The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe: Book I
Chapter 2: A Pirate's Life is Not for Me
When Pocahontas was first handed the mop, she regarded it as she would her best friend in the whole world. The perceived simplicity of the chore never did materialize, for she soon discovered that the blood on the planks refused to wash up entirely. It appeared to be soaked into the grain of the wood and, no matter how hard she scrubbed, a crimson tinge remained. Worse yet, it appeared the majority of the deck had been tainted. There was even blood and what looked like entrails hanging from the railing. It repulsed her so much that she used the end of the mop to push the dangling parts into the salt water.
The fear of performing inadequate work drove Pocahontas tirelessly through the night, though she had only had little sleep before the attack. Poor John Rolfe, on the other hand, had had none at all. It was midnight when Flame's newly appointed first mate, Leonard Legless, had come to relieve the captain from command. Every two or so hours, she noticed as crewmen came to relieve the other riggers. The unfortunate Englishman was the only exception, as he remained up in the riggings even after sunrise.
SEPTEMBER 1, 1613
Pocahontas had a strong suspicion that Flame had specifically ordered the crew not to relieve John Rolfe. She felt a spike of terror as she saw Rolfe rub his eyes, teetering in exhaustion high up in a yardarm of the foremast. When the footrope he stood on so precariously wobbled beneath his weight, he immediately grabbed a hold of the yard with a look of sheer panic written all over his face. She wanted to call out to him to come down or hang a net over the deck below him at the very least. She calmed down a bit when he was able to move to a slightly safer location closer to the mast.
As she continued her work, Pocahontas became lost in her thoughts. Regardless, she always poised herself to keep John Rolfe in her peripheral vision. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a painfully hard clap on her back and turned to see Flame's hideous smiling face. "Whoa, there," he said, chuckling. "Slow down, lad. You'll work yourself to death. When I said I wanted to see my reflection, I didn't mean turn the deck into a mirror. Wouldn't want the sun reflected in the riggers' eyes, now would we?"
Pocahontas blinked in surprise and almost dropped her mop, then shook her head in response. She gritted her teeth when he clapped her again on the same sore spot. "Off to the sleeping quarters with you, my boy. Wouldn't want to be stunting your growth for lack of shuteye," he declared in a chummy manner, waving her off.
Pocahontas wanted to point to John Rolfe to find out when he would be relieved from duty, but she was afraid that if she let her concern show it could be used against them later. She nodded and walked away from Flame as he turned his attention to the swarthy bosun. In the light of day, the bosun appeared to be a very dark shade of brown rather than the pure ebony Pocahontas had thought she had seen the night before. His features were different too. His hair, for instance, was hard to describe. It looked like a thin layer of black fuzz tacked to his skull. His nose was flatter than most, stretched out across his face. It was not an unattractive look, just different, and she wondered if she would ever see more people like him—though she certainly hoped others might be friendlier.
The disguised woman yawned deeply as she emptied the bucket over the side of the ship. She put the mop and bucket away in the storage room just below deck and then emerged again to check on John Rolfe. It was clear that his energy level had entered a nosedive when his eyelids fluttered despite his precarious situation. He struggled to keep his eyes even halfway open and his pull on the lines had weakened considerably.
Pocahontas bit her lower lip as she watched in dread. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement and turned to see Flame pointing up at John Rolfe. Standing beside Flame, the bosun grinned in amusement. The captain laughed outright.
Hatred welled up inside Pocahontas, but then she gave in to a sigh of melancholy. The last time she could remember feeling so helpless was when her father had first sentenced John Smith to execution and that had happened more than five years in the past.
Pocahontas chanted quietly to the wind spirits to keep John Rolfe from falling. Her voice was carried away by the gale as she sorely began to miss the liberating feeling of a cool breeze in her long flowing hair. The wind whistled back in response to her chant, giving her some hope that the right spirits had heard her plea and were eager to assist.
Pocahontas went to check on Meeko before retiring. He had stayed down in the brig with the others, though she was surprised to find that he was slightly more alert than before. The raccoon even started sniffing the bread she offered him—a treat that she had snagged from the galley on the way down. The Powhatan princess ran a hand over his fur as he investigated the food item. "Don't give up, Meeko. We'll be on the salt water a little bit longer than expected, but don't you give up on me," she pleaded in a quiet voice.
Meeko reacted with a small purr and nibbled on the bread. Pocahontas poured a small amount of fresh rainwater in a little saucer for him, strongly encouraging him to drink. He accepted the water more readily than the food. Flit buzzed by. The Powhatan woman asked him to keep an eye on Meeko—to which the small bird responded with a nod. Pocahontas peered into a barrel to find Percy curled up inside. He was fast asleep so she left him some food and water, retreating to the sleeping quarters a few floors above.
On the way up, Pocahontas accidentally bumped into a copper-skinned man with tattoos on his face. "Watch where you're going, runt!" he snapped at her with a threatening glare. He snorted at her and turned, strutting away down the narrow hall.
Pocahontas placed a hand to her chest to still her pounding heart. Something frightened her about that man. It was much more than his fierce temper. She got a bad vibe coming from him, so she turned and hurried off in the opposite direction.
Settling into a hammock in a room full of snoring pirates bothered Pocahontas little after what she had been through. She was so tired, but she found sleep elusive. Her thoughts went to John Rolfe. It was so unfair. Why was Flame picking on him and not her? She wanted to see the wicked man flayed for what he was doing. She stayed up another half hour in hope that Rolfe would soon crawl into the empty hammock above hers. He never appeared and, at last, her body gave in to the overwhelming need for rest.
…
Pocahontas awoke with a start. What time of day it was, she could not be sure. As she rubbed her eyes clear, she got the impression it was still daylight from the faint sun glow in the hall. Realization struck her and her eyes darted around the room. Some of the hammocks contained different pirates than before, but none contained John Rolfe. She twisted around to get her feet on the floor and ended up falling on her face with a grunt. Fear numbed the pain as she scrambled up from the planks, bolting out the door.
Pocahontas ran up top and glanced around the decks. There were plenty of men shuffling about, but none of them were John Rolfe. She looked to all three masts—no Rolfe. Where was he? She ran to the stern of the ship and glanced out into the sea. There appeared to be no bodies floating out there, but the ship was moving pretty fast. Please, spirits, no! she pleaded, watching the endless sea disappear behind them under the setting sun.
She shook her head violently. No. There were plenty of places he could be. It was a big ship. She steeled her jaw and went back inside, determined to check every nook and cranny of the vessel. Pocahontas searched every room from bow to stern, pretending to be performing a chore whenever another pirate came along. At last, she came to the hold. It was on the same level of the ship as the brig but closer to the bow. She crept silently into the large space and peered around in the dim light provided by the hall lanterns.
She heard a soft sound and grabbed one of the lanterns, bringing more light into the darkened room. Finally, and to her great relief, Pocahontas spotted him. John Rolfe was passed out on his belly over a large pile of potatoes all the way in the back of the chamber. The lamp he had brought with him had long since gone out. What the heck was he doing there? She bolted over to him and planted her own lantern at the foot of the pile. "John, wake up!" she cried, careful not to shake him in case he was injured. Her first impulse was to pull the rim of his shirt out of his belt and check his back for lash marks. Perhaps that was why he had not come to the hammocks and was lying prone. She was very thankful to discover the skin was smooth and unblemished, at least for now.
As John Rolfe did not respond, Pocahontas turned him over with some effort and checked his breathing. He was alive but out cold. A rare five o'clock shadow graced his jaw, but even more boggling was the cherry-red color that marked his under-eyes, chin, and lower forehead. It could not have been from a slap, as it was not in the shape of a handprint. The flesh appeared swollen. Bizarre was the only way Pocahontas could describe it. She still wondered what he was doing down in the hold, and on a pile of potatoes no less.
Finally, she could take it no more and shook him awake. John Rolfe grunted. His reddened eyelids remained closed, but he eventually came to and struggled to sit up. His stiff motions worried her. "Pocahontas?" he murmured, blinking owlishly at her.
"John, what are you doing down here? Why aren't you in the—" She paused, troubled by the sight of his bright red skin. "And what happened to your face?"
"What do you mean, I—" John Rolfe began, rubbing his eyes. He stopped immediately, gasping in pain. "Oh dear, I have got to find a new hat," he murmured.
"What is it?" Pocahontas cried. "Did someone hit you? What happened?"
John Rolfe peered up at her. "What? No! It's called a sunburn, dear. Don't worry. It will heal right up in a few days. It happens when I spend too much time in the sun." Pocahontas raised an eyebrow in confused curiosity. She was about to interrogate him further when Rolfe suddenly gasped in realization. "Oh no! I fell asleep. I'm supposed to be peeling potatoes for the crew's supper tonight. What time is it?!" he asked, struggling to get up. "I've got to fill the pot before sundown!" he indicated in alarm.
Pocahontas spotted the medium-sized cauldron he was talking about in a nearby corner. It was less than a fourth full. John Rolfe bit his lip and peered around frantically. "Now, where on earth did my knife go?" he uttered, groping all over the space.
From what Pocahontas remembered from her search on the deck, the sun was getting dangerously close to the horizon. However, like all Powhatan women, she was highly experienced with quick food preparation and could now use the skill to their benefit. She narrowed her eyes and pushed John Rolfe down onto his back again, causing him to grunt slightly in pain. "Go to sleep," she instructed, snatching the knife from the pot. He had somehow managed to drop it into the cauldron before passing out.
Just as John Rolfe began to protest, Pocahontas repeated the order, "I said go to sleep!" She gave him a look that implied there was to be no argument, the same one her father had given him when Rolfe had contested the plan to send her to England in the first place. It silenced the English diplomat instantly. Grabbing the first potato, she got to work.
The speed and skill with which Pocahontas worked shocked John Rolfe to the point that his jaw gradually fell open as he watched her raze spud after spud. "How…?"
"Sleep!" Pocahontas snapped. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back in a resting position. John Rolfe shifted around uncomfortably for a few minutes until she started humming a song her mother sang to her long ago. He stopped moving and, soon enough, Pocahontas heard the soft sounds of a sleep-induced breathing pattern. She smiled. It was not long before she loaded the cauldron up to the top. The potato-filled pot was heavy and she hefted it up with a good bit of effort, trekking out of the hold.
On the middle level, Pocahontas ran into Flame on his way down—likely to check on what was taking John Rolfe so long, no doubt. She suppressed the urge to gloat at the shock in his eyes when he spotted the cauldron she was carrying. His jaw dropped slightly. "John give potatoes to me for men, run off for more work. Where is galley, captain?" she innocently inquired in her practiced man-voice.
Without breaking his gaze, Flame pointed down the hall. She nodded her head in a polite gesture of thanks and turned away from him, smirking when he could not see.
"Tomtom," Flame blurted, causing her to stop in her tracks. She put on her nonchalant face again and peered back over her shoulder, raising her brows attentively. "Where did John Rolfe go when he finished with the potatoes, lad?" he asked.
Pocahontas shot a glance at the ceiling. "Up," she said, shrugging. It was vague enough that he would not know she was lying, but it would also keep him out of the hold while John Rolfe rested. While Pocahontas was in a situation beyond her control, she would be damned before allowing a sadist to find an excuse to torture someone she loved.
…
Pocahontas was starting to see what John Rolfe meant by likening their situation to the English art of stage acting. Unlike at the Hunt Ball, she was beginning to enjoy the experience of pretending to be someone else. It was a delightful form of deceit. In fact, it reminded her of the childhood games she used to play in which she pretended to be a fox, an eagle, a chieftain, or any number of other things. The frightfully high stakes of the current situation only added to her great fervor to perform well.
Over the course of a few hours, Pocahontas led the dreaded Flame all over the ship on a wild goose chase in pursuit of John Rolfe. Fortunately, his attention was often stolen by demands from the other crew members, so he could not engage in a full-time search. Pocahontas had told Flame that every time she had spotted Rolfe, he was performing another important duty. In reality, she covered for him by performing all of those duties herself and crediting the completed work to him. Captain Flame would have nothing to accuse the English gentleman of, on account of Pocahontas's cleverness.
It was not until a few hours after dark that supper was announced. As things turned out, it was the busiest time for her. As the ship's cabin boy, she was expected to run back and forth between the galley and mess hall to serve the whole crew. She really pushed herself in an effort to stay on everyone's good side. The last thing she wanted through all of this was to make enemies of any of the pirates. Hence, Pocahontas forced herself to laugh at all the dumb jokes she heard, no matter how unfunny or inappropriate. She feebly joined in the drunken idiotic songs of the crew, even providing the men some entertainment by performing an impressive fire-spinning act she had learned from her tribe.
The only individual Pocahontas could not earn a gold-toothed grin from was the bosun—the tattooed man was not even present that evening, to her relief. The bosun appeared to be a mostly humorless person. The way he stared at her always chilled her to the core. She worried about her inability to assess his motives. Could he see through her disguise? If so, why had he not exposed her? Fortunately, he never kept his attention focused on her for long. Otherwise, she might have fumbled during her performance.
At the end of the feast, Pocahontas was pleased to discover that the pirates were all privileged to take as much food as they liked to keep themselves sustained throughout the next day. The cook only prepared one large meal after dark and there was plenty to be had. The rum rations she had heard mention of were on account of the rum supply being limited, given the pirates were all heavy drinkers. But, fortunately for Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit, rum was the only scarce resource aboard the ship.
Starved from the day's labor, Pocahontas stuffed herself full before going in search of something to carry food down to John Rolfe in. She found an empty burlap sack in the galley and filled it with bread, cheeses, fruits, and other food items when her duties were finished. It had likely been at least twenty-four hours since the Englishman had eaten, she realized. When she snuck back down to the hold, he was still knocked out on the pile of potatoes and she had to sprinkle some water on his face to rouse him.
He snapped awake with a start, heaving as his blurred eyes darted around in an attempt to assess his surroundings. "What's happened? How long have I been asleep?!"
Pocahontas pressed a kiss to his lips to calm him down. It worked like magic. She pulled away and stuffed a roll of bread into his mouth before he could say anything else. It took John Rolfe's brain barely a fraction of a second to analyze the foreign material before he ravenously tore a piece off the loaf and began to wolf it down. "Chew, John. Don't make yourself sick," Pocahontas scolded, handing him a skin of fresh rainwater.
John Rolfe took it, emptying half of it in seconds. No matter, she had brought another. She showed him the contents of her sack. His eyes dilated at the sight and he glanced at her. "Have I ever mentioned that I love you?" he uttered, poking his fingers together.
"Mhmm," Pocahontas replied, presenting him with a hunk of cheese. He took it gratefully and began to feast again, devouring the bread and cheese in a few short minutes.
"Is there any meat in there?" John Rolfe suddenly inquired. When Pocahontas presented him with a leg of lamb, the starved diplomat thought he would die happy.
Pocahontas heard him mutter a prayer of thanks before he bit into the tender flesh. "There is wine available too," she indicated. "I discovered that there are no rations for food, only rum. Everyone is allowed to eat as much as they want, apparently."
John Rolfe swallowed the bite in his mouth and met her eyes. "That is an important discovery, Pocahontas. It should increase our chances significantly. In fact, I want you to make it a priority to eat as much as you possibly can during our time on this ship. We may or may not have to go without food for some time after we escape. The more weight you and I put on now, the better our chances of survival later. Understand?"
Pocahontas smiled and nodded. "Don't worry. I stuffed myself too. I'm so full right now, I fear I'll burst if I bend the wrong way," she divulged, laughing.
"Perfect," John Rolfe said as she presented him with the skin of wine. He bit off another hunk of the lamb leg and washed it down with the sweet beverage. "I don't think I've ever been this hungry before in my life," he noted, turning the leg of lamb around to the meatier side. "It's an odd feeling. Painful at first but then immensely enjoyable."
Despite Pocahontas and John Rolfe's plight, manners were not entirely lost on one in whom they had been so deeply ingrained. Rolfe made a point of keeping his face clean throughout the meal to the point that Pocahontas almost wanted to roll her eyes. "So John, I've had to tell many lies, but I've led the scarred man to believe that you have been busy performing duties throughout the ship. I think it would not be unreasonable for you to ask him if you can retire now and get more sleep. Thanks to your brilliant plan, he has been going easy on me. I can help take some of the pressure off of you in turn."
John Rolfe's mouth was full as he ate his meal, though he gave her a nod to indicate he understood. Pocahontas prompted him on the duties she had completed for him so he would know what to say to Flame if asked. When he was almost done eating, she added, "I think if we work together, we can stay alive until we have a chance to escape. But you need to be unafraid to rely on me for support, just as I have you."
Pocahontas was surprised to see John Rolfe nod again. She had almost expected a bit of an argument out of him. He wiped his mouth again and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. "You have proven to me many times that you are capable of far more than I thought. I will try not to underestimate you again, love," he expressed, making her smile. "Now, have you checked on Meeko, Percy, and Flit? Are they okay?"
Pocahontas bobbed her head. "I brought them food and water," she said, rubbing her arm. "They seem to want to stay in the brig because they are afraid of the pirates."
John Rolfe snorted as he slowly and painfully rose to his feet. "Well, I can't claim to like those scoundrels either," he remarked, hissing in pain. He carefully reached up to stretch his sore back and then let his arms fall to his sides again, yawning. "Oh my, I must look absolutely dreadful," he uttered to himself, scratching the rough stubble on his jaw.
Pocahontas snorted too. "Speak for yourself," she groaned, frowning at the floorboards. She shifted uncomfortably in the tight corset, her chest feeling like a furnace. She wished she could throw the bodice off and cool down, but she could not risk exposure. The Great Spirit only knew how long she would have to wear the dreadful garment.
"Don't be silly, Pocahontas. You could be wearing nothing but mud and you'd still be the most ravishing thing I'd ever laid eyes upon," John Rolfe countered charmingly. She flushed slightly and gave him a half-grin as he turned his whole body to face her. He took her hand in his. "Now, listen, darling. There's something we need to discuss and I fear it may be an unpleasant subject, but one we must cover nonetheless." When Pocahontas's face fell slightly at the ill-boding statement, Rolfe wagged a finger at her. "Don't be like that," he admonished. "There's a good chance that everything will be all right. But in case our luck takes a turn for the worst, I want us to be prepared. If something happens to me, I firmly believe you can still make it back home on your own."
A gasp escaped Pocahontas's lips as John Rolfe reached into one of the deep pockets of his dirty green trousers. He pulled out a small leather coin purse and placed the item in the palm of her hand, closing her fingers around it. "This should be enough gold for you to barter passage back to Virginia once the ship arrives in Hispaniola. Be on the lookout. That place is rumored to be populated with many cutthroat fiends. But if you can blend in and find a ship heading in the right direction, you can get yourself home. Also, in the spot below the brig floorboards, I hid the gold necklace that I gave you in London. It is quite valuable. If these coins aren't enough, you could use that as added leverage. This is assuming you aren't given a share of the plunder if and when we attack a Spanish ship. All in all, I believe your chances are very good. Just don't lose hope, love." He finished his short speech by planting a kiss on the back of her hand.
Pocahontas's bottom lip began to quiver. She tried to give the coin purse back. "No, John! I can't accept this. You're going to be fine. We'll get home together. I know we—"
John Rolfe silenced her by placing a finger on her lips. He shoved the purse in a pocket of her trousers. "This is not up for debate. I'm not saying anything is going to happen, but if it does I want to ensure your safety as much as possible. I have every intention of getting you safely back to your father, or I will die trying. But if you promise me that you won't give up even if I do die, you will greatly increase my chances of survival. The one resource that I am scarcest on at the moment is definitely peace of mind."
Pocahontas felt her nose start to run. Her vision blurred as well, but she forced herself to nod through the tears. John Rolfe wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest, clinging hopelessly to his shirt with her hands. She breathed heavily.
John Rolfe flinched when a familiar little bird showed up in his line of vision. Pocahontas felt the sudden movement and turned around, meeting Flit's eyes as he squeaked sadly at her. The Powhatan woman's animal friends never did like seeing her upset.
"Hello, Flit," John Rolfe greeted as he rubbed the small of Pocahontas's back. "Are you and the others holding up alright?" he inquired. The hummingbird seemed to shrug in response. "At least there haven't been any disasters, right?" Rolfe asked wearily.
Pocahontas dried her eyes. "Come. Let's make an appearance before they get suspicious," she said decisively, grabbing the dim lantern on the floor before leading the way out.
…
Contrary to expectations, things did start to get easier after the first few hellish days. Thanks to Pocahontas's constant support, John Rolfe was able to avoid the lash, though he had a few close calls every now and again. The Englishman began to put on more muscle to the point that his clothes tightened around his frame. Pocahontas managed to find him a hat with a string, allowing him to bind it to his head against the harsh winds up in the masts. He was fortunate to suffer no more painful sunburns after that.
As much as John Rolfe hated itchy facial hair, he felt pressured to let some bristles grow out to give himself a rougher and more lawless appearance. Short of cutting off a hand and replacing it with a hook, the Englishman did everything he could to make himself outwardly appear like less of an easy target to Captain Flame and the others.
As part of the young diplomat's developing escape plan, he made an effort to befriend one of the ship's navigators to gain access to the navigational maps. The task proved to be much easier said than done. For his calm and intellectual manner, John Rolfe did not find it easy to be liked amongst the pirates. It was a very difficult learning experience for him, as he had always been a social butterfly in English high society. On the pirate ship, however, he ended up getting punched quite a few times for his cordial efforts.
Pocahontas fretted over John Rolfe a great deal whenever he would show up with a black eye or any number of other new cuts and bruises. Though by the end of week one, fortunately, the diplomat felt he was beginning to actually make progress with some of the curs as far as peaceful relations went. He had to make numerous adjustments to all his normal practiced social behaviors to achieve even the tiniest results, however.
What was most worrisome to Pocahontas was the fact that the bosun never seemed to lose interest in John Rolfe. She often spotted the large man watching him from a prominent position on the ship's quarterdeck. The look in his dark eyes was unreadable. From what they had seen the first day after the attack, the bosun was also the man who bore the cat o' nine tails against offending crew members.
Pocahontas ducked into a privy in the belly of the ship and covered her ears when the beating of the clumsy blond pirate had taken place. From what she had heard from John Rolfe, it had been quite brutal indeed. She had not seen the man again and later learned that he was recovering in the medical bay. The pirates considered three lashes a light punishment. But judging by the size and strength of the whip-bearer, it easily had the potential to kill. The brutality present in the crewmen's lives was unimaginable to her and it kept Pocahontas on her toes throughout the southbound voyage.
At the beginning of the second week, the winds evened out. This meant that the sails could be left in one position for longer without the ship losing speed. It relieved most of the riggers to partake in other duties, and occasionally even a bit of leisurely activities such as gambling in the mess hall and fencing up on deck. At this time, John Rolfe asked Flame permission to teach 'Tomtom' the art of sword fighting. Surprised to discover the 'boy' was a complete beginner, the captain immediately gave his blessing.
John Rolfe selected two wooden practice swords from the armory and began teaching Pocahontas the basic fencing poses on the quarterdeck in the early mornings and late evenings. The Powhatan woman learned much faster than expected and was soon able to proceed to basic moves, followed by more advanced maneuvers.
When Captain Flame came to recognize that John Rolfe was as good as his word in terms of the work he was willing and able to do, his malicious intentions toward the Englishman eased up somewhat. Still, the bosun's constant lurking attention on Rolfe unnerved Pocahontas to the point that she finally pulled him inside the storage room and warned him to watch his back when the large man was around.
When John Rolfe peered out the hatch window toward the bosun and swallowed in apprehension, it did not make Pocahontas feel any better. "Well, thanks, Pocahontas. I'd been so busy, I had not really noticed. I really must learn to become more observant if we're ever to get out of here in one piece," he replied, turning from the window. He placed a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand in a gesture of appreciation.
Pocahontas gave him a small half-smile, suddenly reminded of just how much she missed being treated like an actual woman. It was a privilege she had taken for granted her whole life up until now. She wanted this swashbuckling nightmare to end and she wanted it to end soon, but she knew she would have to keep holding on tight for the ride.
Pocahontas sighed and brushed away a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of her hat. "To think if this had never happened, we'd be home by now," she lamented, sitting down on the top of a small barrel. She rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands. A moment later, she felt John Rolfe's warm reassuring hand squeeze her shoulder. It seemed to do the trick of bringing her consciousness back into the present.
Thereafter whenever Pocahontas spoke in a manner tinged with despair, John Rolfe was there to remind her that all things happen for a reason. Perhaps the powers that be were testing them, preparing them for some divine purpose. Maybe years later, they would look back at all this craziness and laugh. They could only keep hoping and planning, spying and observing—waiting for their chance to make a clean getaway. Rolfe was there to keep Pocahontas grounded through it all, and she him as well.
…
SEPTEMBER 15, 1613
One night near the end of the second week, Pocahontas was attending to her usual cabin boy duties in the mess hall. Most of the crewmen had finished their meals already and left to either sleep, gamble, or drink their rum ration up on the deck. Very few were on duty. With the winds stable, all they needed were a few night watchmen and a navigator.
Only a tight clique of about five pirates remained in the far corner of the mess hall after hours. Even so, Pocahontas was expected to remain in case they required service. The posse sat around a medium-sized circular table with only one lantern in the center to provide lighting. When Pocahontas was called over to deliver a mug of ale, she observed that the men were playing some kind of game with rectangular pieces of stiff paper. All the rectangles were decorated with intricate patterns. She had glanced such a game in London on occasion, but she had never thought to ask what it was about.
While Pocahontas was curious, she was also too tired to inquire. She managed to get pulled into the action anyway when she heard something whispered by one of the men that caught her interest. "…enraged deities of the…ride the wind…favor attacking the Spanish…" From the man's tone of voice, it sounded like he was recounting some dark secret to the others that he did not want everyone on the ship to know about.
Pocahontas shuffled out into the hall and tiptoed to the wall between her and the pirates. There were a few small holes in the wood. She stuck her ear up against one. Now, she could listen in with more clarity yet without looking nosy. She just had to keep an eye on the stairwell up ahead to make sure no one caught her eavesdropping.
"Aye. 'Tis true, men," another pirate confirmed. The voice belonged to a baldheaded man with a burn scar in the shape of a spider on his skull. "Some of the wenches in Hispaniola were sold to the brothels there by the Spaniards. They are the survivors. Cortéz ravaged the Aztec tribes for their gold, plundering and pillaging village after village. They say the death god could no longer contain all the lost souls in the afterlife. He tried to stretch it further into the black expanse, but it ruptured and released tens of thousands of murdered souls back into the living land. Some got caught up in the wind, others the ocean currents. The mindless spirits of the dead seek only one thing—revenge."
"Sounds like a load of crock," another man retorted. "How stupid can you—"
"No!" countered the bald cur, slamming a fist down on the table. The whole room rattled from the impact. "There is plenty of proof. Look around you, fool. The winds blow in an unnatural direction, south of the coast. Why do you think they've been so strong and even over a week straight? They know we hunt the Spaniards and they want to help us. Why do you think the Draw could ride through the pall of that storm two weeks back like a bird on the breeze when this ship could not? They wanted us to take the ship, have the advantage. They control the elements. There have been reports of Spanish ships sucked into the belly of the ocean for no apparent reason. Have you not heard?"
"What are you doing, boy?" came a fearsome deep voice. Pocahontas thought her heart would pop out of her chest in that instant. Fortunately, over the course of the last two weeks, she had learned how to suppress the impulse to yelp when startled. She simply jolted instead and spun around, coming face to face with a towering dark figure.
The bosun wore his usual vacant expression. He did not appear angry, but neither did he appear amused. Pocahontas knew she would have to think on her feet to get out of this one. Then again, how incriminating was eavesdropping aboard a pirate ship anyway?
"I am sorry," Pocahontas began, tempted to remove her hat and place it on her chest as she had often seen John Rolfe do in humble submission. "In village, there was much storytelling. I was missing to listen to the story. Did not want to bother the men. I am sorry. It is childish," she weakly explained, fighting the urge to wring her hands.
He placed a hand on his chin in thought and then walked by her, waving a hand in the direction he was going. "Come, boy. I have many stories from my homeland. Where I come from, there is nothing 'childish' about stories," he replied in the strangest accent she had ever heard. It was the first time she had heard him speak loud and clear.
While Pocahontas was relieved that she would not be punished for eavesdropping, she was afraid to follow the large man. On the other hand, she began to feel a sense of deep curiosity. What would she learn from this man if she dared listen? After a moment's hesitation, she decided the risk was worth it. John Rolfe had instructed her to glean any information from the crew whenever she could. Perhaps she would discover why the bosun was inclined to watch Rolfe so intensely, though she feared the answer. She nodded and followed him. "I would like, sir," she uttered. He said nothing more as he led her to the end of the hall. She kept her eyes down until they reached their destination. To her surprise, it turned out that the bosun was staying in Rolfe's former cabin.
Pocahontas felt her heart lurch at the realization that he might have found some document in John Rolfe's room indicating their real identities. But the fear was mostly squelched when she crept inside at the bosun's invite. It appeared Rolfe had hurriedly purged his cabin of all incriminating evidence, most likely through the window hatch on the far wall. It was still open to allow a cool breeze to enter. The Englishman was smart. Of course, he would not have left any loose ends that could endanger the woman he loved.
"Sit anywhere you like," the bosun offered as he plopped down in the embroidered silk desk chair that once belonged to John Rolfe. He put his large feet up on the fine oak desk without even kicking off his heavy black boots, leaning back in the chair.
Pocahontas glanced around, spotting a similar chair in the corner. She pulled it closer and sat down in it. While she would normally have preferred the floor, the man's presence was towering enough without her being so far below him. She tensed as the bosun pulled out a knife from his belt. When he casually took the blade to a small wooden figurine he had pulled out of his pocket, she let herself relax. He was only whittling.
"You have name, sir?" Pocahontas slowly inquired, her voice coming out quite a bit more timid than she would have liked. "Other than bosun…?"
He stilled his carving and glanced at her with a dark expression. She gulped. The bosun pursed his thick lips as his gaze fell again, perhaps in a moment of thought. Finally, he shook his head slowly and replied, "No, boy. I have no name."
Pocahontas tilted her head in bewilderment. Never before had she heard of a person not having a name. That very concept was alien to her. Everyone deserved to have a name. It was part of all the little things that defined every person as a human being.
"I had one once," the bosun clarified, lifting his chin. "Long ago. But it was stolen." He met her eyes. "Guard yours with your life," he warned. He deftly spun the knife in his hand, ramming the tip into the oaken desktop without breaking eye contact.
Pocahontas's mouth gradually fell open. Stolen…? she thought. How could a name be stolen? The bosun's enigmatic words compelled her to learn more. Fearing to offend him, she hesitated until she found the right wording for her next question. "From where you come? I not seen other men like you. Never before," she explained.
The bosun unexpectedly grinned at her. He pulled his knife out of the oak and returned to carving. "We are not so different," he indicated, peeling a narrow grain of wood from the figurine and chucking it behind him. Glancing under the legs of his chair, Pocahontas noticed a growing pile of wood shavings on the floor by the desk. She raised her eyebrows in surprise as he continued, "At least, neither of us are white." He abruptly pulled his feet off the desktop and faced her fully. "I feel I can trust you, boy. Your blood is not tainted like the others. We are the only two nonwhite purebloods onboard, I believe," he expressed, flicking a finger back and forth between the two of them. "Save one, but he is not to be trusted for other reasons." He shook his head and sighed. "It is a pity we are forced to communicate in the tongue of a mutual enemy."
Pocahontas widened her eyes in shock. This man, this huge mysterious man from an unknown land was confiding in her? The Powhatan woman felt placed in an awkward position, but then she considered the possibilities this new development might hold for her and John Rolfe. Perhaps she could learn something of use to them, something to aid in their survival. She nodded, encouraging the bosun to continue.
"Let me ask you a question before I begin the first story, boy. Is your name really Tomtom or were you forced to shorten it for the tongue-twisted white man?" the bosun unexpectedly inquired, raising both brows as he gave her an honest look.
Pocahontas cocked an eyebrow at the odd question. "There is long, but short is used in village before white men came. For ceremony," she explained, "it is Tomtomewoquen." She had known a Tomtom from another village when she was a child. As she recalled, they had sometimes played together. For some reason, his was the first face she thought of when John Rolfe had told her to pick a man's name from her culture.
The bosun chuckled. "Of course, no white man could pronounce such a beautiful name as yours. They are like babies, needing short simple names. More than three beats and they get confused. I had a beautiful name once too, long as the trunk of the jimumjea tree." His grin faded and his eyes grew cold. Pocahontas could not place the look on his face. He seemed no longer present. He had to be reminiscing on some distant time and place, but she could not even hope to guess what his thoughts consisted of precisely.
The bosun shook his head, returning from his brief trance. "All that matters is retribution now. The land of my people was a paradise of balance. The balance has been lost, but the chaos did not stop there. It spread much farther. The first story I have to tell you is of The Coming of the White Devil." The tone in his voice took a downward turn at the end as his eyes darkened. "Like you, I am of royalty. My father was a great chief who presided over many villages in the jungle," he began, stopping when he saw her raise a brow.
"What is jungle?" Pocahontas inquired. "Is that word in your tongue?"
The bosun shook his head. "It is an English word. A jungle is a dense forest, very hot and very wet. It never snows in such places. Cold is a foreign concept. Jungles are common in the land of Affrika, south of the pale man's homeland. The word for jungle in my tongue was swiliwatsuana, but my tongue is gone. Like my name, it was stolen from me."
Pocahontas found herself frowning in sorrow. Could she actually be feeling sympathy for this wicked man? Could the circumstances of his life truly be responsible for his cruel nature? She had to learn more, so she continued to listen attentively.
The bosun continued, "My people wore no clothes, only jewelry. Thousands of beads made from painted stones, fired clay, carved bone, and seashells. The land was rich and we were a prosperous nation, successful at expelling our enemies whenever they came of threat. My parents were warriors both, tall and strong. Our staple food was jimumbaia porridge, made from the pulp of the jimumjea tree, but the local diet was diverse. We gorged ourselves on fruits, roots, wild bee honey, clams, and ox meat and blood when the rains came each year in an enormous celebration. The coming of the heavy rains was considered the time when the land was reborn. The dark sodden sky breathed new life into the dry earth, much like a mother nursing her newborn child."
Pocahontas rapidly became absorbed by the tale. The bosun's intricate descriptions brought her into an exotic new world that her eyes had never had the privilege to see. She wondered if John Smith had seen such places and she regretted never having had the opportunity to talk to the blue-eyed captain in depth about his travels. As Pocahontas gazed into the bosun's mournful eyes, he again seemed to be wrapped up in another time long past as he recounted his story. The Powhatan woman thought she saw a glimmer of remembered happiness—stolen, of course, like all the things this man once knew.
"I was only a few years older than you when the world as I knew it changed. I believe I was considered to be of seventeen years by the white man's calculations. My people measured time in seasons, of which there were two per year—the wet season and the dry season. I was precisely thirty-five seasons old at the time my younger brother spotted strange clouds off the coast of our jungle," the bosun conveyed.
Pocahontas gasped, causing the dark man to raise a brow. "I saw the strange clouds over the trees too. The spirits had whispered of them," she blurted. When she realized what she had said, she almost clapped a hand over her mouth. It would not be wise for her to confide as well. Even if the bosun's wickedness was understandable, he still could not be trusted. She mentally kicked herself, resolving to watch her tongue thereafter.
To her surprise, the bosun simply nodded. "It is a tale I have heard from many such as us, child. It was a jimumjea spirit that told my brother. The white men sailed to your shores for gold, did they not?" he inquired. "It is one of their many obsessions."
Pocahontas gave an affirmative head bob. "They found none."
The bosun nodded softly in understanding. "You were lucky. Although it did you little good as the pale king has declared war on your people anyway. They will not survive. You know this to be true. In my land, the pale men came looking for hard rocks that they called 'diamonds.' They were worthless to us beyond use as simple tools, but the white men hungered for them as lions for zebra flesh," the bosun expressed.
His blunt statement showed little sympathy for her people's supposed impending demise, but Pocahontas figured his heart had been ruthlessly hardened by the experiences he was about to detail. She frowned at the bleakness of it all but allowed him to continue.
"The white men on our shores pretended to be friendly at first," he disclosed. "They had an interest in learning our tongue and some of our ways. They were few in number, so we did not see them as a threat. Though their weapons were powerful, they never used them to threaten us. We believed their thunder-sticks were for hunting only. As our land was abundant, we were naïve enough to give them what they asked for. In our negotiations, we set only two rules for them to follow—they were to stay away from our women and our holy burial grounds. That was all. We were willing to share food, water, beads, and anything else of value that they wished of us because we had so much."
As the bosun paused, he shook his head in sorrow. Pocahontas's gaze fell as she bit her lip in a dejected manner. "Their leader was a young white man with hair the color of the sun at midday," he said after a short silence. The statement caught Pocahontas's attention. She looked up as he added, "And eyes the color of the sky. In my tribe, a boy becomes a man at twenty-four seasons of age and may take his first wife. An ordinary man is allowed a new wife every two seasons until he reaches the limit he can provide for. Most men reached their limit with somewhere between three and five women. As a prince, I was wealthy and could support many wives with my bounty. When the white men came, I already had over thirty wives and nearly as many children."
He paused, contemplating something before he peered over at Pocahontas again. "Have you been with a woman yet, boy?" he unexpectedly inquired, smirking at her.
The inquisition caught Pocahontas totally off-guard and she blinked in surprise, shaking her head. What a bizarre thought, she pondered, throwing off the absurd notion.
The bosun shrugged. "I fear the pirate's life does not accommodate maidens well, but, if you desire, we can set you up with a wench in Hispaniola. I know it is not ideal but better than going without." He winked at her and continued, "Anyway, I was about to take another wife—my favorite, in fact. Her name was Shanqilshatsuq. She was a beauty to rival the starlit night itself. To be honest, her beauty is difficult to describe in English. The white man's wretched tongue could never do her justice," he griped, shaking his head in irritation. He met Pocahontas's eyes. "As she grew, the people of her village became so enamored of her grace that they created a song about her which traveled the land. It was how I first learned of her existence. Would you like to hear it?"
Pocahontas fervently nodded, never breaking eye contact. With that, the bosun began the chant. Despite the gruffness of his speaking voice, his melodic range was more colorful and varied than the wind itself. Pocahontas closed her eyes as she listened, letting the music wash over her like the gentle surf on a soft sandy beach.
"Shanqilshatsuq sinsqatsu'an gana gei prusutan
Leia leia Shanqilshatsuq estpece tea tintantuan
Beia beia Shanqilshatsuq estpece tea lestitqintan
Shanqilshatsuq, e, Shanqilshatsuq pece seqinsan
Jinjinjinjin jabequ'an Shanqilshatsuq, suequetan."
It was not so much the meaning of specific words that came to Pocahontas's mind so much as images of what they described, in the flesh. She entered a trance-like state of the time the bosun had first laid eyes upon Shanqilshatsuq. As the woman of impeccable proportions and features approached, the sun rose red in the background—splattered by blood across the alien landscape. Pocahontas awoke with a start, severely rattled.
"Are you alright, boy?" the bosun quickly asked, raising a brow in concern. He observed Pocahontas's heavy breathing and kept his gaze focused on her as realization dawned in his visage. "You saw it, didn't you?" he spoke, his lips curling into a grin.
Pocahontas said not a word but nodded fiercely. The bosun appeared impressed. "In my land, the men and women with your powers are called spirit-eyes. I am one too, as were my brother and mother. It is a pity there are so few of us left now that the White Plague is spreading so far over the earth. Even I have fallen out of practice, I must admit."
Pocahontas glanced downward and then met the bosun's eyes again. She was almost afraid to voice her next question. "So what happen with Shanqilshatsuq?" she uttered. There was a flash of pain in the bosun's eyes and she immediately regretted her words. "I am sorry, I did not mean—" she began, but he put up a hand to silence her.
"It's perfectly fine, boy. I was going to get to that. It is part of the story, after all. In short, Shanqilshatsuq betrayed me." He paused and sighed deeply. "She betrayed me for… the sun-haired man. The pompous woman believed that her beauty entitled her to something beyond a mere 'prince.' In her youthful naivety, she wrongly believed the man to be a god. I did not know for a while, though I did have a minute suspicion on the night of our wedding. She did not break as a proper maiden should. But I was so enamored of her perfection that I ignored my better judgment. I blinded myself to her deception because I wanted her so. In retrospect, I realize I was in denial. It was not until over a season later that the truth fell screaming from her loins, the spawn of a fair-skinned demon. Never did I think so hideous a monstrosity could come from one so elegant as Shanqilshatsuq. It defies reason, boy!" the bosun decried with furious intensity.
Pocahontas's mouth fell open. Was he referring to a hybrid child as a 'monstrosity'? It was not the child's fault it had been born. The bosun's great outburst did not sit right with the Powhatan princess. If she got what she wanted, her own future children would be of two peoples as well. The disguised woman felt her hands shaking slightly. The story had gone far enough at this point and she feared to listen to the rest of it.
But the bosun continued regardless. "When caught, she finally confessed. As you can imagine, Shanqilshatsuq's crime had to be punished according to our ways. Simple infidelity is put to rest with a painful but relatively brief death. Shanqilshatsuq's case was extreme. As she had chosen to lie with a devil, her demise was long and slow and it began with the burning of the squalling demon spawn before her eyes."
Pocahontas's body went numb in an instant. She could scarcely process the words he had spoken. After all they had discussed, after she had thought she had come to understand him, her fear of this enormous man returned with a vengeance. She struggled to stop her body from trembling as he continued his tale, blind to her horror. The ringing in her ears took on a heightened trill when she heard a chuckle escape his lips.
The bosun was smiling. "At dawn the morning after, we ambushed the white settlement with well over a thousand warriors. Their guns killed many of our men, but the sacrifice turned out to be well worth it when the sun-haired man was captured. Do you know what we do with white devils in our land?" he asked her with a vengeful gleam in his eye. She swallowed a lump in her throat and shook her head ever so slowly.
"We take three or four hooks about the size of my fist," the bosun explained, showing her his massive fist for reference. "Then we pierce them through the skin along the devil's shoulders until the points stick through—just the skin, not the muscle or bones. The ends of these hooks are tied to a heavy length of rope. We used this long rope to hang the sun-haired man from a tree, but that was only the beginning…"
Pocahontas suddenly felt her stomach lurch and knew it was about time to find a way to slip off. The relief at discovering the sun-haired man in the tale could not have been John Smith did nothing to assuage her horror. Thinking fast, she feigned a yawn. "Your story is wonderful, sir. I have been up very long. Can continue later?" she timidly inquired.
The bosun blinked but then nodded. "Of course, a growing boy needs his rest. Run along, child. There are many more stories to tell and plenty of time for the telling," he said, rising to his feet. He trod over to the cabin door and opened it for her.
Pocahontas stood up. Just when she was about to leave, the bosun suddenly added, "Oh! One more thing before you retire, boy. It is a very important thing that I have been meaning to warn you about. I know you are still a child and would not know better, so it would be wise to heed my advice." She stopped in her tracks, raising a brow in curiosity. He continued, "We destroyed all the men in the settlement that day, but there were still some on the ship. They left and returned with an armada and you can guess what happened afterward. White men cannot be trusted, boy. Do not trust your white friend, the one with the ivory-pale skin. You know of whom I speak. He may have helped you in London, but it is part of their deceit. He wants something from you. Be on the lookout. And never underestimate the white man's wit. It is his most dangerous weapon."
The bosun let her leave when he was done, shutting the door behind her. Pocahontas was extremely shaken at that point. She raced through the halls and up the stairwell to the berthing quarters where she found John Rolfe in one of the hammocks. Unfortunately, he was so exhausted from the day's work that he was impossible to rouse. She desperately needed him to comfort her, but she knew she would have to wait. Not wanting to rob him of much-needed rest, she resolved to address the issue the following day.
Pocahontas curled up in the hammock just below his. Despite her suspicion that sleep would be elusive after listening to such a horrifying tale, she found that she did feel slightly better being close to John Rolfe—even if he was fast asleep. She briefly glanced around the room to make sure all the sleeping pirates were facing away before she reached up and held his dangling hand. That small bit of warmth was enough to calm her nerves and Pocahontas's mind gradually fell to troubled dreams.