The
forest was everywhere, and the Indians dwelled in the forest. Not
unnaturally, they held that this world was theirs.
Upon the three ships, sailing, sailing, moved a few men who could speak
with authority of the forest and of Indians. Christopher Newport was upon
his first voyage to Virginia, but he knew the Indies and the South American
coast. He had sailed and had fought under Francis Drake. And Bartholomew
Gosnold had explored both for himself and for Raleigh. These two could tell
others what to look for. In their company there was also John Smith. This
gentleman, it is true, had not wandered, fought, and companioned with
romance in America, but he had done so everywhere else. He had as yet no
experience with Indians, but he could conceive that rough experiences were
rough experiences, whether in Europe, Asia, Africa, or America. And as he
knew there was a family likeness among dangerous happenings, so also he
found one among remedies, and he had a bag full of stories of strange
happenings and how they should be met.
They were going the old, long West Indies sea road. There was time enough
for talking, wondering, considering the past, fantastically building up the
future. Meeting in the ships' cabins over ale tankards, pacing up and down
the small high-raised poop-decks, leaning idle over the side, watching
the swirling dark-blue waters or the stars of night, lying idle upon the
deck, propped by the mast while the trade-winds blew and up beyond sail and
rigging curved the sky--they had time enough indeed to plan for marvels! If
they could have seen ahead, what pictures of things to come they might have
beheld rising, falling, melting one into another!
Certain of the men upon the Susan Constant, the Goodspeed, and the
Discovery stand out clearly, etched against the sky.
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