The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe: Book I

Chapter 7: Swamp Blues

Adahy watched as the muzzled animal swam around the lake in concentric circles. Now that his pirate brethren had left him for dead, he was severely parched from the heat. Even crawling over to the water's edge for a drink seemed like an insurmountable task. His only hope was to use the ancient Copichican art of nepi peneta to reach out to the hound with his mind. He had not practiced in years. Now, he had no choice but to try it once more. Blood loss had severely drained his physical and mental energies, but it was a warrior's most sacred duty to persevere through such overwhelming odds.

He saw promise in the canine's equally dire situation. The creature would surely starve to death with the muzzle binding its jaws shut. The dying man could use the dragonfly blackstone dagger to easily cut the binding material away. He would not even need to use his hands—he could hold the blade with his toes, if necessary. The spirit had the power to slice through thick materials with almost no pressure being applied by the wielder. It had aided Adahy many times before in past escapes, saving his life countless times.

Adahy could not hear the spirit's voice in the depths of the lake, it was much too far away. The dog was their only hope to be reunited. Adahy closed his eyes and uttered a chant below his breath. With his body so numb from blood loss, he found it unexpectedly easy to stretch his spirit out from the confines of its physical form. Nepi peneta was a dangerous practice. If the mind was not robust, the spirit could lose its grip on the tether between itself and the flesh. Then the body would die without a mind to guide it and the spirit would be lost to wander the earth for eternity. It was said to be a dreadful fate.

Adahy kept a tight hold on his body as he reached out to the wading animal. He did not think he would make it, but then the dog paddled back in his direction. The demon had to be trying to contact the hound as well. Otherwise, the beast would have returned to land already. Something was drawing it in, keeping its attention fixated in the lake.

The dog swam closer and Adahy was able to touch it at last. He spoke into its animal mind the type of sweet promises that would most appeal to its kind—a master and a meal. Dogs were such loyal creatures and Adahy had always held the domesticated breeds in a special place in his heart, on account of their loving and obedient nature.

Suddenly the dog dove down below the surface and Adahy lost contact with it. He could only pray to his gods that the French breed was an intelligent one. The task of retrieving the dagger without using its jaws would be challenging for any being lacking opposable thumbs. The canine returned to the surface and continued circling again.

Adahy's spirit sighed in aggravation. With little energy left, he was forced to retreat back into his physical form. When his eyes opened, his vision was brown. He could feel his life-force fading and he feared the worst for his afterlife. To be defeated at the hands of a female was the ultimate shame for a warrior of his creed. He bit his lip in anguish as he wondered how he had fallen so far from grace. Though the legends had been vague, they had always implied that an unimagined horror awaited fallen warriors after death.

Adahy lost track of time as he dwelt in his woe. An unexpected sensation brought him back to consciousness. Something smooth and wet brushed over his face, causing his eyes to snap open. The sopping dog was standing over him, panting and slobbering as best it could through the narrow confines of the leather muzzle. He glanced to the sand between the animal's feet and spotted the dragonfly blackstone dagger lying there.

…

SEPTEMBER 23, 1613

Captain Flame stared out at the mass of smog lining the shores in frustration. The skeletal treetops that had once formed a dense canopy were the only things visible over the gray pall. The wind blew the fumes slightly northeast, keeping the shoreline shrouded. The wildfires had died, but clouds of noxious smoke still drifted through broad daylight.

"If the wildfire flushed them out of the forest, we'll not be able to spot them from here. Send someone out in a cock-boat to follow us along the shore. We'll keep 'em tethered to the ship. And tell the men on deck to put handkerchiefs o'er their faces as we cannot avoid the smoke any longer," Captain Finley Flame told Legless, collapsing his telescope as the ship neared the flowing wall of dense fumes. He squinted his eyes at it.

Legless hesitated. "Captain, the men on deck are saying that there's a good chance the fugitives are dead. If their corpses were incinerated, we're never going to find them. Perhaps it's time to send the signal to the hunting parties and give up the search, eh?" he cautiously proposed, resisting the urge to wring his hands out of anxiety.

Flame turned on him darkly. "Who precisely be saying such reckless things, mate?"

Legless backed up a bit as the captain's ice-cold eyes bore into him like razor-edged ice crystals. He had to think fast. "You think they're still alive, captain? How can we be sure?" he blurted, careful to keep his voice steady. "And even if they are, the French hounds might be dead. How could we possibly hope to find them now?"

Flame immediately suspected Legless when the man failed to answer the question. He felt a spike of rage in his chest, but then a sinister idea began to take form in the Irishman's brain before he could unleash it. He turned back to the helm to dissolve the tension between the two of them, cleverly lulling Legless back into a false sense of security. "Hm, let me think on this," he told the man in a thoughtful tone. His piqued ears could hear a minute sigh of relief coming from Legless and he grinned out of view.

Despite his words, Flame's first priority was to ensure the sentiment really had spread amongst the crew as Legless would have him believe. The fiery-haired captain put the man at the helm and quietly sent out a party in one of the cock boats as planned. Then he began stalking stealthily around the lower deck to eavesdrop on conversations.

…

John Rolfe was the first to awaken when the rising tide lapped at his hand. He sat up and glanced around, unable to determine how long they had been asleep. The decimated forest smoked heavily, even though the fire had died, obscuring the sky. The brightness penetrating the pall suggested full daylight, but the sun's location was indeterminable.

Pocahontas breathed steadily beside him. He could feel her warm breath through the threadbare cloth of his shirt. The sea surf nudged him again and he sat up, placing the young woman's head gently on the soft sand so he could get his bearings.

John Rolfe gasped when he stretched. He could feel a cascade of crackles descend his back just from lifting his arms. The wildfire fiasco had left him infinitely sore. Meeko, Percy, and Flit slowly roused as Rolfe tried to gingerly stretch the stiffness out of his aching body. When he was done, he checked himself for burns. He checked Pocahontas and the animals as well. Though they were all covered with ash and soot, he was relieved to find that no one appeared to have any severe or disfiguring injuries. He wished that he could say as much for his boot, as the melted heel gave him an uneven walk.

Feeling around, John Rolfe realized he still had his survival pack draped over his shoulder. All the supplies he originally brought appeared to be accounted for, but he could not find the turtle shell or Pocahontas's machete. He gasped when he realized the pirate's green pack with the extra food was missing. He still had a bit of cooked turtle meat and coconut in his own pack, as well as a skin of water, but that was all they had now for sustenance. They would have to find more food soon. The ashen forest would yield little, so it was imperative that they continue into fresh terrain at once.

John Rolfe's first thought was to return to the river to fill the spare skins. He was busy strategizing their next move when the surf lapping at the melted boot heel grabbed his attention. Meeko cooed up at him in curiosity, whereas Percy began licking the ash and soot out of his own fur. Pocahontas moaned softly in her slumber as the saltwater surf tickled her fingers. Grunting in pain, the Englishman bent over and picked her up bridal-style. He carried her a few feet up the beach to escape from the rising tide.

"Pocahontas, love?" John Rolfe said, gently shaking her in his arms to wake her up. She did not react at first, so he pressed a kiss to her lips. Her eyelids fluttered lightly as she emerged from her sleep, grunting and rubbing her eyes. Rolfe grinned down at her. "I've got good news and bad news. Good news is… we're alive!" he announced.

Pocahontas and John Rolfe both coughed a bit when a gust of wind blew smoke at them. Most of the smoke rose overhead and funneled downward, drawn there by the coolness of the ocean water. It gave them some breathing space, though the wind could be somewhat erratic now and again. "How long were we asleep?" she asked in a rough voice, draping her arms around the Englishman's neck as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Not sure. It's hard to tell what time of day it is from all the smoke, but the fire has gone out so I believe it is safe to go back in the forest," he replied, gently lowering her to her feet. When she made to stand at his prompting, she abruptly cried out and fell to her knees. John Rolfe instantly panicked. "Oh, no! Your leg… the log must have injured you! How could I forget?" he exclaimed, chiding himself as he lifted her up again.

Meeko, Percy, and Flit looked worried as John Rolfe placed her on her back on the fine sand. "It's not my leg," she replied, squeezing her eyes shut in discomfort. "It's my ankle. It hurts bad." She hissed in pain as she held the injured part up above the sand.

John Rolfe gritted his teeth in anxiety. "Oh, dear. I do hope it's not broken. Let's see what the trouble is, shall we?" he suggested, placing a big hand under her calf to support it. He gently pulled her pant leg up to reach the top of her oversized boot.

To their fortune, the boots were too large for Pocahontas. John Rolfe was able to slide the footwear off easily without hurting her. Her ankle was swollen and purple all around and Rolfe gaped when he saw it. "That doesn't look good at all. I can't tell with the swelling if there are any broken bones or not. For all I know, it could even be dislocated."

"I think it is just badly twisted. I have had this kind of injury before, though not as bad. It will need some kind of binding." Pocahontas looked westward to the blackened forest. "We need to get to fresh forest to find food. I don't suppose you can help me fashion a crutch out of a burned branch, can you? I can't even limp in this condition."

John Rolfe gently bound her ankle with some spare linen from his pack. Since she could not wear her own boot, he tossed his ruined one aside and replaced it with hers. The man-sized footwear fit him better anyway and he needed to have an even walk for long distance travel. Once he was done, he hefted Pocahontas up into his arms. "I don't think that will be necessary, love," he replied. "Plus, it's best if we keep that leg elevated. Now, let's go back to the river and fill all the water pouches for the journey."

Pocahontas felt around her body and gasped. "John! The green pack, I think I dropped it! And my machete… where's my machete?!" she cried in panic.

"I know, I know," John Rolfe replied, sighing. "That's the bad news I was going to tell you. I doubt the pack survived the flames, but the other items might be alright. We just have to search for them. Shouldn't be too hard as the fire burned up most of the forest debris," he explained, hiking up the beach towards the burned woodland.

As the skeletal forest rose up before them through the plumes of obscuring smoke, John Rolfe frowned in dismay. He stopped just before entering the woods. "It's a pity," he murmured, standing in the ash-laden sand. "There was so much life before and now it's gone. We best hope the destruction doesn't extend too far or we're in trouble."

Pocahontas noted the saddened tone to his voice. "The forest is not dead, John," she told him. "Forests burn from time to time. Contrary to appearances, most of these trees are still alive. Some plants cannot cast seed nor exist without fire."

John Rolfe raised a brow and met her eyes. "Really?" he uttered, surprised. He had little idea of how nature worked beyond what he had studied in the Bible and the classroom. Growing up in a city, his knowledge of forests and even farm work was very limited. Any time he had spent in a natural landscape before now had always been very brief.

Pocahontas nodded. "Granted, fires of this caliber are rare. Most fires are much milder. Sometimes I've walked through a burning forest just to watch the land reborn," she remarked, reminiscing on the experiences of her childhood. "There is a kind of beauty in the destruction," she expressed, using her gaze to point out a small bud emerging on the trunk of a black tree—possibly the very first of its kind since the wildfire.

John Rolfe raised both eyebrows as he spotted it, stepping closer. The burned bark had peeled away like a scab from healing flesh as the sprout emerged. "I had no idea," he admitted. Had his arms not been full, he would have been tempted to reach out and touch the tender shoot. "Guess that just goes to show how much I know, doesn't it?" He laughed, shrugging as he stepped over the remains of a log. The forest was mostly silent, but Rolfe did not fail to notice a few small songbirds returning to the woodland. The animals flew just over their heads, keeping below the bulk of the smoke.

John Rolfe carried Pocahontas through the clearing. Meeko, Percy, and Flit followed behind them, checking out the results of the fire with interest. When Rolfe got to the place where Pocahontas's injury had occurred, he recognized the large limb responsible instantly despite its radically altered appearance. The wood had been reduced to a pile of white ash and dust and the Englishman used his feet to shuffle through the soot.

Meeko started digging through the ash a few feet away as well and abruptly got John Rolfe and Pocahontas's attention when he purred up at them. They looked down just as the raccoon dragged Pocahontas's machete from the fire debris. The handle was a bit charred, but the blade itself was intact. Meeko carried it over to them.

"My machete!" Pocahontas cried happily as her furry friend offered her the item. She picked it up and admired it. "Thanks, Meeko!" She refastened the beloved possession to her belt as John Rolfe adjusted her position to facilitate the task.

"Well that's a relief," John Rolfe said. "It would have been a pity to permanently lose such a useful tool." He frowned when Percy pulled a scrap of the green pack out of the ash. True to his instincts, the supplies had not survived the wildfire. The food was gone. Rolfe glanced up, noticing the plumes getting thinner and wispier overhead.

Pocahontas frowned as well. "At least, we still have some food in your satchel."

John Rolfe nodded and kept plodding along, following their previous path back through the forest. He stopped when he felt the side of his boot brush by something. He nudged it out of the ash and recognized it as the dreaded turtle shell. "Oh… so that's where that thing went," he muttered. Meeko came over and blew the soot off the carapace right into Percy's face. The pug dog sneezed a few times and then yipped at the raccoon in irritation. Rolfe secretly regretted having found the shell, fearing that Pocahontas would make him wear it as a hat again as soon as the smoke from the wildfire vanished.

Pocahontas caught sight of the turtle shell. "Great! Now I have something to cook in," she expressed cheerfully, stretching down to take it from Meeko's outstretched paws. She suddenly stopped and hissed in pain, reaching for her injured ankle instead.

"Pocahontas! What's wrong, love?" John Rolfe cried. "I didn't bump you into anything, did I?" he inquired, his eyes darting around in search of the cause of her pain.

Pocahontas shook her head. "No, I have to remember not to get too excited. I moved it by accident," she replied, calming down as the pain eased. "I'm okay now. It only hurts if I try to rotate the joint," she explained, draping her arms around his shoulders again.

Pocahontas and John Rolfe watched in puzzlement as Meeko put the shell on his own back and crawled around slowly, pretending to be a tortoise. When the hummingbird started squawking at him in annoyance, Pocahontas's good humor returned as she laughed at their antics. Percy just rolled his eyes and ignored them both. "Right then," Rolfe declared. "If you like it so much, Meeko, then you can carry it. Now, let's head back to the river. I should like to wash this soot from my face and clothes."

…

Far south of where the fire had hit, Demented Jake stumbled through the brush in hope of finding one of the other hunting parties sent from the ship. He had heard a dog-like howl in the distance and thought he knew the general direction they would be in. It appeared that they had kept farther inland in case the fugitives tried to hide in the forest.

Demented Jake's shoulder gash had become infected from the heat. Since Spike-Eyes had taken all the supplies, he would need to find one of the other parties to get alcohol to clean out his wound. After recovering his health, his next goal would be to travel north as fast as he could and slaughter his betrayers. He was driven by revenge.

Hearing a distant shout, he hiked for miles until he came to a much denser forest. To his surprise, he did not hear the sounds of men up ahead as he expected he would. It was not until he stumbled through the brush that he discovered the reason for this. One man's remains lay strewn across the forest floor in many pieces. He could not recognize the individual because the head and upper torso were gone, but he knew immediately the cause was an animal attack. Human bootprints leading away indicated that the other men had fled eastward during the attack. While it clearly had been an ambush, bullet indentations on nearby trees suggested the pirates had tried to kill the creature—whatever it was. It was unclear if the beast had been wounded, but large paw prints heading north left Jake with little doubt about the direction he should avoid heading in.

A sudden intense pain struck the pirate's shoulder like a knife. Demented Jake gasped and fell to his knees, placing a hand on the festering injury. He could feel blood and pus dripping through his fingers. The infection was getting worse with the Floridian heat and now Jake felt feverish as well. He searched through the dead man's scattered belongings to find something to treat the wound with, but it appeared the others had snatched the most critical supplies as their unfortunate mate was being devoured. Unable to travel any farther, he finally collapsed and prayed for a miracle that he would never receive.

…

John Rolfe stalked through the burnt forest with Pocahontas in his arms. To his surprise, it took less than five minutes to reach the stretch of forest from whence they had come. It only served as a reminder of how quickly the terrible flames had descended upon the subtropical woodland. Though he did not look closely, Rolfe thought he spotted the black skeletal remains of some unfortunate creature partially buried in the ash as he arrived at the unrecognizable riverbank. He stopped and stared at the sight before him.

John Rolfe could do nothing but gape at first. The water in the narrow river had largely evaporated from the fire's intense heat, leaving nothing but a muddy trench. Rolfe knew immediately there was no way they would have survived if they had not followed Flit to the nearby beach. It was a certainty and one that Rolfe dreaded to acknowledge.

Pocahontas did not seem too terribly surprised by the tributary's desiccation. "The land will need several big rainstorms to refill the river. That may or may not happen anytime soon, so we need to keep heading north. Hopefully, there will eventually be a river delta flooding into the sea that will be too wide for the wildfire to have crossed. The land on the other side should still be green and provide food for us. Are you sure you can carry me that far, John?" Pocahontas inquired in a tone laden with concern.

Pocahontas's question knocked John Rolfe out of his stupor rather quickly. "Not like this," he hesitantly replied. "My arms will tire. You'll need to hop up on my back. I'm certain I will be able to carry you much farther without resting in that manner."

Pocahontas nodded and John Rolfe gently lowered her onto her good foot. Still providing her support, he pivoted his body around and crouched down to allow her to jump up on his back. She wrapped her legs around his hips to keep herself in place and Rolfe laced his arms under her knees to give her extra support. "Comfortable?" he asked.

Pocahontas nodded softly as she draped her arms over his shoulders. They headed north again at a good walking pace. John Rolfe checked the compass to make sure the muddy riverbed was not veering them off course every thirty or so minutes. He was amazed at how far the ferocious forest fire had traveled in such a short time. On the plus side, its decimation of forest debris made it easier for him to walk fast without stumbling.

Hours passed and the smoke cleared enough that the sun came into view, leaning toward the western horizon. The riverbed had narrowed further, breaking off to the west every now and again. Eventually, the once-wide waterway was reduced to nothing more than a shallow stream with barely a trickle of water in it. Pocahontas was lost in the emerging magenta-purple sky when she felt John Rolfe stop quite suddenly. Glancing at the profile of his face, she saw that his eyes were wild with fright. "John? What is it?!"

Pocahontas followed his gaze and stared down at the charred remains of what had once been a very large reptilian creature with enormous jaws and countless razor-sharp teeth. She squealed in alarm when she caught sight of it. "Pocahontas, I think we need to be more careful about getting in the water around here from now on," John Rolfe warned as she gaped at the skeleton. He slowly backed away. Whatever the animal was, it had been about the size of both of them combined. "I don't even want to know what that thing was. Let's hope the living specimens don't run fast if we have the misfortune of encountering one," he expressed, mentally adding, God willing they be much smaller.

"It looks like it had pretty short legs, whatever it was," Pocahontas remarked as John Rolfe hiked up the bank to pass by the carcass with as much distance between them and it as possible. Though it was stone-cold dead, he still did not want to get anywhere near it.

"That doesn't mean anything," John Rolfe countered. "Snakes have no legs at all, yet some can slither faster than a human can run." Pocahontas gritted her teeth as she saw the fearless raccoon curiously crawl down the bank to sniff at the charred bones.

"Come on, Meeko. It's dead," Pocahontas called to him. They marched for another hour until a dank smell began to permeate the atmosphere. Pocahontas and John Rolfe crinkled their noses. Meeko and Percy sniffed the air in curiosity. Pocahontas licked her fingertip and held it up to test the breeze. "The wind has stalled. In fact, I think it's begun drifting slightly south again," she said. "Whatever that smell is, it's coming from up ahead."

John Rolfe glanced up at the bare treetops, noting that the dying wisps of smoke from the wildfire had indeed shifted directions. "I wonder what it could be," he uttered.

"No clue. Even swamps in my homeland do not smell that bad in the hottest part of summer," Pocahontas revealed. She started to fan herself with her hand. "Speaking of heat, I can't wait to get up north again," she added with a tone of weariness.

"Agreed," John Rolfe replied. "Being so close to each other's body heat can't be helping us much either. Maybe we should stop here for the night. Whatever is up ahead, I'd rather not face it in the dark." He released her legs and let her slip down off his back.

"But I'm so thirsty," Pocahontas fussed, licking her dry lips. "And we ran out of water hours ago. It will be cooler to travel at night. We will lose less moisture that way." She stood on her good foot and pivoted around to get hold of a charred tree trunk.

John Rolfe collapsed in fatigue, groaning from the pain in his back and shoulders. He tried to pivot around, but his muscles felt stiff. Doing his best to ignore the discomfort, he turned carefully to Pocahontas. "Yes, I'm completely parched too. But I get the feeling we're not going to find fresh water for a while. At least, let us take a small rest."

Pocahontas sighed and conceded to his request, lowering herself gently to the bank with his assistance. John Rolfe scooped a pile of sand together to elevate her injured limb. As Pocahontas relaxed, she watched Meeko descend the shallow trench. While she and John Rolfe were unwilling to drink the muddy water trickling in the stream bed, Meeko did not have such high standards. Neither did his canine friend, as Percy followed suit.

But as soon as Meeko sniffed the water, he squealed in a high-pitched voice and made a beeline in the opposite direction. John Rolfe raised a brow as he watched the raccoon run past them and climb up a charred tree faster than the nimblest squirrel. He glanced down the bank as Percy sniffed the water as well. The pug dog had the exact same reaction and ran past the two of them yipping and yelping, nearly colliding with Pocahontas's injured ankle in the process. "What in the blazes is wrong with those two?" Rolfe grumbled.

Out of curiosity, John Rolfe rose to his feet and plodded over to the water. He cupped some of the muddy liquid in his palms and brought it up to his face to take a whiff. The moment he did, an acute gag reflex assaulted his abdominal muscles. He jumped to his feet, shaking the putrid water off his hands. "My word! That's absolutely revolting!"

"What is it, John?" Pocahontas inquired, shifting herself slightly in the sand to get a better view of what he was doing. She appeared completely astounded.

"That smell, it's coming from the water! It's absolutely horrific! It's like something died in it, I tell you! Most disgusting thing I've ever… Ew! It's all over my hands!" John Rolfe fussed, rubbing them dry in the white sand. "Well, I guess I should've just trusted Meeko and Percy's judgment and stayed clear of it. That was a dumb thing to do."

"Wait, but…? Oh, no! John, if the water coming from the north is undrinkable, what are we going to do? In this heat, we won't last long without water," Pocahontas determined quickly. "There might not be any good water for many miles for all we know!"

John Rolfe looked up at Pocahontas. "All we can do is keep traveling and hope we find some. Now, hush. There's no use worrying over something we can't control," he retorted, rubbing his hands together to get the sand off. He began to hike back over to her. "Just our luck, though. Nothing but saltwater and smelly freshwater around us for who knows how many—Oomph!" he spoke, abruptly cut off when he landed flat on his face.

While the sand had cushioned his fall, it had done nothing to assuage his rage. He glared down the bank to see what had tripped him. It was a big black rock lodged in the sand. There had not been many rocks along their route, especially not ones the size of a human head. Not that John Rolfe cared. He still wanted to destroy it with acid and dynamite.

"What is that?" Pocahontas inquired as John Rolfe furiously dug the offending item out of the ground. He pulled it up with little effort and heard something slosh around inside. His anger evaporated in an instant and he peered over at Pocahontas with a starstruck expression on his face. "What?!" she repeated more urgently, getting worried.

A hopeful smile curled John Rolfe's lips upward. "Pocahontas, I think the Almighty has seen fit to grant us an iota of mercy this fine evening," though he certainly could have done so in a more dignified manner, he internally sassed. Seconds later, a bug flew into his right eye. "Oh! Darn it!" he snapped, rubbing madly at his eyelid. He stumbled about and dropped the coconut haphazardly right next to Pocahontas. She picked it up.

The wildfire's heat had charred the outside, making it all the easier to get through to the inner fibrous husk. With a good bit of effort, Pocahontas was able to tear a tough strand off. Her eyes brightened immediately. "A sweet nut!" she joyfully exclaimed.

After John Rolfe had cleared the bug out of his eye, he sat down beside her. "Yes. And where there's one, there's probably more," he expressed. "They grow in clusters."

"Quick, open it! I'm so thirsty!" Pocahontas pleaded, pushing it into his hands.

"Alright! Hold your horses," John Rolfe answered back, accepting the item from her. He tore the rest of the husk off with ease and poked open the three indentations on the top with a sharp seashell. Then he returned the nut to his dehydrated lady friend.

Pocahontas downed about half of the liquid, savoring its sweetness until she noticed John Rolfe walking away. He seemed to be looking for something. "Where are you going? Don't you want some?" she inquired, holding the nut up to him.

He shot her a glance over his shoulder. "I'm looking for more. I'm sure there have got to be some others around here," he replied, shuffling his feet around in the ashen debris by the forest. A few of the charred trees looked to be nut-bearers. He used his hands to dig through the sandy soot and eventually came up with something. "Ah, I found one! Go ahead and finish that one. We'll need enough to rehydrate all five of us to continue our journey. Meeko, Percy! Come here and help. Sniff out some nuts for us, will you?"

Everyone but Pocahontas engaged in the search. Even Flit buzzed around in search of coconuts because the fire had burned up all the flowers in the forest. Like the rest of them, he would need the sweet milk to survive until they reached fresh terrain. Luckily, his consumption was tiny. Pocahontas allowed him some of hers before she finished it. Then she split open the shell with her machete for the sweet white meat inside.

Together John Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit were able to find eighteen charred coconuts along the forest's edge. Though they would still need more to fully rehydrate, it was enough to keep them alive for the time being. They drank thirteen of the nuts, saving the last five for the next day's journey, and finished up the turtle meat and leftover coconut meat from the day before. Finally, they lay down in the soft sand to go to sleep.

…

Though the blade had demanded the dog's pain to renew some of its energy, Adahy could not bring himself to torment the creature that had saved his life. He offered his own body instead, though the spirit sneered at his weak compassion. The agony that followed had been like nothing Adahy had ever felt, but it regenerated the dagger to the point that the spirit was, in turn, able to lend him more strength. Thus, they saved each other's lives. As Adahy limped at a slow pace, he peered back at the dog following him. After he had used the blade to cut off the muzzle, the dog obediently carried the dagger in its mouth to ease its new master's burden. He smiled at the animal and kept moving.

All they needed now was a host for the blade. Adahy had his heart set on the treacherous scum who had left him for dead. He followed the tracks of Spike-Eyes's party until he came to something quite unexpected. Up ahead, the forest had been decimated by some enormous out-of-control wildfire. He wondered if the northerly winds the previous night had inspired the wicked threesome to set the forest alight in an attempt to kill the fugitives. Knowing the habits of pirates, it would not surprise him if they had wearied of the search and found a devious way to get the crew back to treasure-hunting.

Adahy felt their collective energy weakening, even with the meager life-force the dagger had lent him. It would all be over soon if they did not find a victim to revitalize the demon. Adahy assessed the tracks to discover the pirates had passed the river to evade the fire. He carefully waded across the shallow muddy water. The level of the river had fallen immensely, the water barely moving at a snail's pace. This proved beneficial for Adahy as it was much easier to cross a calm languid river without the use of his hands.

The dog followed Adahy across and they continued to follow the tracks on the western side of the deadened waterway. He could tell that one of the pirates had separated from the others. Glancing across to the eastern side of the river, Adahy saw a sword poking out of the ash at the trunk of a charred tree. He figured a fight might have broken out, perhaps concerning the fire, though he could not guess the exact nature of the exchange.

Adahy followed the lone one's prints deep into the forest because it would be a much simpler task to ambush a single man. When night fell the dog lent its nose to continue following their quarry, as the tracks were no longer visible in the dark. What they came upon many miles later both surprised and disappointed Adahy. Sparse moonlight showed the man—Demented Jake—lying immobile on the littered ground. The dagger had no use for corpses and Adahy cursed loudly to himself at the wretchedness of his luck.

The 'corpse' flinched at the sound of his voice and Adahy's eyes widened. He heard Jake groan and weakly try to push himself up with his good arm. The copper-skinned man's first reaction was a fiendish manner of glee and he suddenly felt amused when he thought he saw Jake's eyes light up. The fool thought Adahy was there to rescue him.

"I've been looking for you, mates. What manner of beast attacked the crew, eh?" Demented Jake murmured, his eyes disoriented. He blinked owlishly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Adahy snapped back, frowning deeply. If the man had gone insane, he would be of little use to the spirit in the blade. Lunatics only provided a fraction of the energy of sane men, for one reason or another.

Demented Jake gasped in recognition of the voice and shot up despite the pain. He stared with wide eyes at Adahy's poorly lit figure in the moonlight. Jake was speechless at first, but then a look of horror crept onto his sweat-drenched face. It was to his fortune that he could not see the grin that curled Adahy's lips up at the same time. "Brother, I'm glad you are alive," Jake began weakly, nervously. He shook his head and grasped his shoulder as pus oozed from the wound. "That cur, Spike-Eyes… He never would have let me save you. I was going to, but he stopped me. We can hunt him down together. Help me and I'll help you. I can be your hands!" he pleaded as the threatening man approached.

Adahy peered down at the two blackened stumps where his hands had once been. The demon dagger had done him the favor of sealing the second wound to prevent infection. He gritted his teeth. He is more useful to us as harvest. Don't trust his lies. He will not keep his word, the dagger whispered to him in a weak voice. It sensed that a feeding was coming—else it would not have bothered to waste energy by speaking to him.

"I know," Adahy whispered back in a low tone.

Demented Jake grinned and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "You'll help me then? Where is your pack? I need ale or rum… Something, anything to clean the wound," he replied, under the impression that Adahy's words had been addressed to him.

Adahy peered down at Demented Jake darkly as his tattooed visage fell beneath a beam of moonlight. He used one of his stump-wrists to rub his chin. "I've got a better idea," he proposed. Adahy whistled to the dog and the animal trotted over to him. He grabbed the dagger between his two forearms and glanced fiendishly down at his soon-to-be victim. The blade began to glow red against his visage, its radiance illuminating Adahy's face in a demonic manner. "Send my regards to your Satan for me, will you?"

…

To avoid causing suspicion, Flame had to suppress his inward glee at how well the plan had worked. Through careful eavesdropping, he had not only discovered Legless to be the culprit spreading the rumors but he had even successfully nipped the first whisperings of mutiny in the bud. When the watchman found John Rolfe's marred boot floating near the ship, Flame had sent a few men to the shore. They confirmed the deserter had escaped the wildfire to the beach, leaving a trail when he had reentered the forest afterwards. Minutes after the news of the escaped Englishman's survival reached the Blood Draw, the first mate was found dead in his cabin in the exact same manner as Bleud had been.

Flame reacted with feigned shock and horror. He had further insisted that they could not stray from their vengeful mission, lest the same dreadful fate befall the rest of the crew. This pronouncement spurred the men into action, renewing their fear of the fabled Aztec spirits. With things back under the Irishman's control, he had signaled the hunting parties with cannon fire and led half the crew to the beach to pursue John Rolfe's tracks.

One thing bothered Flame as he examined the prints. There was only one set of human tracks on the beach. He clearly remembered that two people had escaped from the ship—a white man and an Indian woman. Furthermore, the tracks leading away from the beach had been made with two boots, but John Rolfe had apparently lost one of his in the surf. No one seemed to have an explanation for any of this, though Flame overheard one of the crew members griping that the woman must have perished in the wildfire.

The men appeared to think the search would be nothing but a chore without a buxom trophy to make it all worthwhile in the end. The crew's floundering morale concerned Flame, so he was grateful for a distraction that cropped up minutes later. Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter Sol emerged through the burned woodland with one of the hounds from the hunt. The bosun was the first to catch sight of them and he whistled to Flame.

"We heard the signal, captain," Spike-Eyes announced. "What's happened? We've been following their trail for days. We almost had 'em a ways back, but that idiot Jake started a forest fire and nearly got us all killed. The fool died in his own flames."

Flame sneered at them. "Almost had 'em, did ye? Where are the other two parties? And what about Adahy? Did you see any sign of him? The Injun fool was supposed to prevent the fugitives from getting this far north to begin with!" he snapped angrily.

"Aye, but the man failed. We found his corpse along the river, we did. He bled to death after John Rolfe lopped off his other hand!" Manslaughter Sol proclaimed. "The fugitive is armed and dangerous, captain," he expressed. Then he shrugged. "Either that or the Injun wretch was never as tough a fighter as he made himself out to be."

"I suspect a combination of the two," Spike-Eyes added, suppressing a snicker.

Flame's eyes widened in surprise and then he slapped himself on the forehead. "Never send an Injun to do a real man's job," he admonished himself, sighing in aggravation. "Too bad it was ol' Bleud who got to make the call and not me. Oh, well."

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter burst out laughing. "That's what we was thinking when we came upon the daft dead fool. But alas, we're concerned our quarry might have been lost in Dunderhead Jake's wildfire. What should we do now?" Spike-Eyes inquired.

Captain Flame held up John Rolfe's burned leather boot. "The Spaniard survived—that's for certain. He fled the fire to the beach. We found his tracks in the sand, you see. No sign of the Injun wench, though. She might very well have perished for all we know thus far," he explained. "Or perhaps they were merely separated. It's hard to say."

Manslaughter Sol and Spike-Eyes raised their brows and then glanced at each other in confusion. "Spaniard?" both men asked in unison, perturbed. "What Spaniard?"

One of the lesser men in Flame's crew hopped forward, a highly amused look on his face. "Aye! John Rolfe was a Spaniard in disguise, a spy against the English crown. Our good cap'n here found a document identifying him as such," he reported, only to get rapped in the back of the head by said captain. "Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his head.

"I'm tellin' the story, thank ye very much!" Captain Flame snapped, browbeating the pirate into a corner with his fierce gaze. He turned back to Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter. "Aye, it be true. John Rolfe's real name is Juan Ignacio. A talented thespian, is he not? Had us all convinced he was of pureblooded English ancestry. Methinks he had been trained for years as a spy in his homeland, perhaps even from childhood. We don't know what his mission was precisely, but we do know it was top-secret. Even King James wanted the information kept under wraps. We don't know why just yet, but we strongly suspect unraveling the mystery could help bring down the whole Spanish empire. Just think of all the gold. We'd all be the richest men in the known world! However, we have got to find that damned Spaniard first so we can pummel the truth out of 'im."

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter Sol's pupils gleamed with boundless greed. They grinned widely at the mere suggestion of such immense wealth. "Juan Ignacio, eh? Well, I don't know about you all. As for me, I've got to find out the full truth and nothing but the truth, so help me, dog!" Spike-Eyes declared, leaning down to pat the aforementioned pooch on the head. "Can you show us the trail this 'Ignacio' left so Françoise can pick up the scent again? The fire destroyed the trail we were following through the forest."

Flame pointed over to where the bosun was still examining John Rolfe's prints. He led the men over to the tracks and then presented Rolfe's melted footwear to Françoise. She readily sniffed the item and then turned her attention to the surrounding environment, taking a whiff here and there. She smelled the bootprints the fugitive had left behind. At first, it looked like she was not getting anywhere with smoke still heavy in the air, but then the crewmen all saw her cock her nose in a northwesterly direction.

"She's got it, captain!" Spike-Eyes proudly exclaimed. "Good girl, Françoise! Lots of treats for you tonight, girl!" he lauded, patting the female canine on her side.

Flame raised his sword to the northwest. "After him, men! Let's put this wild goose chase to rest once and for all so we can go get our gold!" he loudly announced.

The men were about to roar in agreement, but Manslaughter raised both hands to silence them before they could. "We've got to remain quiet. If 'Ignacio' knows we're coming, he will run. Best to ambush him unawares! That's why we muzzled Françoise. It was to keep the dogs from barking and alerting the quarry," Manslaughter explained.

"Good thought," Captain Flame replied, clapping Manslaughter Sol on the back. "Come on, men. Let's get going. I want to hear nothing but whispers from the lot of you from here on out!" he decreed. With that, the band of pirates began following Spike-Eyes and Françoise through the charred woodland in search of John Rolfe.

…

SEPTEMBER 24, 1613

John Rolfe awoke at the crack of dawn from a terrifying nightmare. The fleeting image of glowing red eyes in the darkness flashed through his mind before he became fully aware, having little recollection of the dream. His first impulse upon waking was to jump to his feet quite suddenly. The pain and stiffness from the prior day returned with a vengeance, causing him to gasp and freeze immediately. He stood up more gradually then, groaning, and glanced around. No one else stirred except Percy. The pug dog cracked an eye open at the sound of Rolfe moving about. Then he raised his head and whimpered.

John Rolfe peered down at him. "I get the feeling we should get moving again," he said in a low voice. "Can you wake Meeko and Flit for me?" He stretched his back and hissed in pain at the stiffness. The journey with a full-grown woman on his back had not been easy on him and he knew it was not over yet. He prepared himself by stretching out his aching body for fifteen minutes and doing jumping jacks to get the blood flowing.

Since Pocahontas was still asleep and obviously very tired, John Rolfe elected to carry her bridal style without waking her up for the first few miles. Rolfe knew intuitively that he had to give her time to heal. She would need food, water, and rest to recover her mobility. The only food they had left was coconut meat and milk and there was no water. Hence, he trudged north with her in pursuit of more life-giving sustenance.

It was not until a few miles later that the sulfurous stench in the air thickened and rapidly roused Pocahontas from her slumber. The ground beneath John Rolfe's boots had turned to sticky clay-like mud. It made squishing and slurping sounds as he trudged through it. "I get the feeling we're heading into a swamp," he told her as her eyes fluttered open. She crinkled her nose. "Care to hop on my back again? My arms are getting tired."

"Ugh, it's sickening," Pocahontas grumbled, glancing at the bubbly yellowish water in the stream trench. Regardless of her disgust, she readily complied with the Englishman's request. He placed her standing on her good foot upon a burnt log so she could jump up onto his back without getting muddy. "Well, on the positive side, we don't have much food anyway," she uttered, trying to lighten the mood. "At least with the stink in the air none of us will have to worry about developing an appetite anytime soon."

"This is very true," John Rolfe replied, preferring to look on the bright side as well. He glanced upwards as the emergent sun lit up the dark blue sky through the bare trees. Dawn was coming in an orange rim around the horizon, carrying with it a heavy stagnant mist that obscured the woodland ahead. Rolfe held the compass close at hand, squinting to see the needle's location in the dim light. They were going slightly westward, so he corrected their path to ensure they kept heading straight north. The stream bed began to turn inland and soon enough it had disappeared into the dark skeletal forest.

The worst possibility John Rolfe could think of was traveling too far inland and getting hopelessly lost in the vast untamed wilderness. He made it a priority to stay as close to the east coast as possible. "The map says nothing about a swampland like this. The area was left blank. I don't think this place has been explored by the French or Spanish."

"Perhaps they both decided that they did not like cold weather and preferred to keep to the south," Pocahontas suggested with a small shrug. She rested her chin on John Rolfe's shoulder as she glanced down thoughtfully at the small compass in his hand.

John Rolfe slogged along through the foul-smelling bog. As the terrain got slipperier and soggier, he had to exert himself more and more just to walk in a straight line. Pocahontas had to do all the work of clinging to his back because he needed his hands free to grab the charred trees and keep balance. It was slow going, but there seemed to be no way around it. A shaft of light showing through the trees revealed the beach had turned into dense mangroves along the eastern shoreline. There was no sand to be seen. It was better to slog through a stinking mudland than try to drag an injured woman through an impenetrable wall of branches and aerial roots, the concerned Englishman decided.

As they traveled onward, the mud deepened and the sky lightened. They discovered that many low-lying plants had escaped the flames which had decimated the canopy. As much as John Rolfe wanted to rest after an hour or so, he had to keep going because there was literally nowhere to sit down. When the muck got deep enough, he heard whining behind them and had to backtrack about ten paces to rescue Percy from the sludge.

While Flit could fly and Meeko could sling through the trees, Percy had four short legs and no way of getting through the deep muck unassisted. Pocahontas put the dirty pooch on her shoulder. Even though Percy was light compared to Pocahontas, the addition of yet another weight pained John Rolfe's already aching back and shoulders.

As the hours passed, the mudland turned to swampland. The water gradually deepened until John Rolfe was just up to his mid-thighs. He told Pocahontas to grab hold of an overhead branch so he could boost her up onto his shoulders. She held Percy in one hand and the branch in another as they carefully repositioned themselves.

John Rolfe figured it was bad enough that he had to wade through the putrid water. He saw no point in making Pocahontas come in contact with it as well. Besides, he was able to keep his back straighter in the new position, which was less strenuous for him. Flies and mosquitos buzzed about, pestering them to the point of near-insanity.

"John, I don't know how much more of this I can take. They're swarming around my eyes. I can't see," Pocahontas told him, batting the air in front of her face repeatedly. Flit tried to help by snapping up as many mosquitos as he could, but there were just too many. With a pebble-sized stomach, there was not much he could do for her.

"I know what you mean. At least we don't have to worry about hostile people while we're here. No sane man would make berth anywhere near a place like this," John Rolfe replied as he trudged into ever-deepening water. It was up to his waist. "I admit I utterly despise bugs," he added as yet another mosquito buzzed into and out of his ear.

Pocahontas groaned in aggravation. "I have an idea. It can't be much worse than this is. Here, just follow my lead," she indicated, slipping down off of John Rolfe's back. She waded into the warm swamp water and lowered herself to chest-level. Percy whimpered nervously and climbed up onto her shoulder to keep out of the nasty water.

"Be careful, Pocahontas! I don't want you to hurt your ankle," John Rolfe protested, observing her worriedly. Their olfactory senses had long since grown immune to the stench, but it still surprised the Englishman when she handed Percy to him and dove beneath the surface. She came up with two big handfuls of muck from the bottom and slopped it all over her head and shoulders, covering every patch of exposed skin.

"It makes it harder for them to bite us," Pocahontas explained. John Rolfe scrunched his face up at what she was asking him to do. Being covered in reeking mud head-to-toe was not his idea of a good time, but he did see her point. He was being eaten alive. Rolfe was about to hand Percy back to her when the pug dog abruptly jumped out of his arms and into the water. The canine had figured out he was not going to be able to avoid the water forever, so he decided to take the plunge himself rather than have someone else force it upon him. The Englishman shrugged in response and hung his pack on a low-lying limb, reluctantly sliding down into the swamp water. Like Pocahontas, he emerged with a pile of mud. He could not help grimacing at it before he started slapping it all over his head, face, neck, and shoulders. To his surprise, he found that the smooth coolness of the mud soothed the itching bug bites all over his flesh. He started to feel much better.

Pocahontas took the survival pack from the limb and tied it to her head using the straps to keep it out of the water. Meeko waddled over on the same tree limb and gently dropped the turtle shell down onto John Rolfe's muddied head, squeaking in laughter. Rolfe peered at him in annoyance, but Pocahontas did not even take notice. Like a slow-moving otter, she paddled through the swamp with Percy and Flit in pursuit. Though he was not too skilled at crawling through mud, the pug was a very adept swimmer.

When John Rolfe realized he was falling behind, he swam to catch up to his companions. They glided through a maze of trees that seemed to stretch on forever. Meeko had to enter the water eventually when the trees and branches became too sparse to travel by hopping from limb to limb. The muckland had opened up into a wide swamp and, although the water seemed putrid to them, more and more animals had begun to appear. From colorful dragonflies to tiny water turtles to large wading birds, the smelly slough was full of life.

The only thing John Rolfe worried about now was that they might come upon a large reptilian predator. He was thankful he had seen none thus far. Pocahontas's mud idea worked like a charm. Something about the cool muck acted as a type of camouflage against the pests. There were still plenty of flies and mosquitos buzzing about the swamp, but they were no longer swarming exclusively around the two hot-blooded humans.

"Keep an eye out for those monsters, love," John Rolfe whispered. "If worse comes to worst, we've still got the pistol in the pack on your head. We can use it if we must."

Pocahontas glanced back at him nonchalantly and kept swimming. She snorted lightly. "That skeleton did not belong to a monster, John. It was just a very large animal, not an evil demon. I'm certain it hunted for its food, but so do my people. That doesn't make us monsters, does it?" she pointed out, giggling as she paddled along ahead of him.

"It does to whatever you're hunting!" John Rolfe retorted. "I consider anything big enough to eat me a monster, thank you very much. And there's nothing you can do about it, madam." In response to his tone of indignation, Pocahontas laughed and splashed him. "Hey!" he protested. "No splashing with smelly swamp water. That's just nasty!"

"You're already covered in it," Pocahontas shot back. She suddenly sped up her pace, paddling through the swamp like a graceful duckling. Percy and Meeko had no problem keeping up with her and they swam along on each side of her to keep her company.

"Careful, love! There could be rocks. You don't want to risk hitting your bad ankle on one, now do you?" John Rolfe fretted, swimming as fast as he could to keep up with them. Cypresses and other swamp trees towered overhead. Only their uppermost foliage had been grazed by the wildfire. The area as a whole was too wet to burn to the ground, unlike the hammocks and flatlands. Pocahontas, Meeko, Percy, and Rolfe swam around massive tree trunks and ducked under branches as they continued northward.

A while later, John Rolfe caught sight of something to Pocahontas's far left. She seemed not to notice, so he silently waded over to it. Pocahontas gasped when she heard a loud splash behind her. She, Meeko, Percy, and even Flit stopped moving and snapped their heads back to see what had caused the commotion. Rolfe burst through the surface of the sludgy green water with a wide grin on his muddied face. Pocahontas raised an eyebrow. "John, you scared me! What is it?" she scolded, pivoting around fully to face him.

In response to her question, John Rolfe pulled a big fat bullfrog out of the water. "I caught something! We've finally got meat again. Now, all we've got to do is get out of this swamp and find a place to cook it," he announced, glancing around.

Pocahontas curled her lip and felt her stomach churn at the suggestion. "You… want me to eat swamp frog?" she asked hesitantly, cocking an eyebrow at the amphibian.

John Rolfe's face fell when he heard the tone in her voice, having thought she would be pleased with him. The disinterested creature inflated its throat sac and Rolfe frowned at it. "But the French consider it a delicacy! They're supposed to taste like a cross between a chicken and a fish!" he whined in disappointment. "The legs are the best part…"

Pocahontas frowned too when she realized she had unintentionally insulted him. She swam over to John Rolfe and took the frog from him, holding it up out of the water to get a good look at it. It did have pretty fat legs, yet she dared not venture to guess what chicken-fish tasted like. While she did not find the idea of eating a frog to be particularly appetizing, she had to admit the creature was impressive in size. Not as big as the turtle she had caught, but big enough to make a meal for all of them. If she could stomach it. "Well, yeah, it is pretty big. Good job, John!" she said, smiling at him.

John Rolfe was about to smile back, but a disturbing thought suddenly occurred to him. "You're not, um… going to kill it right now, are you?" he hesitantly inquired, poking his fingers together. Witnessing the event was not an appealing thought to him.

Pocahontas shook her head and he sighed in relief. "No, I don't want the swamp water to contaminate the meat. Hold it until we get to dry land," she instructed, handing the amphibian back to him. John Rolfe nodded as Pocahontas lowered herself back into the water chin-deep, swimming away. Rolfe quickly followed, holding the frog's head above the water to prevent it from drowning as he paddled along with his feet.

…

When Françoise sniffed the putrid water in the depleted stream bed, she whimpered loudly and backed away. In the back of the group, some of the men were getting irritable. "This place reeks like Dirty Dave's socks!" Buckshot bellyached aloud. The named individual clapped him sharply on the back of his head for the haphazard insult. "Watch it!" Buckshot snapped, rubbing his head as he brandished his sword.

The bosun ignored the nitwits and walked up behind Flame, who was out ahead of the group. "The tracks lead into a swamp. It's hard to imagine anyone would be desperate enough to go in there unless they realize we're still following them. How could they know? We've been keeping the men and hound silent all night," he inquired.

"The Spaniard is afeared of us, bosun. He knows his neck is on the line and won't take any chances of us catching up to him," Captain Flame countered. Suddenly an ominous grin lit up his gnarled face. "But, of course, he's underestimated us. We'll head him off." He turned to the twenty-eight pirates that he had brought to shore and picked ten out of the group. "You men are to stay here and spread out along the edge of the swamp such that Ignacio cannot backtrack on us. The rest of you follow me to the ship. We will head him off northward past the swampland. The fool will have nowhere to go. He'll have to face us eventually or die mired in the bog's pestilence. Onward!" he commanded.

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter learned of the untimely deaths when they heard the men whispering about it. When they asked Flame, he confirmed it. Spike-Eyes, in particular, found it hard to believe that Captain Bleud had already met his demise, but he was delighted when Captain Flame appointed him as the new first mate of the ship. He had always loved getting a promotion. Flame left ten men armed along the south edge of the swamp, Manslaughter among them, and returned to the ship with the others.

As the Blood Draw sailed northward, the spindly man keeping watch noticed that the swamplands seemed to stretch on and on for many miles. Spike-Eyes stood with the watchman near the helm as they chitchatted about the scant possibility of 'Ignacio' even making it out alive. Françoise the French hound obediently sat at Spike-Eyes's heel as she seemed to consider the large man her master above all the others.

Despite the weak winds, the current along the shoreline carried them at a decent pace past the seemingly endless miles of foul-smelling swampland. When the mangroves, at last, gave way to white sand beaches, the captain announced their arrival. The ship was anchored in a small bay and the crew disembarked. Captain Flame, the bosun, Spike-Eyes, and Françoise were on the first boat to shore. The crew's first initiative was to check along the north edge of the swamp to ensure the fugitives had not outpaced them. The hound's skillful nose confirmed that John Rolfe had yet to arrive in the area. With that, the men began to set up multiple points of ambush along the perimeter. They lay in wait with the hope that their hapless prey would fall right into their trap.