Blood on the River by Elisa Carbone

Author:Elisa Carbone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.

Sixteen

Great blame and imputation was laid upon me by them for the loss of our two men which the Indians slew, insomuch that they purposed to depose me.

—Captain John Smith, A True Relation

IT IS EITHER Richard, or God in His mercy, who trips me. I sprawl on the ground, my face in the dirt.

“Grab him!” Master Archer orders.

“Run!” Richard cries.

But before I can scramble to my feet, Reverend Hunt lifts me by one arm and holds me fast. “He is a boy,” he says slowly and firmly to Master Archer. “Leave him be. I will deal with him.”

Master Archer wipes his bloody hand with his handkerchief. He gives me one last disgusted look, then turns to go.

Reverend Hunt drags me with him to the chapel. Richard follows.

“I’m sorry, Reverend Hunt,” I say as I struggle to keep up with his long strides. He is gripping my arm so tightly it hurts. He is focusing his anger and most of that focus is going into my arm.

He plops me down on a log bench in the chapel. “Do not leave until you have prayed long and hard. Pray to curb your temper. Pray for humility—you will need that desperately if you become the servant of one of the gentlemen.”

I hop to my feet. “I will not serve one of those men. They’re criminals!” Then I realize what he is saying. He is assuming that at sunup, Captain Smith will be hanged and I will become another man’s servant. “Are you just going to let them kill him?” I cry.

Reverend Hunt rubs his temples. “I have no authority here,” he says quietly.

I shake my head and sink back onto the log. Richard sits next to me. I had always assumed that Reverend Hunt held the highest authority—the authority of God.

“Then can you pray for another miracle, Reverend?” Richard asks.

Reverend Hunt looks up at him, his eyes bright for a moment. He nods. “Yes,” he says. “I will.”

The three of us are quiet, lost in our own prayers. I pray to learn to curb my anger, but I do not ask for the humility to serve a new master.

When we leave the chapel, we find the soldiers and laborers gathered at the cook fire. They are talking in hushed tones, their eyes shifting. We draw closer and hear their plan: There are a dozen gentlemen, and over twenty of us. Yes, they have plenty of weapons, but we will have the element of surprise. Henry wants to simply slit the gentlemen’s throats while they sleep, but some of the others want an all-out battle—a war.

Reverend Hunt scowls. “No. No killing,” he says. “A war amongst ourselves will be the end of us—an end to the colony. We will not even have enough men left to fend off an Indian attack.”

But the men ignore him. They want blood. And if it will save Captain Smith, so do I.

I grow weary of listening to the men argue about their plans. I nudge Richard, and we leave to walk down to the river.

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