang down his back and let his hair blow loose in the wind. The air tasted like cool well-water. He scanned the horizon, feeling the springy, earth-rooted movement of the tree under him. Trees reached as far as the eye could see. Where the near horizon dipped and a sweep of further land showed blue in the gap, there were tiny notches on the further horizon: the forest was still there. Never had he seen such a land: remote, untouched, unknown – yet not completely strange. The trees were of kinds he had seen at home. The blue distance reminded him of something he had once known, at the extreme edge of memory. To come here was like being offered his life over again from the beginning, with larger, ampler materials from which to build it.

So they did have some sense of what was proper, thought Pocahontas. By the tilt of the man's head and his two outstretched hands against the branches, she knew he was speaking and listening to the spirits, drinking in the holiness of the place. She raised her head a little to see better, and at that moment he turned round. In a sudden rush of fear, she ducked under cover again. She must not be seen, above all not by this man.

He had turned because her raccoon, having followed her at his leisure down the shore from the willow-glade, had trotted out onto the rock close to him. The raccoon saw no reason at all to be afraid of the strange visitors: more people meant nothing but another source of food.

The man looked at the raccoon curiously, as if he had never seen one before. He crouched down, and gently reached out a hand in Meeko's direction. She thought she heard him say something in a low, amused voice. She shrank back. But just then one of the man's companions shouted impatiently to him from below and, after standing undecided for a moment, he called back and turned to climb down the tree. He disappeared from sight, then reappeared further away on the beach with the others, heading back towards their boat.

Pocahontas drew a long breath of relief. He had saluted the spirits; she thought the better of him for it; but she was glad he was going away. Perhaps now their huge boat would move on, further up the river or back out to the open sea, and her task of watching would be over. She had better watch a while longer to make sure. But the strange clouds did not reappear; the ship stayed where it was. Morning went on, the day grew warm and close, and at length, while Pocahontas still watched, boats put out from the ship again: more boats, bringing more men and tackle ashore. They meant to stay.

* ****

Sir John Ratcliffe paused with a piece of candied fruit half way to his lips when he heard the quick feet coming down the steps to his cabin door. As usual, John Smith gave only the most perfunctory knock before he entered – burst in, one might almost say, bringing with him his usual irritating air of decision and vitality. The governor had not even spoken his question before it was answered:

'It'll do, Governor! The water's good, the ground's high enough – soil looks all right – and there's deep water right by the shore just past the clearing where we can pull her in to unload.'

'Good ... Any sign of natives?'

'Some ruined huts, nothing more. But they can't be far away. We must try to make ourselves known to them as soon as possible.'

'As I said, I leave that matter in your hands. The one thing that concerns me is that they do not impede our mission.'

'Yes, Governor. That's understood.'

'Very well, then. Give the order.'

'Already done, sir. The crew are mustered and ready to land, but I thought you might like to speak to them first: easier now than when we're ashore.'

'To be sure, Captain Smith. I shall join you in a few minutes. Is that all?'

'One thing, sir. Some of the men have fever and they are all hungry: they need to save their strength. I've told them they may be excused from standing while you address them. Is that in order?'

Ratcliffe pursed his lips and exhaled impatiently. 'Yes, Captain,' he said deliberately.

'Thank you, sir,' said John Smith, unruffled.

'Very well. On the after-deck in five minutes.' He motioned to Wiggins to close the door behind Captain Smith as he left.

He absent-mindedly rolled up a chart that was lying on the table, and then went and stood in front of his looking-glass. Wiggins came up quietly and began to help him fasten on his sword-belt.

'The men like Smith, don't they?' he said to Wiggins.

'It seems so, sir,' said the servant non-committally and tightened the buckle behind Ratcliffe's back.

Ratcliffe said no more. He drained the wine-cup that had been standing on the table. Wiggins brushed and straightened his wide, lace-edged collar.

Popularity. Easy for a here-today, gone-tomorrow captain - a man who came from nowhere and was at home everywhere. How they annoyed him, these blue-eyed, self-sufficient soldiers, who thought that risking their necks and eating mouldy biscuit with their rabble made them men of substance – the equals of someone like himself. What did they know of the demands of rank? Of the cold eyes of ancestors and cousins, the chill wind in inherited halls and fields? What did they know of the intrigues at court, where lies were the air you breathed and betrayal was the bread you ate? It had to be so: at the seat of power, where real decisions were made, it was never any different. Popularity, in such a setting, was despicable. Only men who did not count were popular; men who had so far forgotten any aims and loyalties they had ever had that any wind could blow them about.

John Smith clearly did not count. Then why not forget him? Simply use him – for he was a useful man? Ratcliffe admitted to himself that his own trouble was that although he had learned the game of power as thoroughly as any man, it had not worked for him. Time after time he had made his moves in exemplary fashion and waited for the expected outcome in vain. The fruits of favour had not tumbled into his lap. This Virginia expedition, now, was a route to glory, but a hard and risky one; a throw he need never have made if his earlier plans had succeeded as they might have done for other men. His failures threw his whole way of life into doubt, to the point where he could be ruffled by any self-confident whipper-snapper like this Smith.

The more important it was to succeed this time. He must be all-seeing, firm, and ruthless. No one was going to filch the credit for building the Virginia colony. It would belong to John Ratcliffe. He was ready.

John Smith felt uneasy as he climbed back on deck. He had joined this expedition convinced of Governor Ratcliffe's ability and resolution. Nothing had yet happened to change his mind on that score. At first he had not minded the governor's chilly manner. At the beginning of their acquaintance it was natural and proper. However, by now – at the end of a ten-week voyage, during which Smith had reported to Ratcliffe every day –one might have expected him to unbend a little and no longer to be constantly reminding Smith that his place was perhaps a little higher than a servant's, but not much.

The reason, or one reason, was clear. John Smith tried not to let it irritate him but it was difficult. For heaven's sake, he thought impatiently, why must I put up with this all the time? Look at him. He is much older than I am; he's a nobleman, he's reached a position in the world which I never will, he has power and responsibility over far more than a few boys' games with boats and guns. Why does he have to envy me?

Now and then, John gave way to an impulse to tease Ratcliffe deliberately. Every time, he told himself it had to be the last. It was too dangerous, particularly now that there were matters of substance at stake. While at sea, John Smith had been in command. Ratcliffe, a landsman, could be no more than formally in charge: he could offer suggestions, but had to defer to John Smith's judgment. He certainly had offered suggestions. The business about Thomas had been a case in point. As John Smith had expected, Ratcliffe had brought it up the day after the storm and had suggested that Thomas should be disciplined for his clumsiness in falling overboard. John Smith had answered as smoothly as butter that Thomas was a passenger, not a sailor, and did not come under seamen's rules. He had been working on the cannon only because the man who was responsible for checking their fastenings had shirked the job. That man had been disciplined, by being put on the night watch for the rest of the voyage. In any case, Thomas was hardly likely to fall overboard again for his own amusement. Ratcliffe had conceded the point, which should have been obvious anyway. But John Smith had come away from the interview seething, because he could see that he, not Thomas, was the real target of Ratcliffe's criticism, perhaps rightly. He was, for the moment, too important to touch, while Thomas was fair game. He was made aware of Ratcliffe's displeasure without being given the chance to defend himself; and an unfair threat was made against a harmless boy. If this was Ratcliffe's style of discipline, there was going to be trouble, now that the voyage was over and Smith was about to become a professional subordinate, the soldier of the party, like the surgeon and the carpenter.

John sensed trouble about the Indians, too. Time and again, already, he had spelled out his intended policy towards the natives to Ratcliffe and had never got either explicit agreement or any clear counter-suggestions. He did not know whether this was because Ratcliffe had a plan of his own that he intended to spring on him when the time came, or just because of Ratcliffe's personal antipathy to him and his preference for keeping all his subordinates in a state of uncertainty. Either way, he did not like it.

Well, he thought angrily, here we still are on board and Sir John is still in his cabin dusting his collar. I may as well give them my view of the matter while I can. He ought to be pleased with me for warming them up for him.

He went to the wheel and shouted for attention. 'Gentlemen,' he said to the assembled company, 'in a few minutes Governor Ratcliffe will address you and then we shall be going ashore. It has been a hard voyage, but we have arrived safely and without losses. Well done, and thank you.

'If this were an ordinary voyage, you would have time to rest and recover now. Instead, for us, the hardest days of our whole enterprise lie ahead. We must establish ourselves quickly in a position of strength; we must convince the natives that we mean business. We must keep up our courage, although we do not know what lies ahead of us. We know that if we succeed in these first few weeks, we are almost sure to succeed for good; once we get the seed planted, it will grow by itself.'

He looked around the crowded faces, seeing the hungry, apprehensive eyes sucking in hope from his words. He smiled.

'The most urgent matter is handling the natives properly,' he said. 'If we do that, we have nothing to fear. We don't see them yet, but they have almost certainly seen us. They will be here before the day is out, probably, to see what we are up to. Don't be afraid! There is no reason for them to think we are enemies: we will be a marvel to them. Let's keep it that way for a while. If we are courteous, they will be hospitable. Let them see our strength, and the benefits we can offer them. All their tools and weapons are wood and stone. We can trade them tinder and flint, knives and fish-hooks, for the food and land we need from them. And they can see our cannon and draw their own conclusions. Your native is not such a savage as all that. He may be warlike, but he understands the nature of a balance sheet; he knows which side his bread's buttered.'

The men laughed.

'So – let us tread softly at first. We know that if it comes to a battle we must certainly win; but our task will be made much easier if we have a breathing space first.' At this point, John Smith noticed that Ratcliffe was coming up the companionway; the men all bowed and made way for him, and John at once stepped aside from his commanding position at the wheel. 'Governor Ratcliffe is going to lead us ashore in a few moments,' he said. 'From now on you will be under his orders. It is our honour to be the first Englishmen to make a home in this land. Let us go in God's name and in the service of our King and country. Governor …' he bowed and then held out his hands to indicate to Ratcliffe and the men that the floor was now his.

Ratcliffe was applauded. He stood, feet apart, resplendent in velvet and lace, holding the royal commission to his paunch. 'Fellow countrymen,' he began ringingly, 'Captain Smith has spoken well in reminding you of the honour of serving your King and country in this enterprise which now begins in earnest. We may seem few and small on the edge of this great land, but don't forget what this colony can be in years to come, if we plant it boldly now. The beginnings of an empire – untold wealth for ourselves and our country! A bastion of England's power in the world; a counterpoise to the arrogance of Spain; a beacon for the Protestant faith.

'If all this comes to pass, it will be due to us: we will have changed the course of the world and men to come will praise us. Let us be worthy of the task. This is a moment for brave men, not cowards or shirkers. If we succeed, we shall have glory. If we fail, infamy or death, and we will deserve them.

'No rabble of savages must deflect us from our course. What are men who live no better than beasts, compared to a great Christian nation? We can laugh at their bone arrows and stone knives, and if any come looking for trouble, we shall give them a proper English welcome. Shan't we, men?'

The company laughed and cheered, and John Smith bit his lip, noticing that Ratcliffe's words were being received with more enthusiasm than his own.

'Reverend Brown will now lead us in prayer. Then we will disembark. You have your orders; follow them.'

Within a few minutes the landing was in full swing. John Smith took charge of towing the ship in to a deep, scooped-out curve of the river bank so that the stores could be lowered straight to land. Some men pitched tents, others went under the directions of the master carpenter to begin felling trees with which to build a stockade. Still others rolled the water-breakers to the stream to be washed and refilled. The work was well organised, but John Smith noticed how the men, despite having rested all night while the ship was anchored in the roads of the estuary, moved slowly and stumblingly about their tasks.

Thomas was beside him while they moored the ship fore and aft to trees on shore. 'Captain Smith,' he said hesitantly, 'is it true what you said about the natives having seen us already?'

'For sure, Thomas. There are bound to be people about in a place like this.'

'But ... where are they?'

'There aren't so many of them as there would be of us. They don't make much use of the land, compared to what we do, but you can wager they know who owns every tree.'

'Owns?'

'Owns, has a right to ... whatever. All right, let's check the other end.'

Thomas said nothing for a minute. Then he said, 'I thought they just ... lived in the forest, and if you drove them off they'd go somewhere else and not know the difference. You know ... like deer, I suppose.'

'No, it's not like that. Their homes are their homes, although they don't look like much to us. But we'll all be finding out a lot more about them than we know now, pretty soon. Is that done then?' He shouted up to Christopher Dawkins on deck. 'Carry on unloading. I must go and speak to the governor.'

He sought out Ratcliffe, who was supervising the erection of his tent. 'Governor,' he said, 'I suggest we let all the men pause for food and drink in a few minutes, and when they start again make sure they spell each other and no one works for more than an hour without a rest. Look at them.'

Ratcliffe looked at him. 'If the mate and the carpenter suggest it, I agree,' he said. 'I presume they know what the men are capable of.'

'You must decide, sir,' said John shortly. 'For myself, if you agree, I am going to explore the terrain and try to find out where the native settlements are. I'm surprised the natives haven't shown themselves yet, but it's better we come to them than wait for them to come to us, and the sooner the better.'

'By all means. Will you go alone?'

'Yes. I think it's safer. I shall be back by sunset at the latest.' He paused a moment. 'Before we landed I gave the order that if any Indians came, we should be friendly towards them, and, above all, avoid bloodshed unless our lives are in danger. We need to trade for food. We must not provoke them. Look at the men. They aren't in any fit state to fight a battle in the next few days... I am leaving them in your hands, Governor Ratcliffe.'

The ghost of a smile showed on Ratcliffe's sour face. 'Safe, I trust, Captain Smith,' he answered. 'There will be no fighting unless events demand it. We are ashore now. Go and do your job.'

In Ratcliffe's usual tone this would have been highly offensive, but as it was accompanied by the first good humour he had ever shown, John Smith chose to accept it.

Someone had to go to reconnoitre and it had to be himself. For most of the company, after weeks at sea, the land would still be moving up and down like a sheet on a clothesline. It would be highly unsafe to send them out into hostile country. But he felt uneasy about leaving them. He collected his musket, his compass and a pair of wax tablets, and some biscuit, and then paused for a few more minutes watching the work. What will they do if the Indians come? he wondered. Then he rallied himself: It's as Ratcliffe said. He is in charge now and you have your task like everyone else, and this is it. You find it pleasant. That is no reason not to do it. Sulking because you're not top dog any more? Don't be absurd, Smith.

With a sense of release he turned away from the camp and plunged into the trees. As he headed for higher ground, he moved warily and paused every few minutes to listen, but he neither saw nor heard the slender, shadowy shape that followed him.