To reviewers, my thanks. Laur, I purposely made John Smith about as non-religious as I think it would have been possible to be in the early seventeenth century, when a monotheistic world view was essentially the only one available in Europe. But I have to admit, as I wrote this he steadily became someone whom such questions would probably bother more than they would the character in the movie. Scholarwriter, you've completely got it. I hope that the extent to which I work out this theme won't disappoint you: but events are moving quickly to a climax now!

Disclaimer: Disney characters

CHAPTER 17

Pocahontas stayed for a minute or two longer peering out from the river-bank to see the issue of the fight. It did not go on long. The small boat belonging to the strangers disappeared inshore, and the Indian allies bent to their paddles, coming on up the river, their rowing chant with some added victory whoops heard clearly on the wind. Pocahontas knew what would happen next. They would turn ashore to beach their canoes somewhere quite close to where she was now standing, at the foot of the rapids. Then they would continue to the village on foot: it had been built above the rapids in the days of Massowomeck dominance, precisely to make attack from the water more difficult.

There was no time to lose. Her father, alerted by messengers, would certainly be at the village now waiting to welcome the newcomers. She would never get a better chance to speak to him. She was buoyed up by the knowledge that her guardian spirit had spoken to John Smith, when there was no knowing whether she would speak to anyone except Pocahontas, certainly not to a man and a foreigner. Surely if Grandmother Willow thought that John Smith was a fit and proper person, so might Powhatan. One day, perhaps, she would be able to ask John Smith what the spirit had said to him. But a lot had to happen before that time came.

She ran as quickly as she could back to the village, coming out of the forest at the edge of the fields and mingling as best she could with the women streaming down towards the water's edge. The place was like an anthill: while she had been gone, everyone else had arrived back. The river bank was lined with shouting, jostling young men and gaggles of over-excited children. Cooking pits had been dug on the level ground near the shore, smoke was rising and there was a smell of baking meat as women moved to and fro adding fuel. Behind the heat haze she could see Powhatan, surrounded by Kekata, a small group of elders, his sister and his two eldest nephews, and a guard of honour which included Kocoum, standing among the ceremonial pillars near the water's edge.

She came to a stop out of breath, her own hands falling to her sides as she considered her next move. A voice sounded in her ear before she had time to see that Nakoma was beside her. 'Pocahontas! Where were you … what were you doing with one of them…?'

Pocahontas ignored her, thinking hard. She had a right, and was expected, to stand with the chief to welcome the allies. But she ought to have oiled and braided her hair, washed her feet, painted her face, put on an extra necklace. There was no time now. And her father would not want to talk to her. He was careful never to give her special attention in front of the rest of the family, especially on public occasions like this. Never mind. It would have to be managed as best she could.

She edged forward towards the circle. Luckily Kekata, who liked her, saw her first and let his eyes twinkle. The warriors stared stonily ahead, Kocoum as impassive as any of them. Her aunt, wrapped in a long fringed cloak and so many necklaces that her shoulders were stooped, gave an icy glare which Pocahontas met with a gracious smile.

'The gods have given us a good day,' she said easily, as if bestowing a favour. 'I have seen the warriors. They were just arriving under the rapids – they may have drawn up their boats by now.'

At the sound of her voice her father turned round with a momentary, lightening smile on his face. 'Pocahontas! Welcome, daughter. I was anxious … You should have stayed near the village, not gone out to see the warriors. It is not safe.' He said all this as if he were whispering aside during a ceremony. After a moment, however, he said aloud and with fuller attention, 'Have you just come from the rapids? Had they not come ashore yet?'

'No.'

'Then it will be some time before they are here. Let us sit down.' And he, his sister and the elders settled themselves cross-legged on the ground, although the young men remained standing.

All around, the crowd had grown a little quieter and less mobile, its hum of expectation broken only by an occasional high-pitched shout from an excited child or a directing cook. Powhatan gazed straight ahead with a calm but eager expression on his face, as if he were listening to the details of a successful battle. Pocahontas stood before him as if waiting for a chance to launch a boat among rough waves.

'Father,' she began.

'Yes, daughter,' he said absently.

'There is something I must say to you …'

'Now is not the time to speak, Pocahontas,' said her aunt sternly.

'Let her alone,' said Powhatan. 'What is it, Pocahontas? But be quick.'

'We need not fight the strangers!' said Pocahontas passionately. 'It is still not too late. There must be another way!'

Powhatan, silencing his sister and the scandalized elders with one lifted hand, looked at Pocahontas seriously and spoke quietly. 'Why do you say this, daughter? After all the wars we have fought, why are you afraid?'

'I am not afraid. I wish … to know. To know them. That is why.'

'Now, of that I am afraid. Listen to what I am saying, and believe it, Pocahontas.' He still spoke slowly and thoughtfully, as if they were alone. 'You are young; you are curious. But Kekata knows, and I know, that these people's wisdom, if it is real at all, is the enemy of ours. If we even meet them, it will eat away at ours as termites eat wood, and leave us in ruins. They are too different from us. Our only hope is to destroy them quickly, as one destroys a termites' nest.'

Pocahontas gazed at him despairingly. He was right, and wrong. She could not dispute what he said except by revealing what she still could not.

'But if you could look into the eyes of one of them, Father … and see truth there … would you not believe it?'

'If,' he replied. She could tell that he was unwilling for this talk to continue, but was moved by the desperation he sensed in her. 'But I would be afraid of believing in truth where there was only falsehood. They are beyond understanding.'

'If one of them were brought to you alone,' she said, taking her courage in both hands, 'if he did you honour, if he were ready to make amends for the harm they have done – would that not be enough for peace?'

'I cannot say. But if one came alone, I would not kill him: I would have to listen, though it would be against my judgement.'

'You would not kill him? Give me your word, Father!'

Powhatan was startled at her sudden vehemence and her blazing eyes. Again there came to him the conviction that some spirit had spoken to her that could not be ignored. And a more solid conviction came to him, too: that she had met one of these men. He would have sifted the matter out on the spot had they been alone together. But there was even greater danger, both for him and for her, in speaking of it any more here than in letting it pass. Nor could he say, in front of all those present, 'I give you my word.'

'I have said that I would not kill him,' he repeated dryly.

A shout went up at the downstream end of the village. 'They are here!' A drum began to beat.

Pocahontas had drawn in her breath to speak again: in fact she had been about to say, 'I met one.'

'We cannot speak any more now,' said Powhatan to his daughter. 'I will welcome our allies, the council will meet, and we will prepare for war. Be wise, Pocahontas. Stay in the village until it is time to set out with the other women. Do not go anywhere alone, I command you. Everything will be as the gods decide.'

Nijlon took Pocahontas by the arm with claw-like fingers and drew her back several steps as Powhatan turned to meet the chief of the Tapahannocks, who advanced flanked by his senior warriors, resplendent in long cloak and red feathers. She bowed, with the other women and young men, as the chiefs clasped hands. She watched her father as he invited Kekata to speak a ritual welcome, ushered the visiting chief forward to present the elders to him, turned this way and that to address a courteous word to each guest and dignitary, perfectly adjusted to each man's rank. She was awed, as always, by how consummately her father did his task. At the same time it all seemed hollow to her. She was angry, abashed, unsure whether to feel triumph or despair at what she had achieved.

'You shameless girl,' said her aunt in an undertone when the men had moved away. 'Look at yourself. If you cannot appear with any more dignity than that, it would be better if you stayed away. And who are you to babble to your father when he has chiefs' business to think of?'

'That is for him to say,' said Pocahontas disgustedly. She shut her ears to anything more that the woman might say, and followed the chiefs with her eyes as they mounted the slight slope to the longhouse door. Powhatan lifted the speaking staff he was carrying, and a hush fell.

'Welcome in the name of Powhatan to our friends and brothers,' he said. 'Now that you are here, we will defeat the enemy. Rest from your journey, eat and drink, and we will take council together. If the gods are willing, the next days will see our victory.'

Hosts and guests alike shouted approval, and the leading men stooped and disappeared inside the longhouse. Pocahontas went and took her share of the work of serving the food. She hoped that she might position herself so as to be the one who took the leaders their food as they deliberated, but somehow the older women managed to ensure that the task went to someone else.

*****

John Smith guessed, without thinking, as he hurried unconcealed along the ridge-top trail towards the English camp, that the Indians would have left the camp unguarded now that their warriors were gathering, and he was right. No one challenged him until he came to the forest's edge opposite the stockade, when he saw a sudden movement above the top of the fence: someone was pointing a musket at him. He shouted and waved his arms, and in a moment the wicket-gate was opened a crack and an urgent voice called: 'Captain! Come in quick!'

'Thank God you're safe, sir!' went on the sentry, Nick Gates, breathlessly, and slammed the gate as soon as John was inside.

'What's been going on here? Why all the shooting?' he asked, trying to sound light-hearted, but a glance around the enclosure was enough to tell him that something was seriously wrong. Ratcliffe was nowhere to be seen, but most of the men were milling around the platform. Going towards it, John saw Lon Carden, the red-bearded sailor, sitting on the edge, holding his left arm above the elbow in his other hand. There was an arrow sticking deep into his upper arm, and blood had soaked his sleeve and trickled down into the gaps between his fingers.

'You ought to pull it out, man,' someone was saying.

'It won't come easy,' said Lon in a high, shaken voice, 'and surgeon, he said to leave it until he could do it for me, or it'll bleed too much.'

Someone brought Lon a cup of water and held it for him as he drank, his teeth chattering against the rim, unwilling to loosen his grip on his injured arm.

'What's the surgeon doing now?' asked John Smith. Everyone belatedly noticed he was there and turned towards him.

'He's in the hospital with young Helmsley, the alchemist, rock-man, whatever you call him, setting his arm,' someone volunteered. 'And the governor's in there with them.'

'Can anyone tell me what's happened?' asked John. 'Not you, Lon. Who else was there?'

'I was,' said Ben Macquarie from nearby. 'It was the Indians, you see, they started throwing rocks at us …'

'Where are they now? Are they likely to attack again?'

'No, they've all gone now.' Ben seemed unhurt, but exhausted and shocked; he took several deep breaths, looking around him as if bewildered, before he started his story.

'In the morning after sun-up, see, Governor Ratcliffe ordered us out in the boat, four of us …'

'Oh, he did, did he?' murmured John, with understanding and rage beginning to creep through his veins like poison.

'Master Helmsley and three of us to row him: he was supposed to go and look at the rocks in the sea-cliffs, get an idea whether there was likely to be any gold in them, any metal.'

'Didn't any of you know I ordered everyone to stay in camp today?' demanded John.

'Yes, I knew,' said Christopher Dawkins's voice behind him. John swung round. 'Don't look at me like that, Captain Smith,' Dawkins went on. 'I was working on the ship. Someone came and said could they take the boat, and I thought they meant for fishing. It's not up to me to watch Governor Ratcliffe every minute of the day.'

Even the usually imperturbable Dawkins was close to panic, John could tell. 'Be easy, I'm not blaming you,' he said. He knew without being told why Dawkins had spent the first day after the stockade was finished working flat-out on the ship. A seaworthy Susan Constant might well turn out to be the only thing that could save all their lives in the immediate future, though they might starve later.

'So…?' he prompted, turning back to Ben.

'It was fine, flat calm, we rowed south up that creek next down towards the sea, it's got high cliffs at the head of it and a waterfall coming over. Master Helmsley took his time, going close inshore, looking at all the rocks, banging away with his hammer. And I suppose they heard us. Indians, up at the top of the falls, they sent rocks down on our heads. Jumping up and down there whooping and laughing. One of us had gone ashore to hold the boat steady, a rock split his head open, he fell in the sea stone dead.'

'Who was killed?'

'Robert Treluswell.'

John Smith drove his fist into the planks of the platform so hard he felt his knuckles split.

'God rest his soul,' he said automatically, choking inside with wild rage.

'Master Helmsley got his arm broken, and the boat was holed,' went on Ben, in full spate, but John hardly heard him. 'Me and Lon got her back, rowing and baling, any way we could. And when we were nearly back at camp, up the river come all these canoes, full of painted Indians, we rowed till we were nearly dead or they'd have cut us off from the bank. Lon got an arrow in the arm as it was. I took a shot at them and the lads in camp started firing at them too and they cleared off, thank God. I thought we'd never make it.'

'I'm glad you did,' said John and stood up. 'Tell the quartermaster to give you a measure of rum if he hasn't already. Lon, you come with me to the hospital. The surgeon will have more time to treat your arm if I relieve him of Ratcliffe.' He said it deliberately, with no 'Governor' or 'Sir John'.

'Captain, we'll be fighting the Indians now, won't we?' Ben called after him urgently.

'No, we will not,' returned John.

As he walked towards the hospital tent, supporting Lon, who was faint, he thought he heard a voice inside murmuring, then tailing off, and, as he shouldered his way in through the flap, he distinctly heard Ratcliffe ask sharply, 'So you say these crystalline veins may hold more than one kind of metal?'

The young alchemist, grey-faced, was sitting on a bench, the surgeon fastening a splint on his arm, Ratcliffe pivoting on his heel as he paced up and down.

'Here's your other customer, master surgeon,' John said without prelude. 'Keep your mind on your work. You,' he walked straight up to Ratcliffe, 'come outside with me.'

'Captain Smith!' remonstrated Ratcliffe, eyebrows arched.

'This man has an arrow wound,' said John, his voice shaking with rage, 'one has a broken bone, one's killed. This is your doing, you and your crazed greed. Where will you stop? Come outside.' He held the tent flap open for Ratcliffe and he, staring, went out.

'Captain Smith, you forget yourself,' he said reasonably.

'No,' said John, pitching his voice to carry, no longer caring who heard or what might come of it. 'But you, it seems, forgot my orders, you forgot your word that you gave me last night, you thought you could send these men off unprotected, off to find your gold behind my back, like a boy sneaking into the pantry at night to steal cakes. Your gold!'

'I am in command here…' said Ratcliffe sharply.

'I have the King's commission too, and by God I will not be taken as lightly as this! You trusted me to lead the troops, and …'

'And why do you not lead them, then?' demanded Ratcliffe, as men on all sides listened avidly while keeping their faces turned partly away. 'Since we reached land you have delayed, prevaricated, done anything but face the enemy …'

'We had no enemy until you made enemies of them!'

'Captain Smith,' protested Ratcliffe, veering into sweet reasonableness once again. 'Four men in a boat … you can hardly say I made the Indians attack them? That I could have foreseen the Indians would fling rocks on the heads of four defenceless men who were doing them no harm?' There were some growls and exclamations of agreement from the men standing nearest.

'I did foresee it, and that was why I told you to keep the men in camp while I went to treat with the Indians.'

'Well, that's all in the past now,' said Ratcliffe with the air of a man willing to start afresh. 'Surely you agree that we have no choice but to attack after what has happened.'

'On the contrary, we have every reason not to. I met one of the Indians, and I arranged to go and meet their chief under safe conduct tonight.'

There was a murmur of disbelief, and one or two of the men groaned scornfully. 'You see?' shouted Ratcliffe. 'That's how these treacherous knaves arrange things. One distracts us with parleying while the others pick us off one by one behind his back.'

John tried to get a grip on himself. 'To meet with their chief is our only chance …'

'I forbid you to meet with their chief! You can spend tonight planning our attack. Would you waste your time talking with these murderous brutes?'

'And what would you have done in their place? They didn't ask us to come here: this is their land …'

'This is my land!' shouted Ratcliffe violently. 'I make the laws here. And I tell you that from now on we kill the Indians on sight. Anyone who talks to any Indian will be tried for treason and hanged!'

He glared into John's face, and John stared back tight-lipped, with a sudden inward flinching of shame on behalf of his commander. He is beside himself, was his first thought. He doesn't know what he is saying, and I drove him to it in front of the men. With no thought but to save Ratcliffe's face, he said softly: 'Sir John, I spoke in haste. I beg your pardon, but I ask you to please reconsider …'

'You heard my orders!' shouted Ratcliffe again, turned on his heel and marched away to his tent.

John found himself alone. The men melted away, and he sat down on the edge of the platform and passed one hand over his forehead, still too shaken with anger to be able to form a clear idea of what had just taken place.

The camp looked peaceful and orderly under the late afternoon sun. There were some men taking firewood from a pile against the fence to start the evening's cooking fire, and down by the water's edge Mate Dawkins was conferring with the carpenter about the holed boat. Outside the armoury tent, some men were nailing planks together to make a drier store for the guns, while the master gunner tested a group on how quickly they could load and prime – but not fire – their muskets. All was outwardly as it should be, but most of the men were noticeably out of sight: in their tents, or among the trees or below the banks of the stream. Keeping out of the way of the storm; waiting to see how the land lay. The whole expedition was paralysed.

Not that it makes much difference, thought John. Look at the rabble we are. And now there are twice as many Indians as before. Are we supposed to attack them? It's a bad joke; he can't have been serious. In a few minutes I'll go and talk to him quietly, alone, and surely he must see sense.

But John was not ready for that: his mind went on spinning round what had been said, sparking with rage, unable to find a purchase anywhere. Deep down, he knew full well that he had blundered badly by losing his temper, and that he had put all the men's lives needlessly at risk, but he was still unable to admit it as he turned the whetstone of his anger. Deeper still, he had an inkling that the quarrel had made no deciding difference. Ratcliffe was doing what he had intended to do all along; John Smith had merely made it easier for him.

Hanged, indeed! he thought with biting scorn. Ratcliffe was raving. He will have to work on them for some time longer before he'll find anyone to put a noose around John Smith's neck …

The truth is, he thought with a sensation like cold water trickling down his back, he could have me hanged tomorrow by crooking his little finger. Simon Hay or any of his cronies would do it with pleasure. Christopher, Sir Richard, the ones who care about the King and the law, they wouldn't like it but they wouldn't know how to stop him. And it's my own fault. All because I was too dainty to have served him as he served me right from the start: to have said yes and done something different, got men thinking the worse of him, so that they'd all be ready when the time came for me to say: this man is leading you to your deaths, clap him in irons, I'm your governor now. Mutiny? Not your style, John Smith? Well, better it had been. What are you going to do now?

Chill at heart, he went and showed himself round the camp, finding out what everyone had been doing that day, inquiring about the food, the watches, the training. He, and everyone he spoke to, avoided the one subject that mattered. His very face and voice felt as if they were not his own, and the sunlight had an unreal quality, as if he were looking at everything through a long, dark underground passage. Ratcliffe did not reappear. Eventually John went and sat down on a rock at the water's edge and gazed out over the river, thinking soberly at last about his plans.

He knew he would have to keep his appointment with Pocahontas and try, after all, to see the Indian chief, with or without Ratcliffe's agreement. He dared not ask Ratcliffe outright to change his orders; there was the faintest chance that Ratcliffe would see reason, but a much greater one that he would physically prevent him from going. If he could come back with anything of substance, even a promise of food, it would raise his credit enough to keep him safe for the moment. But if his embassy failed, it was all up with him, and probably with the whole settlement. It was a poor chance and his hopes were low. Pocahontas herself seemed very distant from him now. The memory of her smile as she curled up beside the willow tree, the memory of how he had felt then, made him angry. Her people had wantonly killed one of his, a good man, and he blamed her in his heart. He was desolate at Robert Treluswell's death. The wife Robert had cared for so much was a widow now. How many good men died, men with everything to live for, while those like himself, with nothing to bind them to the world, took the same chances and worse and somehow lived on. Perhaps not this time, though.

Shortly before sunset, John went aboard the ship, thinking he might as well check the repairs. The Susan Constant was moored close to the bank, prow and stern, with a rope net stretched between a tree on the shore and a ladder up the side so that one could climb across quite easily. The ropes were mended, the canvas mostly sound, and several weak points in the planking had been reinforced. Not for the first time, he was awed at Christopher Dawkins's quiet ability to get things done, and his spirits lifted a little for the first time since his return. The hatch to the hold was open, and the smell emerging was much less foul than when they had first arrived. He looked in, and was startled to see Thomas Rowe sitting on one of the upper rungs of the companion ladder.

'Sir,' said Thomas, scrambling up in confusion.

'There you are, Thomas. I didn't know where you had got to.'

'Sorry, sir, I …'

'Stay out of the way when there's trouble,' said John, sitting down on a thwart. 'That's good sense. I'm glad you've learned it at last.'

Thomas flushed beetroot red and said nothing.

'I mean no harm by that, Thomas,' said John, looking him in the eye. 'I'm glad you happened to be here so I can tell you. There's probably going to be worse trouble, and it will be best if you keep your head right down. Take your lead from Mate Dawkins. It may end with you all having to escape by ship; stay close to him and you'll have the best chance.'

'Sir, are you going to attack the Indians?' Thomas's face was stiff from his cut with the axe, so the words came out slow and stilted.

'If Governor Ratcliffe wants to attack the Indians he will have to do it himself.'

Thomas suddenly glanced down and fidgeted.

'Were you going to say something, Thomas?'

'Only … I should have said it right away, the first day, but none of the others …'

'Yes … keep your head down: I told you to, didn't I? Still, you'd better tell me if you think it'll be useful.'

'Well … when we were building the camp the first day and the Indians came, it was Governor Ratcliffe himself who gave the order to fire. And it was he who shot that Indian. I know. I was right next to him, and I was so surprised that I let my gun go off without aiming it, and, well, you know the rest.'

'I see. So the governor knows how to shoot. That's unusual for a gentleman.'

'Yes, and he seems to think it very important. He said to me,' and Thomas's voice sounded more forced than ever, ' "Learn how to use that thing properly. A man's not a man unless he knows how to shoot."'

'You don't let that trouble you, I hope, Thomas?'

'Only because I know he doesn't like me.'

'Cheer up. He doesn't like me, either.'

Thomas stared at John in wordless anxiety.

'You heard what he said, did you?' said John. 'Well, don't you worry: I don't think he can afford to hang me just yet. Keep your head down, Thomas: obey orders, don't worry, and it may all turn out well yet. Better come back on shore with me, now. It's nearly time for the muster.'

As Thomas climbed first across the rope net, John's mind worked on the puzzle. When he had returned from his first day's exploring, Ratcliffe had seemed genuinely regretful that the skirmish with the Indians had taken place; his embarrassment had seemed unfeigned. And yet if Thomas was right, he had attacked the Indians quite deliberately. John gave up trying to read the doubleness of Ratcliffe's mind. Perhaps Ratcliffe, in the end, meant nothing, or what he meant changed completely hour by hour. It seemed a profitable way to be.

At the muster John was braced for Ratcliffe to renew his order to attack in front of the whole company, in which case he would have two possibilities: refuse and call for a mutiny, or refuse and let himself be put in irons. But Ratcliffe did not come to the muster at all. Amid his relief John felt scorn for such a show of weakness: Ratcliffe must still not feel sure of his ground: he must be hoping that John would be worn down by delay, or begin to feel that any action was better than this continuing public breach between the two of them. Or perhaps he was simply nursing his tantrum with no plan at all. What kind of leader was such a man?

Only at the end of the muster did Wiggins, the servant, come up to John and say smoothly, 'My master wished you to know that his order stands.' He went away before John could reply.

There was just one thing left to do: to make sure someone would know what had become of him when he went to parley. John went to see Sir Richard Clovelly, not Dawkins: he was afraid Dawkins, who cared for him too much, would try to argue him out of it, and he did not want to take the risk of being overheard, nor yet of parting as enemies. Sir Richard had a tent to himself and John quietly went there as darkness fell, making sure no one was loitering nearby.

Inside, a small lamp was burning on the ground. Sir Richard was sitting on the edge of his bed with his boots off, stretching, but looked across towards John in alert silence when he came in.

'I wanted to tell you,' John said, 'that I am going to meet the Indians as I said I would. I hope to be back tonight but I may be gone twenty-four hours. Please will you do anything you can to dissuade Governor Ratcliffe from attacking the Indians until I get back. I have to persuade them not to attack us: those men who arrived on the river this afternoon are their reinforcements. If I don't come back by dawn, you had better get ready to defend yourselves, or take to the ship.'

'Does he know you're going?'

'No.'

Sir Richard smiled wryly and nodded. 'God send you come back with something, or we may not be able to hold him.'

'You can if anyone can. But try and keep as many of our people alive as you can, Sir Richard. That's all I ask.'

'Do you want some clothes?' asked Sir Richard abruptly.

'Good idea. Thank you … if it doesn't get you into trouble.'

'May help you get clear of camp. As well as impressing the Indians.'

Sir Richard snuffed the lamp so that their shadows would not show on the canvas outside. When their eyes had got used to the dusk he opened a chest and took out a good cambric shirt with a silk string at the neck, a dark doublet and a sober pair of breeches. John changed into the clothes: Sir Richard was his own height and only a little broader. 'Better take this hat, too,' he said, offering a wide-brimmed slouch hat that he often wore. John crammed it over his head, covering his fair hair almost completely.

'Thank you,' said John again.

'All right. God be with you, Captain. Take care.'

John left the tent with a long stride, not stopping to look round. The moon had not yet risen and it was almost completely dark. He walked straight across to the latrines, which were near the river and screened by a woven fence of twigs. There was no one else there, and nearby the end of the palisade met the river-bank. John watched and listened for a minute or more to check that the watchman at the gates was not looking in his direction and that the patrolling guards were all out of sight. As he heard one of the men at the gate begin to talk loudly to someone at the watch-fire in the middle of the field, he edged forward, swung himself round the end of the palisade above the water and walked away into the trees.

*****

The hunting-party of young Indian men who had happened to see the foreigners in their boat earlier that day, and had attacked them, were at first elated at their exploit, cheering and embracing one another as they headed back towards the village carrying the buck they had also killed. But as they drew nearer home, they sobered. Without a word being said among them, each one separately began to be unsure whether the chief would be pleased at what they had done, and in the end they told no one.