The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe: Book I
Chapter 21: The Dangers of Good Fortune
NOVEMBER 18, 1613
Three days had passed since Pocahontas's spectacular hunt. They were making excellent progress on the journey northeast, although John Rolfe had begun to worry that they might be going too far north. If they traveled past Virginia without realizing it, they would be in serious trouble and totally lost. But Pocahontas habitually went wherever the wind took her. It was her intuitive sense that the spirits were trying to tell her to go farther north—perhaps because it would be the most expedient route to get home. The weather thus far had been cold but dry. This changed that very night. Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Juanito Ponce de León, and the animals were fast asleep in their bedrolls when freezing rain started to fall quite unexpectedly, giving them all a rude wake-up call.
They rushed to pack up as quickly as possible and then John Rolfe led Ciceron and the others to a place at a slightly lower elevation where a massive flat boulder protruded horizontally out of a tall bluff. It created a roof-like shelter. The group managed to make it there just in time to avoid a hailstorm. Part of the overhang was high enough for even Ciceron to find shelter from the painful pelting of the storm. It was to their good fortune that the boulder was in a heavily littered part of the forest, downhill from numerous overarching trees. Branches, leaves, and grass had naturally accumulated in the area, providing plenty of fire fuel. Most of the trees in the forest were bare by now or close to it, causing the forest to appear starker than ever. Rolfe shivered a bit as he raked a leaf bed together for Ciceron to rest on. Meeko and Percy licked themselves to dry off.
All shivering, Pocahontas, John Rolfe, and Juanito hurriedly built a fire and dried their things out as much as possible. The Spaniard was particularly cold because his clothes and other items were mostly made of fabrics and not waterproof hide. He was soaked through and through, but Rolfe spent extra time helping him dry his clothes. It was crowded under the overhang. Once their bedrolls were dry enough to put down, John Rolfe and Pocahontas laid them out right next to each other over a bed of crunchy autumn leaves. Rolfe, Pocahontas, Meeko, and Percy were forced to huddle together to make room for everyone, especially the horse. With the moose hide draped fur side down over his back, the stallion had managed to stay relatively dry because the skin acted as a rain barrier. Ciceron relaxed on his leaf bed, chewing on some adjacent dry grasses.
John Rolfe sat up to get everyone's attention once the chaos had finally calmed down. "Listen, it has become clear to me that the weather is only going to get worse and worse from here on out. We may have some good days here and there. Regardless, we will strive to make camp in natural shelters wherever we can find them from now on," he declared, speaking loudly so that he could be heard over the noise of the hailstorm. Pocahontas, Meeko, Percy, and Flit nodded. Rolfe then repeated himself in Spanish for Juanito Ponce de León's sake. The ornery old Spaniard just shrugged.
Pocahontas's shivering worsened until John Rolfe noticed it. "J-John, I'm cold," she chattered, sitting behind him with her back to the cold stone wall. Peering over at her, he noted with alarm that her lips were turning a dull color. "I d-didn't want to interrupt while you were helping J-Juanito but now I'm f-freezing." Meeko cooed at her worriedly. Percy started to whine as he did his best to lick his fur dry, feeling chilled to the bone as well.
John Rolfe moved Percy closer to the fire. He pulled Pocahontas over him so that she was closer too, switching places with her. Reaching over her, he threw more bits of dry wood and bark into the flames. "Did the rain penetrate your clothes?" the diplomat inquired.
"Y-yes, I discovered a hole in the back of my hood when the rain started. Ice c-cold water was r-running down my back the whole time we were searching for this shelter. I n-need to s-sew it up," Pocahontas returned, starting to feel just a little bit warmer.
John Rolfe felt the back of her hood, finding the gaping hole. It seemed that some stitches had somehow come loose or snapped. "Take your coat off, love." Pocahontas sat up and Rolfe helped her remove her overclothes. He turned the coat inside out and draped it over Ciceron's back so the fire would dry it out. Pocahontas felt even colder without it. Rolfe felt along her upper back. Her doeskin undershirt and buckskin dress beneath that had gotten completely soaked in the back as well. "Here's what we're going to do," Rolfe decreed. "I'm going to take off my coat and hold up a blanket for you to change into it. Crawl over me again, my dear," the English gentleman instructed, unbuttoning the front of his thick fur coat. He hurriedly yanked it off of his torso and set it behind him.
"Won't you be c-cold?" Pocahontas inquired.
John Rolfe shook his head. "Not as cold as you. My clothes are dry on the inside."
Pocahontas nodded and climbed over him again. He put his coat in her lap and took a blanket, holding it up like a curtain. Pocahontas removed her undershirt and buckskin dress, shivering in the cold momentarily before she quickly pulled on John Rolfe's toasty-warm man-sized coat. It smelled just like him and seemed to wrap her up in John Rolfe's very essence. She quickly buttoned it up. "Okay, I'm done," Pocahontas spoke, pushing her way past the privacy blanket. She crawled back over Rolfe to be seated by the fire. He then wrapped the blanket around her as she lay down and relaxed.
The Englishman draped her damp garments over Ciceron's shoulder to dry. Meeko and Percy curled up around her cold bare feet. The wind howled above the rocky shelter, the hailstones soon doubling in size. "What crazy weather," John Rolfe mumbled to himself.
Pocahontas could swear that she was hearing things in the wind. Things that reminded her of the storm at sea when the Blood Draw had attacked their poor supply vessel. She could hear war cries and screams of terror. A much more sinister presence than her mother's spirit controlled the wind now. Pocahontas's heart thundered in her ears. She shivered, this time in fear, as she sensed the angry spirits tearing through the atmosphere. "John, I'm scared," she blurted, watching the hailstones outside fall harder and harder as if they were trying to shatter the earth itself. Thunder and lightning split the sky and echoed in far off places. A tree could be heard cracking and falling to the ground. When the impact rattled the earth beneath them, Ciceron whinnied in fright but did not dare leave the shelter. Meeko, Percy, and Flit hurriedly hid beneath the blankets.
"Of the tempest?" John Rolfe inquired. Pocahontas nodded. "Well, we're safe where we are right now. Don't worry, love. The storm will pass. Weather this intense never lasts too terribly long." Pocahontas still felt distressed and the feeling showed on her face. John Rolfe ran his fingers through her moist black hair, spreading it out so the fire would dry it faster. "Just try to get some rest. I'm sure it'll be all over in the morning," the Englishman said to her in a soft soothing voice. "Have you always been afraid of storms?"
Pocahontas shook her head. She knew if she let herself fall into a sleepy state, she would likely have nightmares. The Powhatan princess released an afflicted sigh and shoved her fingers in her ears to block out the terrible noise from the storm. She ended up rolling over and burying her face in Rolfe's chest instead. Just as she expected, he caressed her and spoke calming words. She wrapped her arms around his middle and listened to the rhythm of his heart. Against her better judgment, she found herself drifting off to sleep. She could scarcely help it as she was just too exhausted to remain awake.
"I'm sure the lady's father would love to know how close you two are right now and while she was changing garments," remarked the old man. "I can hardly wait to meet him." He grinned at John Rolfe from across the fire, displaying one or two visible teeth.
The comment immediately came across to John Rolfe as a threat and he peered back at the Spaniard with an irritated look on his face. "I'm sorry, but are you somehow offended by my existence? You clearly seem to have it in for me and I'm not entirely sure why."
"I told you before, muchacho! You are Inglés! But that's irrelevant. I'd only be telling the truth anyway," Juanito Ponce de León shot back. "You are really close to her right now."
John Rolfe knitted his brows. "She's cold and frightened. What do you expect me to do? 'No, Pocahontas, I can't help you not freeze to death because that would lack propriety'? Oh yes! I'm sure the chief would be thrilled with me if I dragged her home frozen solid in a block of ice. Are you kidding me? He'd have my head!" the Englishman exclaimed.
The old man's eyes widened in shock. "Did you just say 'chief'?"
"Yes," John Rolfe returned. "Pocahontas's father is the paramount chief of over thirty tribes in the Virginia tidewater area. He's not a man to be trifled with. If I bring her home dead or in poor condition, he won't be impressed. Do you catch my meaning, Spaniard?"
Juanito made the sign of the cross over his chest. "Nice knowing you, hombre. If it's a chief you're dealing with, you're in even bigger trouble than I thought," he declared.
"And what makes you say that? You don't know him!" John Rolfe retorted.
"I've been exploring these lands since long before you were born, chico. I know chiefs well enough, especially the powerful ones. If you look at their women the wrong way, they cleave your skull in two. Happened to a dear friend of mine decades ago. If you had any sense of self-preservation, you would heed my words and immediately withdraw your offer of marriage to that woman," Juanito warned, shaking his head in disapproval.
John Rolfe frowned. "Well, I'm sorry about what happened to your friend but you can't group all chiefs together like that. They're people like everyone else on this earth and everyone is different. You've never met Pocahontas's father. He's not a cruel man. You're blowing this way out of proportion based on your own bad experiences," he determined.
Juanito laughed. "It's your funeral, muchacho. You think I care? I'll delight in informing Señor Chief of every detail I've seen here," he proclaimed. "I tell it like it is, hombre."
John Rolfe scoffed. "Somehow, I doubt that. Somehow, I am certain you would heavily exaggerate every detail in order to make me look as bad as possible. That seems highly likely to me. All because you hate the English. Good grief, what amazing superhuman feat would I have to perform to earn your respect?" the diplomat blared in frustration.
Juanito propped himself up on an elbow and rubbed his bearded chin as he genuinely seemed to consider the question. "Hm, I'd say you would have to become non-English. Think you can pull that off, muchacho?" the old Spaniard sarcastically proposed. In response, John Rolfe could do nothing but roll his eyes and let out an aggravated sigh. Pocahontas flopped over and stretched, facing toward the fire. Rolfe leaned over her to throw another few sticks into the flames, pulling back when he was done. The Powhatan princess reached back and groped around for something. When she found John Rolfe's hand, she pulled him into a spooning position. With a surprised look, he glanced up at Juanito Ponce de León in time to see the elderly man mouth the words, "I'm telling."
Rolfe started to get worried. The Spaniard could blow his plan to withhold the knowledge of their love for a while to give Chief Powhatan time to get to know him. He feared what would happen if that came to pass. How would the chief react to that information before he was ready to hear it? The last thing Rolfe wanted was to be chased out of Virginia by an angry father who had been led to believe his daughter's honor had been compromised.
John Rolfe breathed in a sharp inhale, returning a deadly glare to Juanito. "Listen to me, Spaniard. I would never dishonor a woman. Not any woman. Not even one who's honor had already been compromised by countless others. And if you think I am going to let you spread lies and ruin our reputations in Virginia, then you have got quite another thing coming. I'll have you locked away in a lunatic asylum if I must. I'm starting to think that is what would be best for you anyways. Now, stop undermining everything I have worked for and go to sleep, for goodness sake!" John Rolfe authoritatively barked.
Juanito Ponce de León's eyes widened and he shot John Rolfe a dirty look, cowed by the venomous threat. He snorted and rolled over, trying to fall asleep. Rolfe gently pulled his hand out of Pocahontas's grip and poked the fire with a long stick. Then he used a flat piece of bark to fan the flames, keeping her warm and cozy. Another enormous tree fell somewhere outside of his visual range, giving John Rolfe a start. Pocahontas did not seem to wake up though. She was totally wiped out. Rolfe pulled a buckskin blanket over the both of them and snuggled beside her, trying to fall asleep himself.
…
Pocahontas found herself walking through a strange dark landscape with great big bushes, trees, and rolling hills for as far as the eye could see. The Powhatan princess turned in a full circle as her senses piqued to all the stimuli around her. Everything felt so real, from the humid mist to the feel of the lush grass on her bare feet to the hum of the nighttime crickets. The trees were bizarre, hung with vines from canopy to root. The distance became a misty blue color as twilight arrived, the peace broken by the sounds of a violent far-off battle. She turned in the direction of the clash and broke into a sprint, curiosity spurring her onwards faster than dread could ever hope to slow her down. "Whatever it is, I'll just watch from a distance," she told herself. "I won't get near the danger. Maybe there is someone who could use my help. I will do what I can for them."
Pocahontas had traveled a long way before she slipped on something squishy, warm, and wet, crying out in startlement as she tumbled to the ground. The 'thing' she had stepped on grunted. Pocahontas pushed herself up from the ground and turned her head to discover what it was. She flipped over onto her backside to find a fallen man of dark skin and broad brow lying on the stained grass, his exposed entrails protruding from his belly. Pocahontas's mouth hung open at the gruesome scene. When she glanced around, the bright moon highlighted several more bodies lying nearby. The man's weapon and shield lay close, but out of his reach. The warrior paid them no mind as he set his penetrating eyes on Pocahontas. "Kill…" he began, interrupted by his own terrible cough. Blood sprayed on the ground. Pocahontas slowly shook her head and started to crawl away from him, eager to escape the gore. He reached weakly out to her with one hand. The other arm appeared to be missing, severed just below the shoulder. The man's crimson lips trembled as a red sun rose on the horizon right behind him, obscuring his form.
With terror in her eyes, Pocahontas pushed herself up to her feet. She screamed at the top of her lungs when she felt a hand grab her by the shoulder, spinning her around to an entirely different scene in the full light of day. The disoriented young woman peered down with vertigo from a tall steep pyramid as someone grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to stumble down a step and onto a platform. Four large men were holding a faceless enemy down on an altar. The priest who had been holding Pocahontas by the hair threw her down on the stone floor. She glanced up at him with confusion and fear in her eyes. "The blood must be repaid. Watch and learn, girl," he spoke harshly. The four men stretched the captive out on the altar and the fifth drew an obsidian blade, chanting as he sliced into the captive's chest vertically. The man screamed as the sacrificer pried his ribcage open and reached inside with both his free hand and the razor-sharp blade.
Moments later, the priest was holding a still-beating human heart in his hand and the captive had passed out and died from blood loss. The four restrainers tossed the corpse down the steep stairwell, which Pocahontas could see was deeply stained with blood all the way to the ground. Mutilated bodies had accumulated at the bottom. The priest held the heart up to Pocahontas as she squealed and tried to scramble away. The other men caught her and held her in place before she could escape. "Kill the Spaniard, take his heart, or we will take yours in his place," the man warned before bursting into wicked laughter. The men holding onto her threw her down the stairs after the dead corpse. She screamed as she plummeted, squeezing her eyes closed in terror of hitting the hard stone stairs and/or ground below. Still, she could hear the strange men laughing.
Before she could hit the ground, she was caught in two strong arms as the laughter suddenly ceased. A familiar masculine scent permeated her senses. "Pocahontas, are you alright? What's happened?" came John Rolfe's frantic but comforting voice.
She stopped screaming and opened her eyes to find herself in Rolfe's embrace. "John!" They were in some misty otherworldly place. She peered around. "Where…?"
"Pocahontas, wake up," John Rolfe spoke again. "Wake up!"
NOVEMBER 19, 1613
Pocahontas opened her eyes a second time to find herself back under the rocky shelter with John Rolfe leaning over her. He had a very concerned look on his face. "John?" she uttered in a rasping voice, her vocal cords raw and sore from screaming. She coughed and tried to move, finding that she was uninjured. Out beyond the rocky eave, Pocahontas could see the morning sky clear and bright. Yet the ground was sheeted in balls of ice from the hailstorm the previous night. There were no signs of bloodshed.
"You were screaming in your sleep, love," John Rolfe told her, looking deeply concerned as he ran a few fingers through her hair. "What in the world were you dreaming about?"
"I-I…" Pocahontas began, not knowing how to describe the horrors she had seen. She had no clue how to explain any of it, as she did not even understand it herself.
Juanito said something in Spanish, which Pocahontas did not understand. She glanced over at him as he was tending to his horse Ciceron with an oversized brush. As soon as Pocahontas set eyes on him, the haunting words from the dream came back to her and echoed in the back of her mind, "Kill the Spaniard, take his heart…" Were those angry spirits threatening her? Were they blackmailing her to commit a murder? Why her of all people? She was no killer. And what did they want with Juanito Ponce de León? John Rolfe snapped something angrily back at Juanito, making it sound like they were arguing over something. Pocahontas shook her head and crawled out of bed. In the chill air, she walked out from under the shelter and started to pace. She peered up at the sky again. Those frightful spirits were long gone. They could not really carry out their threat, could they? They were dead, after all. But they could control the weather!
Pocahontas sighed anxiously. She jumped in startlement when John Rolfe placed a hand on her shoulder. "Pocahontas?" She turned to him and gazed into his green eyes, seeing the confusion in them. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong? You can tell me," he indicated, embracing her. It was then she realized she was still wearing his coat.
Pocahontas shook her head. "I-it's nothing. I had a nightmare. Can we leave this place? The sooner we get home, the better," she expressed, peering around. She found herself trembling. Maybe the ghosts would not be able to find her again if they traveled very far. The last thing she was going to do was appease them by harming a feeble old man.
John Rolfe raised a questioning brow, unconvinced, yet he conceded to her wishes. "Very well. Let's eat and get packed," he conceded. Instead, Pocahontas convinced him that they should eat breakfast on the way. She changed back into her clothes, now bone-dry from the fire's heat, and returned Rolfe's coat. Before long, they were on the move again.
…
NOVEMBER 24, 1613
Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Juanito Ponce de León, and the animals traveled in fairly mild weather over the next five days. It was cold and gray most of the time. There were even drizzling rain and sleet, but nothing like the earlier hailstorm. They were running out of food again, only having a few days of moose meat left before they would be completely out once more. Pocahontas ground up the softer parts of the dried moose bones to make bone meal, stretching out their food supply. The food scarcity issue made Pocahontas and Rolfe's anxiety rise. Thus they conserved, eating only when they could no longer take the hunger pangs. They worked to maintain a balance between conserving food and still traveling a decent distance each day. The Powhatan huntress began looking for game again, but such animals were getting rarer and rarer as winter descended upon the forest.
NOVEMBER 26, 1613
One drizzly morning, John Rolfe woke up to a very big and unwelcome surprise. He rose to his feet in the cave shelter they had been occupying and glanced around. Juanito and Ciceron were nowhere to be found. He trod to the mouth of the cave and called for them. Receiving no answer, he gazed down and discovered six enormous letters scraped into the dirt. They spelled out 'MARICA,' roughly translated to English as 'milksop,' 'pantywaist,' or 'coward.' Whatever way one viewed it, the term was a feminizing insult when directed at a male. John Rolfe furrowed his brows, scribbling the word out of the dirt with the bottom of his boot. Big hoofprints led away from the cavern.
John Rolfe ran back inside and checked inside his bedroll for the rapier. It was gone! Somehow, the Spaniard had managed to steal back his weapon while everyone was asleep. He even snuck off with his horse and other possessions. The question was did he sneak off with anything else? John Rolfe was relieved to find the rucksacks where he had left them the previous night. But when he went through them, he found that every last scrap of food was missing. "Oh no," he uttered to himself. "Pocahontas, wake up! We're in trouble!" Rolfe announced. Pocahontas sat up with a start. She, Meeko, Percy, and Flit rubbed the sleep out of their eyes and gazed up at Rolfe. The Powhatan woman groaned. "It's Juanito. He's gone and he's taken all the food. Somehow, he got the rapier back from me. I must have been exhausted because I didn't wake up at all!" Rolfe expressed.
Pocahontas gasped. "What about the wild honey jar?" she cried, her heart pounding.
John Rolfe peered in Pocahontas's travel pack and discovered the jar still there. "It's right here. He probably did not recognize it as food. I don't think it will help us much though."
Pocahontas heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Not for us, John. I always have to keep a supply of honey over the winter so Flit can stay with me. Otherwise, he would have to migrate to survive. We're going to need Flit around now more than ever. He can help us scout out game animals. Where's my bow? Did Juanito take my bow?" she asked worriedly, glancing around. She was relieved to find both bow and quiver next to her bedroll where she had placed them. "Oh, thank goodness! Did he take anything else of ours other than the food?" Pocahontas quickly inquired, eyes darting around.
John Rolfe went through their stuff again, taking inventory. "He took most of the moose bones. Oh, and the moose hide is gone. It seems that he took your hunting trophy."
Pocahontas frowned and rose to her feet, rolling up her bedroll. "I'm going to have to go hunting now. We don't have anything for breakfast and that's not good. I'm hungry. Flit, come with me. I need your help tracking game. John, you had better pray it does not start to rain or all animals will disappear," she told him, gathering her bow and quiver.
John Rolfe started to get even more worried. If only he could do the hunting. The burden of their survival rested on Pocahontas's shoulders alone and that was just not fair to her. Rolfe felt a spike of rage at the two-timing Spaniard for leaving them in such a terrible predicament. They had been nothing but hospitable to him yet he had dared to rob them a second time. John Rolfe swore to himself if they ever crossed paths again that he would teach the old man a lesson but there was nothing to be done about it for now.
Pocahontas returned to the cave an hour later with nothing. She looked a bad combination of hungry and frustrated. It showed on her face. "John, we need to get moving. Maybe we'll get lucky and spot something as we travel. Neither Flit nor I found anything around here that I was able to get close to." John Rolfe frowned and felt his stomach gurgle.
"Alright," John Rolfe said, biting his lip. He felt completely at fault for the Spaniard's escape. If he was not such a deep sleeper, he could have stopped him. "I'm so sorry about this, Pocahontas." They packed up the remainder of their items and then loaded their rucksacks onto their backs for the first time in over a week. As they were wearing their winter clothes and were bereft of food, the packs were super light. They hiked onward, determining the easterly position of the sun through the gray clouds. John Rolfe noticed that Pocahontas's face was cast downward as they walked. He bit his lower lip and started to pray to God for food—not for his own sake but for Pocahontas's.
When the sun fell, Pocahontas and John Rolfe knew it was too late to hunt. They were forced to go to bed hungry. Percy whined and Meeko did his best at foraging on his own, finding barely enough acorns to satisfy his own hunger. Flit was fortunate to have the supply of honey, but he worried terribly for the health of his friends. The daylong famine had affected their energy level. Though they had traveled far, it was nowhere near the distance they had traveled the day prior. They found a grove protected from the poor weather. The cold affected them all much more than usual. It crept into their bones, forcing them to huddle for warmth. Despite his intense fatigue and hunger, Rolfe forced himself to scrape together a pile of dry wood. He built a fire to protect Pocahontas from the cold as much as possible. Snuggled together in a bed of dry leaves and with all their clothes, blankets, and even rucksacks layered on top of them, they were able to stay just warm enough to sleep through the night. Yet their sleep was not as restful as usual.
NOVEMBER 27, 1613
The night was coldest before the dawn. John Rolfe awoke to find his breath visible in the air. Even as close as he was to the others, he was still chilled. "Pocahontas," he spoke in a rasping voice, clearing his dry throat, "we need to get moving now. Isn't the game normally pretty active at this time in the morning? It's our best chance to eat."
Pocahontas groaned, almost too tired to move. It was her intense hunger pains which forced her to respond to Rolfe's voice and get up. "So cold," she miserably uttered.
"I know. We will feel better when we get moving though," John Rolfe replied, reviving the fire for Pocahontas's sake so she would be comfortable getting up. "This'll help."
As the flames grew, Pocahontas rose more easily. They packed and set off again. The sky was cloudless as the sun rose yet their hunger and misery blinded them to the natural beauty. It was a great mercy and relief that the temperatures rose to nearly sixty degrees by midday, though they knew it was not to last beyond sunset. When the sun reached its peak in the sky, Pocahontas fell to her knees in the dry grass. "I need food."
John Rolfe dropped his rucksack to the ground and rubbed his aching shoulders. "Alright. Break time. You hunt and I'll forage. Maybe we'll get lucky this time," Rolfe replied.
Pocahontas nodded in agreement and put down her travel pack. Meeko ran off to forage on his own in the bushes. Pocahontas and Flit wandered off with the former's bow and quiver, whereas John Rolfe and Percy went in a different direction to avoid frightening any game animals Pocahontas might encounter. Rolfe and Percy had been wandering aimlessly through the forest for five minutes before the Englishman froze in his tracks, spotting a bush with a few sparse blackberries. They looked a bit mushy, having been previously frozen, but Rolfe did not care. He hungrily gobbled them up. When he was done, he stopped and gasped at his own selfishness. "Oh no, I forgot Pocahontas! I should've saved some for her. What was I thinking?" he harshly admonished himself.
Hearing no woof or whine in response, John Rolfe glanced around and wondered where Percy had run off to. He was about to call the pug's name when suddenly he heard growling and high-pitched squeals coming from beyond some bushes. The perturbed Englishman pushed his way through the shrubs and gasped when he found Percy with his teeth embedded in the nape of a huge jackrabbit's neck. The rabbit had to be at least twice Percy's size and yet the pug held on for dear life. Rolfe dove at the two of them as the hare used its powerful legs to kick Percy off. The rabbit made a break for it just as the starved diplomat descended, grabbing it by the skin of its neck and back simultaneously. Rolfe let out a wolf-like snarl as he twisted its neck, making the vertebrae pop in an instant. The animal quivered in its final death throes and then fell limp.
John Rolfe pushed himself up from the ground and held onto the dead prey animal in bewilderment. The Englishman could not believe his own actions. He had ferociously slain an animal without even thinking about it as if it had come to him naturally. When Pocahontas had shown him how to dispatch the turtle, it had been one of the hardest things he had ever tried to do. The revelation simultaneously fascinated and terrified him. Even Percy was staring at him wide-eyed and agape with horror written all over his little pug-nosed face. John Rolfe was speechless as he met eyes with the dog. "I-I don't know what came over me. I…" the diplomat uttered, dropping the dead rabbit.
Percy walked over and sniffed it. Then he glanced up at John Rolfe again and yipped happily. Despite the sudden change in the pug's demeanor, Rolfe himself was still deeply troubled by his own actions. He feared he was turning into some manner of savage beast. The diplomat sighed and bent down to pick up the dead rabbit by its ears, gazing at it with a great big frown on his face. "Well, you caught it, Percy. That means you and Pocahontas are going to enjoy lunch together. I… I don't deserve any. Though I suppose once you and Pocahontas have had your fill, I might eat any leftovers if you don't mind. Assuming Meeko doesn't get them first," the down-trodden gentleman mumbled.
Percy tilted his head at John Rolfe, not understanding his upset. He started to whine. "I know, I know," Rolfe replied. "You're hungry. Come, let's go back to where we left our things and build a fire. We can surprise Pocahontas with a meal when she gets back."
…
John Rolfe and Percy returned to the hill upon which they had left the rucksacks. The diplomat immediately gathered up a pile of sticks and logs, building a fire pit. Then he turned his attention to the carcass. Slowly and carefully, he skinned the animal as he recalled Pocahontas telling him how to do it. He set the grayish brown fur aside in case Pocahontas wanted to keep it for tanning later. It was too bad she had lost her prized moose hide. Rolfe knew internally it was all his fault. The worst part of the process was gutting, yet his hunger and misery blinded him to the disgust. He saved the heart, liver, and tongue and laid the inedible entrails out to dry on a rock. Perhaps if they found a river or lake later on he might be able to use those parts as fishing bait.
"Alright. What'll it be, Percy? Roast rabbit or rabbit stew? One bark for the first option, two for the second," John Rolfe said once the carcass was clean and ready to go. He got to work with his bow drill to start a fire in the fire pit he had prepared. Percy thought for a moment and settled on two barks. "I agree. Stew would feel more substantial, wouldn't it? Right then, I'll get the pot," Rolfe replied, reaching into Pocahontas's rucksack. "By the way, I forgot to congratulate you on your catch. Congratulations!"
Percy smiled and yipped. John Rolfe pulled out the ceramic cooking pot and filled the bottom quarter with water from one of the skins. Then he cut the rabbit up into pieces and set them aside, placing the pot on the fire. He added sticks around the pot to make the water boil faster. Meanwhile, Percy rose to his feet and started sniffing around. He wandered off to a spot about fifteen feet away from the fire, sniffed it, and started digging with his two front paws. Rolfe automatically assumed the pug had gone off to relieve himself, but he was quite surprised when Percy returned with some small wild onions and carrots hanging out of his mouth. "Oh! Getting fancy, are we?" he remarked, taking the vegetables from the dog. Rolfe peeled, chopped, and dropped them into the pot.
Again, Percy wandered off. The next time he came back, he had a cluster of ten small wild potatoes. John Rolfe laughed as he took them. "What an excellent nose you've got, my friend. It seems you've endeavored to become the world's first canine chef. Very impressive," Rolfe replied as he skinned the tubers, chopped them up, and dropped them into the pot. Percy yipped excitedly as Rolfe reached a hand down and gave him a pat on the head. "Once this is ready, I'm going to have to send you off on a mission to find Pocahontas. But be careful not to scare any game animals she might be after. Think you can be quiet enough to do that?" Rolfe cleverly inquired. Percy dutifully nodded and started panting. "Good. Now, sit tight. This shouldn't take longer than thirty minutes."
Once the water was boiling, Rolfe dropped in most of the pieces of rabbit. The jackrabbit had been too large to cook all of it in the stew, so Rolfe began to roast the leftover pieces over the fire instead. Thirty minutes later, both the stew and roast rabbit parts were done and a delicious scent wafted through the air. Rolfe sat upwind to avoid whetting his own appetite. He only intended to eat once Pocahontas and Percy had gotten their fill. Meeko soon returned from his foraging, having raided a poor squirrel's winter supply of nuts. His stomach was full already, but he was still interested in the food. "No, no, Meeko! That's for Pocahontas and Percy. Judging from your bulging waistline, I am guessing you have already had your dinner," Rolfe chided, poking the raccoon's belly with a long stick.
Meeko did not look pleased about being excluded from the feast but John Rolfe ignored him. It appeared that Pocahontas had wandered quite far in pursuit of game. Once Percy had been sent off to sniff out her whereabouts, it took the Powhatan woman, the pug dog, and the hummingbird thirty minutes to make it back to the campsite. By that time, the rabbit meat had become nicely tenderized in the pot. John Rolfe added water to dilute the thick stew and stirred it up well, noticing Pocahontas appeared to be empty-handed. She did not look very happy, to say the very least. That changed in an instant when her nose detected the scent of cooking meat. "John! Did you catch something? How?!" she cried, agape at the sight of delicious-smelling stew. Her stomach was screaming at her.
"No. Percy caught a huge jackrabbit and dug up a bunch of vegetables, so you have him to thank," John Rolfe explained, spooning the stew into two separate bowls. He placed a piece of the roast rabbit on top of the stew in each bowl and laid one on the ground for Percy. Then the Englishman handed the other bowl to a very hungry Powhatan princess.
Pocahontas put her bowl down and picked Percy up, giving him a kiss on the nose. "I didn't know you had it in you, Percy! What a good boy," she graciously extolled.
Percy yipped happily and licked Pocahontas's cheek. Meanwhile, Meeko moved in to steal from Pocahontas's bowl. John Rolfe spotted him and shooed him off. "Go on, Meeko! You already ate, you greedy little pest!" Rolfe chided. Percy immediately started to growl and jumped down from Pocahontas's arms, dashing after Meeko and barking resentfully. "Don't bother, Percy. I'll keep a watch while you two eat so you won't have to worry about any furry little thieves. Meeko needs to learn to be less selfish."
After chasing Meeko up a tree, Percy heard John Rolfe's promise and lost interest. He shot the arboreal raccoon a final dirty look and then strutted back to the campfire snobbishly, plopping down in front of his bowl to gorge himself. He ripped apart the roast rabbit leg on top and tore off the meat, chewing on the bones afterward. When the bones were picked clean, he turned his attention to the stew. Meanwhile, Pocahontas was laying waste to her own portion. She was soon out of stew, so Rolfe refilled her bowl with the serving ladle. "Mm! It's so good," Pocahontas announced, savoring every bite of meat and every drop of rabbit broth. She had put away three heaping bowls by the time something occurred to her. She glanced over at Rolfe, who was not really doing anything other than tending the fire. "John, aren't you going to eat?" she inquired, peering down at the pot. There was not much stew left and only one piece of roast rabbit.
John Rolfe's face flushed as he remembered the berries. "I-I already ate," he half-lied, chuckling nervously. "Plus I knew you'd be starved, so I figured I'd only eat whatever leftovers there might be afterward." Rolfe narrowed his eyes at Meeko, who was sneaking up in his peripheral vision. He quickly put the lid down on the stew pot. "I think not, Meeko!" he decreed, and then pointed out, "It is not as if you bothered to share what you found out there with any of us. Next time, try thinking of others as well."
Pocahontas raised her brows in surprise. "Well, I'm full, John. You should eat the rest."
John Rolfe was still eyeing Meeko when he heard Pocahontas's words. He flashed her a glance. "Very well," he replied, taking a bowl. There was only enough rabbit stew left to fill it halfway and he ate it quickly. He ate the last piece of roast rabbit too. Though both warmed him on the inside, he found that they had mostly whetted his appetite without ending it. The Englishman sighed and handed his dish over to Pocahontas for washing.
…
NOVEMBER 30, 1613
Over the course of the next three days, Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Meeko, and Percy were forced to survive on minimal food. They kept moving as fast as possible despite everything, both to keep warm and in hope of finding better hunting grounds. At last, they arrived at another river one evening, hungry and weary. John Rolfe was very worried that Pocahontas appeared to be losing weight. Her body seemed unusually slim to him, even in winter garb. They were fortunate to find a protected cave close to the river to occupy for the night. Utterly exhausted from the day's journey and from lack of food, Rolfe lethargically gathered his usual firewood as he thought about their predicament.
Halfway through the day, Percy had become so exhausted that John Rolfe was forced to carry the poor pug in his mostly empty rucksack. Meeko was fairing better only because he knew how to forage in times like these. But, accustomed to the great celebratory feasts of autumn and winter, the raccoon was no happier than the others. Pocahontas had trudged off with her bow and quiver, followed by Flit as a hunting scout. As Rolfe returned with another load of firewood, he glanced down to the poor pug who was shivering by the fire pit. "Don't worry, Percy," Rolfe encouraged. "We have found a river. Animals always gather around rivers. I am certain Pocahontas will catch something this time." Percy only peered up at the Englishman and whimpered. Rolfe sighed and scratched his bristled chin, which he had been too tired even to shave. "I've got an idea!"
Percy perked up, raising a brow as John Rolfe dug into his rucksack, which lay against the cold cavern wall. He took out a leftover piece of moose bone and used a sharp knife to start carving it into the shape of a sharp hook. The task took about thirty minutes or so. When he was done, he poked a hole in the end opposite the hook and tied a line of strong twine through it. "Percy, I'm going fishing," John Rolfe triumphantly announced. "All I have got for bait is dried rabbit guts but it is still worth a try." Percy stood up and yipped, his mouth watering at the thought of a delicious fish dinner. They had not had anything substantial to eat since the rabbit meal days ago and Percy was absolutely starved.
John Rolfe retrieved his sack of rabbit guts and lumbered out of the cave. The river was both wide and deep in the section he came upon. He found an enormous tree with huge protruding roots that arched out over the water. It was a slow-moving section of the river and John Rolfe could spot small sheets of ice floating by every now and again. To avoid getting wet, the British gentleman climbed up on the largest overarching root. He plopped down right in the middle and took his mittens off, stuffing them down his neck to avoid losing them in the river. Percy had followed him and stood on the bank nearby, sniffing at the water. The little pug dog looked up at the Englishman and whined slightly.
"I know there's nothing there right now, Percy, but the water is deep. Give it some time," John Rolfe replied as he took out the hook and rabbit guts. He used the hook to pierce a length of small intestine and then tied the opposite end of the twine around his own wrist, gently lowering the hook down into the water. It sunk until he could see neither it nor the bait anymore. He shot another glance at Percy. "Now we wait," he declared, flashing a hopeful smile to his tiny canine companion. He started to hum and swing his legs back and forth as he glanced around, admiring the autumnal scenery. The water appeared to be absolutely frigid though. He was not particularly looking forward to crossing it. They would either have to spend a lot of time building a large raft to keep them out of the water entirely or they would have to strip down to minimal clothing and swim the river, only using a small raft to keep their clothes and other supplies dry. The latter seemed unlikely.
John Rolfe started fiddling with Siwili's ocarina, playing a few simple notes. The music came across as carrying a sad or subdued tune. After a while, Rolfe got bored of staring downriver. He swung his legs over the wooden root to face in the opposite direction. Glancing upriver, Rolfe thought he spotted something peculiar floating slowly toward him. He squinted his eyes, making out what appeared to be a colorful piece of wood in the water. It had to be something manmade by the looks of it. The item got his attention more than anything because it was a sign that human beings were about—depending upon how long the thing had been floating down the river. Maybe, Rolfe thought, he and Pocahontas would be wise to take their chances with another tribe because they were totally bereft of food. Home was only who knew how many miles away, after all.
John Rolfe stood up on his feet as the mysterious item neared. It looked like it was going to float right past the end of the protruding root. He carefully walked down the length of it and slid down to the frigid water's edge, snatching the thing up as it floated by. Finally able to get a good look at it, John Rolfe quickly identified the item as a painted wooden mask. It was made to cover most of the face from forehead to upper lip. Carved from some manner of hardwood, it was sculpted into the visage of a beautiful red fox. The shortened snout and ears were intricately carved and polished. Rolfe stood there admiring it until he heard Percy yip from the bank, wondering what it was he had found.
John Rolfe turned around and held up the item for the pug dog to see. "Look, I've found a mask. Isn't it lovely?" the curious Englishman remarked, turning it over in his bare hands to examine the underside as well. "I can't help but wonder who lost it. Maybe they would like it back. What do you think, Percy?" Rolfe inquired, running his fingers over the rougher wood on the inside of the mask. The British gentleman brought it up to his face curiously, glancing out at the canine through the eye holes. The eyes flashed.
Suddenly, the line attached to Rolfe's wrist went taut. He was unceremoniously yanked into the deep ice-cold water with a yelp and a huge splash, disappearing beneath the surface. The dog's face went from interest to horror in the span of milliseconds. He started barking at the top of his lungs. Approaching the water's edge, the pug dipped in a toe. The action sent chills throughout his body, for the water was far too cold.
When John Rolfe hit the water, it felt like thousands of knives stabbing him all over his body. He could hardly move at first and he certainly could not breathe with his head submerged. Then he began to thrash fiercely as he struggled to swim to the surface. Something frightfully strong was pulling him downriver at a much faster speed than the current alone possibly could. He had to get back to the cave and shed his wet clothes or he would freeze. As soon as he broke the surface, he cried out for help and thrashed like mad. The fish, whatever it was, was trying to pull him under. He madly tried to tear the twine off his wrist, only tightening it in the process. Rolfe coughed as he caught sight of a low-lying branch up ahead. He reached for it, desperate to catch hold.
It only ended up bloodying his fingers as he caught the sharp twiggy parts and not the main branch. He could hear Percy barking up a storm and following him downriver but he could not see the pug. At last, John Rolfe caught hold of another oversized root from a large tree along the low muddy shore. The fish pulled hard yet it could not break his iron grip on the root. "Give up, chum!" Rolfe raged, using every last drop of his strength.
The fish abruptly changed directions, momentarily freeing John Rolfe's wrist so he could grab a hold of the root with both hands. He began to pull himself toward the bank just as Percy arrived there, barking and yipping at the top of his lungs. Once the young man was close enough, the pug waded into the freezing water and clamped his teeth down on the fishline to help the Englishman pull it in. John Rolfe continued to yank with all his might, stumbling onto the muddy shore and crawling up the bank. Looking back, he could see something very long thrashing in the shallows as both he and Percy continued to pull the aquatic beast up the bank. Once the fish was all the way up on land, Percy recognized it as a four-foot sturgeon similar to the one Siwili had once caught.
John Rolfe collapsed on the ground, gasping and struggling to get the fishing line off his wrist. His hand had gone purple from lack of blood flow. "I n-n-need a kn-knife," Rolfe chattered, going through his sopping wet pockets. Percy came over and sliced through the line with his teeth, freeing Rolfe's hand. "Th-th-thank you, P-Percy. N-n-n-need to g-get w-w-warm." Percy ran after the sturgeon as it tried to flop back to the river, biting it in the face to kill it. Meanwhile, John Rolfe sluggishly crawled up from the frigid mud and stumbled off toward the cave. A wintry wind blew and snowflakes fluttered around his hunched form. As the icy windchill made him colder, he could walk no more and so he collapsed. He trembled violently on the cold hard ground, fighting to stay alive.