Richard of Jamestown | Page 5

see what was done,
that in all the churches prayers were made for our safe journeying, and
there was much marching to and fro of soldiers, as if some great
merrymaking were afoot.
The shore was lined with people; booths were set up where showmen
displayed for pay many curious things, and food and sweetmeats were
on sale here and there, for so large a throng stood in need of
refreshment as well as amusement.
It was a wondrous spectacle to see all these people nearby on the shore,
knowing they had come for no other purpose than to look at us, and I
took no little pride to myself because of being numbered among the
adventurers, even vainly fancying that many wondered what part a boy
could have in such an undertaking.
Then we set sail, I watching in vain for a glimpse of Nathaniel Peacock
as the ships got under way. Finally, sadly disappointed, and with the
sickness of home already in my heart, I went into the forward part of
the ship, where was my sleeping place, thinking that very shortly we
should be tossing and tumbling on the mighty waves of the ocean.
In this I was mistaken, for the wind was contrary to our purpose, and
we lay in the Downs near six weeks, while Master Hunt, the preacher,
who had joined the company that he might labor for the good of our
souls; lay so nigh unto death in the cabin of the Susan Constant, that I
listened during all the waking hours of the night, fearing to hear the
tolling of the ship's bell, which would tell that he had gone from among
the living.
It was on the second night, after we were come to anchor in the Downs
awaiting a favorable wind, that I, having fallen asleep while wishing
Nathaniel Peacock might have been with us, was awakened by the
pressure of a cold hand upon my cheek. I was near to crying aloud with
fear, for the first thought that came was that Master Hunt had gone
from this world, and was summoning me; but before the cry could
escape my lips, I heard the whispered words: "It is me, Nate Peacock!"
It can well be guessed that I was sitting bolt upright in the narrow bed,

which sailors call a bunk, by the time this had been said, and in the
gloom of the seamen's living place I saw a head close to mine.
Not until I had passed my hands over the face could I believe it was
indeed my comrade, and it goes without saying that straightway I
insisted on knowing how he came there, when he should have been in
London town.
I cannot set the story down as Nathaniel Peacock told it to me on that
night, because his words were many; but the tale ran much like this:

NATHANIEL'S STORY
When Captain John Smith had promised on Cheapside that I should be
one of the company of adventurers, because of such labor as it might be
possible for me to perform, and had refused to listen to my comrade,
Nathaniel, without acquainting me with the fact, had made up his mind
that he also would go into the new world of Virginia.
Fearing lest I would believe it my duty to tell Captain Smith of his
purpose, he kept far from me, doing whatsoever he might in London
town to earn as much as would provide him with food during a certain
time.
In this he succeeded so far as then seemed necessary, and when it was
known that the fleet was nearly ready to make sail, he came to
Blackwall with all his belongings tied in his doublet.
To get on board the Susan Constant without attracting much attention
while she was being visited by so many curious people, was not a hard
task for Nathaniel Peacock, and three days before the fleet was got
under way, my comrade had hidden himself in the very foremost part of
the ship, where were stored the ropes and chains.
There he had remained until thirst, or hunger, drove him out, on this
night of which I am telling you, and he begged that I go on deck, where
were the scuttle butts, to get him a pannikin of water.
For those of you who may not know what a scuttle butt is, I will
explain that it is a large cask in which fresh water is kept on shipboard.
When Nathaniel's burning thirst had been soothed, he began to fear that
I might give information to Captain John Smith concerning him; but
after all that had been done in the way of hiding himself, and
remembering his suffering, I had not the heart so to