The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe: Book I

Chapter 4: Smoke and Ashes

Pocahontas took the supply pack from John Rolfe and pulled his shirt up to examine the wound. It appeared to be a relatively shallow gash along his ribcage, but it was difficult to see with the dense mangroves obscuring the moonlight. Flit came over to look as well, appearing very concerned. "I'm sure he'll be okay, Flit," she said. Meeko and Percy joined them and sniffed the gash in curiosity. Meeko cooed worriedly at Pocahontas. The Englishman's shirt was bloodstained, but he was not bleeding as much as before.

Pocahontas pulled off the remaining half of her sopping male shirt, wrung it out, and wrapped it tightly around Rolfe's injured torso. "Ouch," he murmured in a low tone.

"Sorry, John. I just want to stop the bleeding," Pocahontas spoke, applying a little more pressure. "It doesn't look too bad, but it's hard to tell without enough light."

"It's the salt, love. It burns like fire," John Rolfe expressed, hissing in pain. "I thought I was going to pass out when I first entered the water. Can't believe we made it this far. How did we get to land? Did the current carry us in?" he groaned, peering around.

Pocahontas paused, pursing her lips. "Not quite. Look, John, maybe we can find a freshwater river around here somewhere to wash out the salt so it'll stop hurting. It would be nice to get a bath too," she remarked, casually changing the subject.

"No kidding. I've actually got a skin of water in the supply pack so I'd like to wash it now. It's hurting pretty badly," he indicated, groping for the bag over his shoulder. He could not find it and immediately panicked. "Oh no! Did I lose it?" he cried.

"No," Pocahontas replied, giving him a shoulder pat. "I have it right here." She reached in the pack and found the skin of water. After she untied the binding around John Rolfe's torso, she used the water to rinse the wound. Rolfe hissed but seemed to relax a moment later when the stinging from the salt slowly subsided. "Better?" she inquired.

John Rolfe nodded sluggishly. After resting a bit, he unsteadily pushed himself off the sandy soil and into a sitting position with Pocahontas's assistance. "I can't… seriously believe we're alive," he breathed, laughing miserably. He glanced at the black waters and gritted his teeth in apprehension when he spotted three sharp gray fins.

Pocahontas saw them too and whispered a thanks to the spirits of the black-and-white whales. Not only had the majestic creatures rescued them from the pirates, but they had also rescued them from the sharks. The predatory fish had to have followed John Rolfe's blood trail in the water. Thankfully, the orcas had out-swam them to land.

"I don't know about you, but I think we can wait until morning to dry our clothes out. A fire in the daylight is less easily spotted. Thank goodness it's so warm here or we would have to worry about freezing to death," John Rolfe noted, shakily rising to his feet. The Englishman hit his head lightly on the branch of a mangrove, grunting.

Pocahontas suddenly gasped and John Rolfe glanced down at her. Her deep brown eyes filled to the brim with tears. "What is it, love?" Rolfe hurriedly inquired.

"My mother's necklace. It must still be on the ship! I'll never see it again," she cried. John Rolfe frowned at her and then produced said necklace from one of his deep trouser pockets. Pocahontas's eyes turned to saucers and she grabbed it. "But I thought…" she began, examining the treasured item closely to ensure she was not dreaming.

"I only hid it below the floorboards at first because I feared the pirates might search us. Later on, I retrieved it and kept it on my person. I've got the king's order too," John Rolfe explained, patting the long bulge on the side of his soaked trousers. He reached into the supply pack and produced the sopping wet map, frowning again. "Good thing the king's order is in a sealed container," he remarked. "Maybe this'll dry if I hang it on a branch," he speculated, draping the wet parchment gingerly over a mangrove bough.

Pocahontas put her necklace on and reached for the machete on her belt. She used the sharp edge to slice the top rim of the corset. After she tore the garment off, she tossed it aside. Then she unbuckled her belt and pulled off the soaking wet trousers as well as the linen binding John Rolfe had used to flatten her buttocks. Her buckskin dress was just as filthy as everything else she had on, but she still felt immensely relieved to be free of the restrictive bodice. "I think the first thing we need to do is find a freshwater river."

"Agreed," John Rolfe replied, mindlessly flipping off his wet shirt and ringing it out. "There's a lot of things I need to clean other than just myself." He slung the shirt over a branch and drained the salt water out of his survival pack. Lastly, he reached in to check the contents. "I figure the bread is pretty much ruined," he griped as his hand came out covered in white mush. "Yuck," he muttered, flicking it off. "Luckily, we do have enough waterproof provisions to last until St. Augustine. It can't be much farther than thirty miles from here, though I'll check the land map when it dries to make sure."

John Rolfe peered around the area briefly. "It's pretty humid here," he continued. "We'll definitely need either the sun or a fire to completely dry everything out. That will have to wait. I say we start hiking inland to find us a river as you suggested. What say you, love? …love?" he repeated when she failed to answer. He glanced at her. "Pocahontas?"

Pocahontas seemed distracted, so John Rolfe followed her blank gaze to his own bare chest and abdominals. His cheeks became heated and he immediately snatched his damp shirt from the branch to obscure her view. "I say! Focus, Pocahontas! We're still in a survival situation and we need to stay on task to get back to Virginia alive."

Pocahontas blinked, coming out of her trance. It was a good thing it was so dark or else he would have seen her flush. "Right!" she blurted. "Yes, um… Let's go find a river." The Powhatan princess spun on a heel. She shot him a last fleeting glance over her shoulder and led the way into the mangrove swamp. Meeko and Percy immediately trod after her, whereas Flit buzzed ahead to scout the terrain for dangers. John Rolfe tied the shirt around his neck and folded up the map, placing it back in the supply pack. He put the pack on his shoulder and followed his companions into the unknown.

Getting through the dense shrubbery was difficult, but they refrained from using the machete for fear of leaving a noticeable trail that the pirates could follow. At least, that was John Rolfe's main reason. He made sure to bring all of their things, including the ruined corset, in order to leave as few hints behind as possible.

Pocahontas was far superior at navigating through the difficult landscape, so John Rolfe clumsily tried to copy every lithe movement she made. He ended up bumping his head on branches more often than not, but he was determined to keep up with her. The good news, if there was any, was the land's flatness. It was a huge relief that they would not have to engage in any risky mountain climbs. Working the riggings on the ship had done nothing to assuage Rolfe's fear of heights. In fact, it had made it considerably worse.

As they traveled farther inland, the dense coastal mangroves gave way to a hardwood hammock filled with live oak, mahogany, and red maple trees—among many others. Many of the plants were unlike anything Pocahontas had seen before. Her curiosity spurred her to want to examine everything more closely in the daylight. Rolfe was happy to get away from the dense shrubbery of the mangroves, but the forest floor was not that much easier for him. It was piled high with uneven debris and fallen tree trunks.

As usual, Pocahontas had little to no trouble getting around. She did not even require much light because she instinctively groped the environment with her hands and feet before proceeding. On the other hand, John Rolfe was left to stumble and flounder his way blindly over gnarled roots, fallen logs, and branches. He wound up on his rear or face much more often than he would have liked. Thankfully, no one was watching.

They had not gone far into the forest before Flit returned and signaled them to follow. Pocahontas glanced back at John Rolfe. "I think he's found something!" she declared, taking to a jog. She deftly jumped over fallen logs and ducked under low-lying branches. "Come on, John!" she called back to the slack-jawed Englishman.

"Hold on, Pocahontas! I can't very well—Oomph!" John Rolfe replied, finding himself with another face full of dirt and moss as he tripped over a large root. It was too late though because Pocahontas, Meeko, and Flit had already disappeared through the brush. The observant pug dog stayed behind to keep an eye on the bumbling human. All Rolfe could do was push himself up and attempt to follow in the canopy-dimmed starlight. Ten minutes later, he was just beginning to get the hang of clambering through the dense woods when the moonlit end of the hammock canopy came into view. Rolfe and Percy heard the sound of Pocahontas's laughter up ahead, followed by a splash.

John Rolfe glanced down to his canine companion. "Well, I guess she's found clean water," he declared, chuckling. Percy yipped and scampered off through a thicket. Rolfe was too big to follow the same path as the pug, so he had to climb over an enormous lichen-covered log to escape the forest. Though it appeared to be sturdy, Rolfe quickly discovered how deceiving appearances could be. The bark did not hold to the wood due to moisture and decay hidden beneath the surface. Just as he boosted himself up, he slid right back into a patch of sandy burrs and yelped loud enough for the others to hear.

Pocahontas and Meeko stopped splashing each other and peered over toward the edge of the hammock. "John, are you okay?" she called into the trees. She brought a hand to her ear, but all she could hear in response was a series of low noises that sounded like angry griping. She could not make out the words and turned to her avian friend. "Flit! Go check on him, will you?" He gave a quick nod and dutifully zipped off into the forest.

The first thing Flit encountered when he entered the forest was the Englishman hopping around madly, muttering a slew of very ungentlemanly terms regarding demon shrubbery from the pits of hell. Ever the analytical type, he examined the plant which had caused all the fuss. He flew behind Rolfe to assess the damage. Dozens of stickers were embedded in the man's trousers from just under his belt to all the way down the length of his thighs.

John Rolfe bit his lip and glanced over his shoulder at the hummingbird. "Is… i-is it bad?" he whimpered, his voice cracking just a bit. Flit merely chirped, spat on each of his wingtips, rubbed them together, and grabbed a hold of the first sticker with his pin-like beak. "N-n-no, wait! You can't just—AH-AH-AHH!" he cried as Flit tore it out.

…

With a furious growl, Flame threw a dagger into a marked point on the ship's spare land map. It was pinned to the wall just outside his cabin. The crew watched in dead silence as the angry captain began to pace. "We know where they're headed, cap'n," Legless spoke, breaking the quietude. "Where else would they go? The only question remaining is, do we try 'n track 'em through the wilderness or wait for ambush outside St. Augustine?"

"Both," Flame spat, shooting the first mate a stone-cold glare. "I sent three search parties ashore to fire three shots if they find anything. But the fugitives probably know we're going to look for 'em. The question is, do we signal Bleud to turn back the Draw? If they somehow make it to St. Augustine, we'll need both ships to raid the settlement. There's no way we can take the colony alone. The French surely have scouts out and about to watch for Injun attacks. Setting up an ambush won't be easy," he pointed out.

Finley Flame was certain that Captain Bleud would not be pleased to learn of the new development. He might even blame Flame for being the one to vouch for the fugitives' acceptance in the first place. In all his years of pirating, Flame had never allowed someone to put him in a bad position before. The thought of failing to catch his quarry was too unbearable to ponder. Rage at the humiliating vice burned within him, eating away at him moment by moment. He turned to the head gunner. "Give the signal," he solemnly instructed. "We are going to take St. Augustine, should Bleud agree."

"Aye, sir," Bloodlet replied, running off and shouting orders to the other gunners. The crew spurred to life once the captain had made his decision. There would be many casualties for the crew, but Flame and Bleud staked their reputations on leaving no unintended survivors. Devil willing, Flame was determined that the two escapees would not be the first to destroy the notoriety he and the rest of the crew had worked so hard to build. He would hunt them to the ends of the earth if he had to—and beyond.

The scarred captain grunted in anger and strode to the ship's starboard side. He found the bosun standing silently, staring into the dark waves as the moonlight danced off of them. The swarthy pirate had his arms crossed over his bare chest in contemplation. "Well?!" Flame snapped at the taller man. There was only the slightest shift in the black man's demeanor. "You're so silent all the time, o great cat-bearer. One might think you weren't even pissed a wench got away with one of your prized machetes. A wench!"

After a brief pause, the bosun uncrossed his arms and leaned forward onto the railing heavily. Flame waited impatiently for him to say something. The Affrikaan finally spoke. "I knew that there was something. When they joined the crew, I could not put my finger on it," he explained. "I thought it was just the white man. In fact, I was sure it was him. He was obviously hiding something," he said, letting the thought hang.

Captain Flame blinked and furrowed his brows. "Some help you are," he snapped in annoyance, throwing his hands in the air as he paraded away. He stopped and spun back, pointing squarely at the bosun. "Next time you have any such suspicion, you must mention it to Bleud or I. It's possible it might've helped," he pointed out, growling in irritability. The sky cracked with cannon fire. Three times in a row went the signal. The bosun made no reply as Flame retreated. He stared out over the waters to the distant light and watched as the Draw slowly turned back in their direction. A vision flashed through his mind that would have been terrifying to most. But the bosun was able to savor it like the last ember of a dying passion. A slight grin curled his lips upward in anticipation.

…

"I hate this land! I hate this forest! And I especially hate these plants!" John Rolfe bit out through clenched teeth as Flit relieved his backside of the ninetieth sticker. Hardly able to take it anymore, he lay limp over a storm-bent tree and prayed it would be over soon.

"You alright, John? Flit?" Pocahontas called from the river as she washed herself in the calm water. They were taking longer than she expected, so she started to get worried.

"Yes, love! Perfectly fine! I-I-I-I just dropped something. Um, um… Flit's helping me find it. I'll be there in a min-UTEE!" he cried in a high-pitched voice right at the end as Flit pulled out a sticker that was buried particularly deep in his flesh.

Pocahontas knitted her brows. "Well, you don't sound fine," she sassed back. With her body submerged in the water, she pulled off her buckskin dress and breechcloth and began to scrub them against each other to wash the three weeks' worth of filth out. She could see them mucking up the water and stuck out her tongue in disgust. When she finished washing her clothes, she wrung them and left them hanging on a branch. Then she pulled her boots and pants in from the riverbank and began to wash them as well. A bit farther down the river, she watched Meeko and Percy splash around. Meeko appeared to be enjoying himself for the first time since the ill-fated voyage began.

Flit pulled out the last sticker and flew in front of John Rolfe, nodding to indicate he had finished. "It's over? Oh, thank goodness!" the Englishman cried. He reached back and felt around. All the sharp painful burrs were indeed gone from his trousers. Then Rolfe shakily pushed himself up from the tree trunk and collected the survival pack over his shoulder again, begrudgingly thanking Flit for the agonizing but necessary favor. This time he was more careful making his way over the rotten log. He managed to safely hoist one leg over the log and slide over it, landing on his right foot on the other side.

The moonlit river came into view and he grabbed hold of a nearby sapling, pulling his left leg down from the slippery timber. With both feet firmly on the ground again, John Rolfe sighed in relief, brushed himself off, and headed down the bank. He immediately covered his eyes when he spotted Pocahontas's buckskin dress and other garments hanging from a tree branch. Pocahontas tossed her short hair back as she emerged from the depths, spotting Rolfe up on the bank. "You made it! The water's great. Come on in!" she announced cheerfully. "Want me to wash your clothes for you, John?"

The Englishman flushed deeply. "N-no thanks, love! I'll do it. I'm going up the river a bit, around the bend. Call to me when you're decent," he blurted out, making a beeline for the brush upriver. He disappeared around the bend as he had promised. Pocahontas giggled and went back to washing herself. It felt good to have clean hair again. She could not quite tell in the moonlight, but she felt like she had developed a bad rash from the taut corset. Hence, the fresh water was indescribably soothing on her itchy sore skin.

Upriver, John Rolfe dumped the contents of his pack onto a broad tree stump by the water. He had apples, dried meats, cheeses, a half-full skin of water, three more empty skins for filling, flint and steel for fire, a compass, a bar of soap, a razor, razor strop, hair comb, and the wet map from the ship. However, with the exception of the map, the items were all covered in white mush from the ruined bread. He washed each of them in the river and laid them to dry on the stump. Lastly, he washed the pack itself inside and out.

John Rolfe dove into the river and disrobed, using hardwood tree roots and soap to wash his clothes. Like Pocahontas, he hung the garments on an overhead limb and then used the soap to wash himself. When he was done, he lathered up his face and shaved every last itchy hair follicle from his jaw, chin, neck, and upper lip. The Englishman could hardly even remember how good it felt to be clean-shaven. He sent up a prayer of thanks for the current privilege, washing the soap off of his now-hairless face.

John Rolfe was in the process of giving his clothes one last wring to remove moisture when he heard Pocahontas call to him from downriver. "John, I'm done!"

The Englishman called back, "Almost done here! I'll be there in a minute, love!" He folded the razor up and slipped it back into the washed survival pack. After brushing his hair out with the comb, he put all the items, save the land map and compass, back into his satchel. Finally, he put his damp clothes back on and tied his hair back.

When John Rolfe returned to Pocahontas, he was surprised to find her wearing her buckskin dress and the men's pants and boots. She also had the machete tied to her belt. He could only assume it was because she did not want to have to carry the other items. When their eyes met, Pocahontas looked surprised to see him. "The hair on your face," she blurted, pointing. She ran over and examined him closely. "It's gone!"

John Rolfe cocked a brow at her. "Yes, I brought a razor," he said shortly, turning his attention to the map as he spread it out again. While it was still damp, it had thankfully undergone little water damage. Some of the ink had run a bit, but it was still legible enough to be of use. "Now, I figure we need to—" he began, ending his sentence abruptly when he felt Pocahontas's soft hand brush against his cheek. "Yes, love?"

"It's so smooth," Pocahontas remarked, stroking his jawline.

John Rolfe raised a brow and folded up the map, holding it under his left arm. He used his right to remove her slender hand from his face and then he kissed the back of it, holding it to his chest. "Pocahontas, you've seen me clean-shaven before. Let's focus so we can get to St. Augus—" he started, silenced again when she threw her arms around his neck and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. Caught off-guard, Rolfe dropped the map. Rather than pulling away to retrieve it, he slipped his arms around Pocahontas's waist.

When Pocahontas pulled back a few extended moments later, she held him close like she had the time he arrived in the Tower of London to rescue her. "You saved my life," she whispered in his ear. She pulled back and gazed into his green eyes. "How did you know? I thought you'd gone to sleep. If you hadn't shown up when you did—"

"Funny thing, that," John Rolfe chimed, kneeling down to retrieve the map. The diplomat stowed it away and scooped her into his arms, strolling south down the riverbank. "I was in quite a deep sleep. But I started having this strange dream about an enormous tree with long drooping branches. It shouted at me to wake up and save you." He crinkled his face in self-skepticism and shook his head. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but who said dreams have to make sense? At least my intuition was spot-on, don't you think?"

Pocahontas eyed John Rolfe thoughtfully as he carried her along, pursing her lips. "It doesn't sound that ridiculous," she replied. "Anyway, you can put me down now. I wouldn't want you to trip while you're carrying me. Where are we going?" she asked as he placed her back on her feet. Meeko, Percy, and Flit caught up with them.

"We're heading south. I'm not sure of our precise location, but St. Augustine should most assuredly be south of here. I figure we can follow this river until we reach the bay where the settlement is. I'm sure the river will lead us there. If not, we'll follow the coast until we find it," John Rolfe replied. "All we have to do is watch out for pirates and unfriendly tribes. Once we arrive at the gates of St. Augustine, we should be home-free."

"That's great," Pocahontas lauded, giving a wide yawn.

John Rolfe draped an arm around her waist as they walked. "I think it's best if we wait until daylight to get some rest. Even though it's warm here, we'll probably feel cold if we try to go to sleep in wet clothes. Think you can hold out for another few hours, love?" he inquired, receiving a sleepy nod. He rubbed her back. "Good. I'm sure the sun will dry us right up. If not, we'll build ourselves a fire with the flint and steel I've brought."

Suddenly, they heard cannon fire in the far distance—three shots in a row. Pocahontas grabbed a hold of John Rolfe's arm, scared. "It's them, isn't it? Are they attacking a ship? Why are they firing?" Meeko, Percy, and Flit appeared worried too.

John Rolfe furrowed his brows in contemplation as he stared out in the southeasterly direction of the coast. "I'm not sure, Pocahontas. But whatever it is, it can't be good. We've got to keep moving," he concluded, immediately picking up the pace.

…

Bleud was livid to discover an Englishman and a woman had hoodwinked the crew. He angrily stalked around the lower deck of the Blood Draw, waiting to hear back from the search parties. After a few hours passed with no luck, Bleud commanded the gunners to send the single cannon fire signal to indicate it was time for the trackers to return. They would go over the new plan that Flame and Bleud had agreed upon and send the parties back out to draw the refugees through the wilderness toward St. Augustine.

The shot was fired and the crew eventually reconvened on the two ships. By that time, it was nearly twilight and the faintest glow marked the eastern horizon. Flame and Bleud drilled the search parties for evidence of the fugitives, but none had found anything. One leader thought they had been looking too far south, another too far north. The third claimed they were likely in the right area, but it was far too dark to search properly. Even with lamps, a footprint could easily be missed at night in a littered forest.

"They're right, Finley," Captain Bleud stated, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.

With a vein bulging on his scarred forehead, Flame appeared to be about to blow his top. "But we can't just let them—" he blurted, silenced when Bleud held up a hand.

"It's almost dawn," Bleud continued, speaking reason to the situation. "We'll wait to send them out again. Then after dark, later on, we attack St. Augustine with both ships. There's a good chance the French have tracking hounds for hunting game in that there port. If we can get our hands on a few of those dogs, we'll surely have the advantage."

Flame loosened up as he processed Bleud's new proposal. "If we're going to take St. Augustine more or less immediately, shouldn't we keep all men on the ships? We'll need as many combatants as possible to overwhelm an armed settlement."

"Aye! Good thinking, mate. All men stay, except one. We'll send our very best tracker north after the fugitives. Adahy!" Captain Bleud shouted into the crowd.

"He's in the medical bay," Legless divulged. "Rolfe lopped off his hand earlier, so say the other men. Must have lost a lot of—" Before Legless could finish his words, the aforementioned man stepped forward. Adahy's wrist-stub appeared to have been burnt with a hot iron to seal the wound, yet there was no hint of pain on his tattooed face.

Bleud glanced at Adahy and grinned back at the slack-jawed Flame. "The men of his tribe were warriors, all," Bleud explained. "They knew how to stop blood loss with great haste. Isn't that right?" he said, looking to the now one-handed pirate for confirmation.

Adahy solemnly nodded. "I wish to hunt the accursed paleface that did this to me," he expressed, displaying his mutilated extremity for the wowed crew to see. "I will make him suffer great pain and then I will deliver him to you alive as ordered."

"You sure you can pull off a stunt like that without your sword hand, chief?" a sarcastic mocking voice from the crowd remarked. A series of snickers emanated from the crew, though Adahy gave no hint of a reaction—neither positive nor negative.

Bleud stepped forward, the look of reverence on his face silencing the crew. He clapped Adahy on the bicep of his uninjured arm. "Very well, soldier, you have my confidence." He faced the others and commanded, "Prepare him the cock-boat!"

The order spurred the insolent crew into action. Adahy left the ship with plenty of guns, ammunition, and a supply bag ten minutes later. His only accomplice was a rower, as he generally preferred to go on missions alone. Once the plan was set in motion, Bleud and Flame turned their ships toward the bay of St. Augustine. They would wait in the waters outside the bay until nightfall returned and then they would attack.

…

SEPTEMBER 21, 1613

Pocahontas yawned. They had been traveling downriver all night until the large tributary opened into a vast freshwater lake. They stopped at that point and swam across the river to the western side. While it was past dawn, the sun was not yet hot enough to dry them. Pocahontas was beginning to feel a slight chill as her body heat became erratic from lack of sleep. John Rolfe was not in much better condition. In her peripheral vision, the young woman thought she saw the Englishman's teeth chattering momentarily.

While they had both eaten a very large dinner the night before, enough hours had passed that their stomachs were beginning to growl again. At first, they were too chilled to sit down and eat, but the air warmed as the sun crested the forest canopy. "Let's have some cheese and beef jerky," John Rolfe proposed, sliding the pack off his shoulder.

"That sounds great!" Pocahontas replied without a moment's hesitation, spinning toward him. She lowered herself to the sand and sat in a cross-legged position.

The raccoon perked up at the suggestion as well, but John Rolfe eyed him in warning. "Don't think you can steal all the provisions, Meeko. I'm giving you your fair ration. If you want more, you'll have to forage like a proper wild animal," he ordained in a tone laden with authority. He shook a finger at the mischievous individual. "And don't think you can steal from Percy either. I'll hand-feed him myself if I've got to."

Meeko crossed his arms and pouted at the Englishman, whereas Percy jumped for joy. They all settled down on the dry sand and John Rolfe began to distribute the food. He gave Pocahontas a large apple, a few strips of jerky, and a rectangular slice of cheese. She put the meat and cheese together and bit into them, savoring the flavor.

"It's too bad we don't have the bread. It would have paired wonderfully with all of this," John Rolfe lamented, pulling out an apple for Meeko. He sliced off a nice piece of cheddar cheese as well and handed it over it to the raccoon. Meeko greedily snatched up all the offered items and began to scarf them down like no one's business.

The hummingbird showed more interest in a patch of exotic flowers than the food in the survival pack, so John Rolfe dismissed him and turned his attention to Percy. He pulled out a piece of jerky and eyed Meeko carefully as the pug dog ate from his hand.

"Aren't you going to eat, John?" Pocahontas inquired.

"In a moment, love," John Rolfe replied, narrowing his eyes at the raccoon.

It took Meeko less than a minute to finish his entire meal. He quickly turned his attention to Percy's provisions, just as the Englishman had predicted. "Don't even think about it," John Rolfe warned, offering Percy another strip of jerky as he watched Meeko. He held the supply pack in a protected position between his knees and kept his gaze locked on the would-be thief. "Shoo, Meeko! Go find some nuts and berries, why don't you?"

Pocahontas rolled her eyes in amusement at Meeko's petulant expression. "Go on, Meeko. Do what he says," she told him. "You'll find lots of stuff to eat." The animal huffed and stalked off to go look for fruits, snails, and other small morsels.

When Percy finished eating, he licked John Rolfe's hand affectionately and curled up next to the Englishman's thigh. Rolfe reached into the pack with his clean hand and began to eat his own share as Pocahontas was finishing her meal. He handed her a skin of water and she drank heavily from it before handing it back to him. "Had enough, love?" he inquired, receiving a nod from her. She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

As the Florida sun warmed them up, they both began to feel extremely sleepy. John Rolfe finished his snack quickly and yawned as well. "Alright, let's rest up," he announced, lying back in the sand. Their comfort level increased dramatically as the sun evaporated the moisture from their clothes. The Englishman used the supply pack as a pillow to keep the sand out of his hair and then he stretched out with a contented sigh. They both kicked off their leather boots to allow the insides to dry out as they slumbered.

The fine dry sand was soft and molded nicely to their bodies. It was a vast improvement over the dreadful hammocks they had been forced to slumber in for three weeks as low-ranked members of the pirate crew. Pocahontas began to dig a shallow trench in the sand to sleep more comfortably on her side. John Rolfe cracked an eye open when he felt his lady friend shifting the sand beside him. A moment later, she lay down perpendicular to him and rested her head on his belly—facing toward his head. As she closed her eyes, he ran a hand through her moist black hair and then down the length of her arm. When their hands met, they intertwined their fingers together and rapidly fell asleep.

…

The sun neared the western horizon when John Rolfe finally awoke. He had slept much more deeply than he realized as he quickly discovered that Meeko had successfully raided the supply pack right out from under his head. The Englishman shook the sand out of his auburn hair and found a trail of items leading into the forest. He frowned in irritation. Rolfe followed the path, gathering each thing as he went, and finally happened upon the pot-bellied raccoon passed out high up on a pine tree branch.

The inedible supplies were accounted for, but it appeared that Meeko had eaten every last crumb of their food provisions. John Rolfe even discovered an exploratory bite mark in the bar of soap and rolled his eyes. The open satchel was hanging on the limb of a nearby oak tree, high over the Englishman's head and quite out of reach. "Seriously, Meeko?" he fussed as the bloated animal stretched, glancing down at him sleepily.

Back on the shaded beach, the others had woken up as well. They followed John Rolfe's bootprints into the forest and found him brandishing a fist at the lazy critter high up on a pine tree limb. Pocahontas snickered as she listened to Rolfe's noisy rebukes. "I quite could've enjoyed a snack after our rest, but now we will all have to go without until we reach St. Augustine. I hope you're proud of yourself, you hairy little thief!" he yapped, pointing an accusing finger at the raccoon. He heard Pocahontas laugh and glanced over his shoulder. "I hope you're not hungry because we are fresh out of provisions, my dear," he immediately reported, folding his arms as he pouted up at Meeko in the tree.

"He snatched your satchel while you were sleeping, did he?" Pocahontas teased. Flit zipped up to Meeko's head and started squawking angrily at him. Percy, likewise, ran up to the foot of the tree barking and growling. The striped bandit just yawned.

"Don't bother, Percy. He'll never learn. Come on. The sooner we get to St. Augustine, the sooner we'll have our next meal," John Rolfe proclaimed. He jumped up as high as he could in an attempt to retrieve the empty sack, but it was much too high. Pocahontas had to climb up on his shoulders to reach it. She handed it to him and slid down off his back, watching as he put everything back inside and slung the bag over his shoulder.

Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit returned to the lake and continued southward, though they could not help being distracted by the beautiful array of exotic birds they spotted along the way. There were tall pink birds with long legs and spoon-shaped bills, hook-billed water birds with webbed feet, crested blue wading birds, red-colored hawks, multi-colored songbirds, and everything in between. The world was a marvelous prism of color and song as the golden sun encroached on the western sky, lighting up the horizon with a lovely array of blues, purples, and magentas.

They were fortunate to find a few bushes of edible berries along the route, eating as many as they could reach when they had the chance. Though the pint-sized fruits were not enough to be filling, they did help the group keep their energy up as they traveled along. Nobody really seemed to notice any intense hunger pangs until well after dark.

The night came alive with the sounds of crickets, bullfrogs, and larger unseen creatures slinking through the brush. With the sky clear, the moon and stars lit their way as the lake beach gave way to a freshwater marsh. They kept to the outer rim by the forest to avoid sinking into the mud. Although they were not fatigued yet, Pocahontas found herself slowing down for want of sustenance. Clouds blew in from the south and the sky slowly became overcast, but there were no signs of precipitation. The Powhatan princess finally felt she needed a rest. She tugged on John Rolfe's sleeve and requested a stop.

"Are you alright, love?" he inquired, sitting next to her on a fallen log. Meeko began feasting on a walk of snails stuck to the underside of a rock, whereas Percy looked just as hungry and miserable as his human companions. The hummingbird was fortunate to be able to feed off of nectar and there were many beautiful night blooms along the way. It seemed Flit would have little trouble sustaining himself, unlike the others.

"I'm starting to regret not getting mad at Meeko earlier," Pocahontas eventually admitted in a grumpy tone of voice, shooting the raccoon a scolding glance. He purred innocently at her and bolted straight up a tree to pick at the bark for bugs. "How much farther to the settlement?" she inquired, peering up at John Rolfe through pleading eyes.

John Rolfe reached into his bag and pulled out the map, unfolding it. He squinted his eyes at the parchment, trying to make out the faint forms of the ink in the dark. "Hm. The freshwater lake should be getting brackish soon. I figure we should be able to tell when the scent in the air changes. It's supposed to open up into the bay that St. Augustine is located in, which itself transitions into the ocean on the eastern border. Once we reach the bay beach, we should be able to spot the lights of the colony on the far side. Then we just have to walk around the rim and we'll arrive at the gates," he concluded.

"Really?" Pocahontas returned, feeling more upbeat.

John Rolfe nodded. He paused and looked more closely at the map as the moon barely shone through the clouds overhead. "We're probably getting close to the bay. Walking around to the other side should not take more than a day if we keep pressing. We need to watch for ambushes though. Having a tiny scout like Flit is a huge advantage, so I'm not too worried. We'll have him survey ahead of us to make sure we're not about to walk into anything we'd rather not," he proposed, turning to address Flit. "Your job is an important one, little fellow. Think you can handle it?" queried the Englishman.

The hummingbird confidently nodded and John Rolfe rose to his feet. When Pocahontas sighed and asked if they could rest just a little longer, his response was to heft her up into his arms and continue on their way. Surprised at first, she did not seem to mind as she draped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his broad shoulder.

As John Rolfe had predicted, a salty sea scent arose about an hour later. They were getting close. Pocahontas had taken up walking again, encouraged by the appearance of the promised brackish waters. But it was not long before a second unexpected aroma mixed in with the first as they made their way through a sparse pine trail.

John Rolfe stopped and sniffed the air. "Does that smell like smoke to you, Pocahontas?" he inquired, cocking a brow in concerned curiosity. The loud sound of cannon fire suddenly split the air, causing them both to jolt in alarm. Pocahontas and Rolfe looked at each other with wide eyes and then broke into a sprint through the tall grasses.

They bolted down the trail, the animals in pursuit. John Rolfe followed Pocahontas as fast as he could through another mangrove swamp, tripping and hitting his head on multiple occasions. They tore through the rough branches, not caring much if they got scratched up in the process. An orange light shone through the brush. When they finally emerged on the beach, all they could do was watch in horror as St. Augustine burned.