Chapter 67
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: To Survive (1)
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"How's the expansion coming along?"
"The Seminole tribes allied with us are celebrating their victories in the war. It won't be long before we control the entire Florida peninsula."
"Good. Excellent work. For now, bring in more slaves to clear that land."
For a long time, a plague that had killed countless people began spreading from Florida.
This time, it wasn't smallpox or other diseases brought by Europeans.
Of course, Spanish colonial policies had sparked the flame, but the disease itself wasn't new to the natives.
"We have to head north. If we don't, we'll all starve to death."
"Then shouldn't we submit to those tribes? Will they even accept us? We're all short on food anyway..."
"If they have no food either... they'll find a way."
The first plague to strike was called 'hunger'.
Those in Florida who refused alliance with the Spanish were defeated in wars against them and other tribes, driven northward.
It was unprecedented turmoil. Populations on a scale never seen before began moving all at once.
Naturally, tribes displaced from their lands couldn't leisurely pack up corn and peas before fleeing.
Some were wiped out entirely, their adults slaughtered and survivors absorbed by other tribes. Others barely escaped, clinging to their tribe's survival as they fled north.
"Please... take in our people..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"If we accept them, our forces will be strengthened. We've been short on food. This could open a path for us too."
"If a path opens..."
"Yes. With numbers like this, we can stand against the northern powers. Aren't the Muscogee sharpening their blades right now? This is our chance!"
"...You're right. We'll elect a new war chief."
Thus, the fleeing tribes became carriers of another plague, igniting new fires farther north.
The second plague was something very familiar to the first: 'hunger'.
It was 'war'.
People sharpened arrowheads, gathered stones perfect for slings, and honed spear tips sharper.
With kitchen gardens drying up, hunting grounds parched, and mouths to feed multiplying, it was inevitable.
And...
"Kill them all! No, focus on the beans and corn!"
"If we retreat here today, we're all dead!"
Dry furrows were soaked in blood.
Crunch! Crack! Thud!
Skulls shattered, brains splattered across the ground. Guts spilled, bones and muscles protruded, flesh tore away.
Fights as desperate and gruesome as starving wild beasts spread like plagues or wildfires.
Northward.
Again, northward.
Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina...
And on to Virginia.
Scholars of later years would define it thus: the Catawba and Tutelo spoke Siouan languages.
And the tribes of the great Virginia confederacy mostly used Algonquian tongues.
Language has always been a crucial matter.
Those who share a language—or similar ones—or common ancestors can communicate and unite faster than others.
The same happened among those suddenly stripped of land and shattered.
"...The lands around Chesapeake Bay are the only prosperous ones amid this blue chaos."
"..."
"...They offer vast tribute to the Great Chief and receive equally vast food in return. That's how so many survived the long famine."
"So?"
"We... must go there too... to survive..."
Dozens of tribes driven north gathered, their chiefs gathered, and those chiefs' Great Chiefs gathered once more.
"But how? The local tribes won't welcome us. They'll surely try to kill us."
"...No.
We have to kill them. By any means necessary.
We must carve a path to that prosperous Great Chief.
Otherwise..."
The Great Chiefs glanced at the other chiefs. They saw the flesh beneath their bellies withering away. Outside the tent, a child's hungry cries fell silent.
Another one dead.
"...Otherwise, we'll all starve."
Hunger begat war, and war begat hunger again.
The Catawba and Tutelo, with thousands of warriors, invaded Tuscarora lands.
They were the largest group paying tribute to Chesapeake.
They clashed for days.
And all died.
Thus, one tribe vanished.
"...Huh?"
"What's wrong, Mr. Huet?"
"No... fox pelts are coming in. The Tuscarora supplied the most of those..."
"Because the Tuscarora haven't sent envoys."
"..."
"..."
"...Vicente, do you know why?"
"No idea."
The devil's exquisitely crafted cycle rolled smoothly, dyeing the American continent in blood and scattering bones across the earth.
Thus history marched on.
Biting and tearing desperately for survival.
That chain had now reached Virginia.
The Spanish Empire had clearly marked us as enemies.
And we could no longer stand idly by as Spanish colonies grew nearby.
Whether for survival.
Or moral reasons.
Everyone in the settlement had learned of the Florida colony's horrors.
"They... skewered people on spits and burned them alive?"
"My God, that's... urk!"
Having long been steeped in anti-Spanish propaganda, the English railed against Spanish immorality and cruelty.
The Algonquians and other natives, living alongside the English and hearing their fury toward Spain, felt disgust as well.
Spanish descendants lamented their 'former' homeland's fall into such depravity, feeling pity, shame, and rage.
And the freed slaves...
"C-Could that have been us?"
"No. It could have been. If this place falls, we could end up like that anytime."
"..."
"..."
"..."
They were afraid.
Thus, people of countless tongues, countless peoples, united in diverse rages and loathings.
Coldly speaking, aside from faith in me, the Virginia community had no common ground—yet this was the first time they united as one.
Fear, loathing, rage.
Those negative emotions swirled similarly, spurring the settlers to action.
"How many cannons remain for the coastal batteries?"
"Out of 210 total... we've got about 70 spare!"
"We need to bolster Croatoan Island's defenses first!"
"Transparent shields! We're short on transparent shields!"
"Gunpowder too! We need more fertilizer somehow..."
"No can do. Fields are expanding—we can't spare fertilizer. Better find nitre deposits nearby..."
"I know of some."
"Lord Nemo? Really?"
"Yes. Come with me south of Croatoan Island for now. Manteo? Prepare the ships."
First priority: arming ourselves.
Freed slaves, terrified their old masters might turn this land into hell, demanded stronger arms. Most others agreed.
If Spain landed a massive fleet... we'd suffer huge losses, or worst case, defeat.
At least, that's what the settlers believed. I thought a Spanish invasion unlikely, but strengthening Virginia's forces wasn't bad either.
Our community clearly needed more power. This tiny settlement had to face a vast empire commanding millions.
They labored for more guns, more ships, more powder.
Military drills intensified; soon, no settler couldn't fire a musket properly.
We raced ahead. The Spanish issue was survival—and survival trumped all.
So I figured this mood would persist awhile.
"Weren't there tribes whose contact and gifts suddenly stopped?"
"Yes, Manteo. Some tribes' gifts ceased one day."
"They've... returned."
"What? And?"
But I was wrong.
"And they're requesting settlement. Thousands, probably."
"...What?"
Another problem was piling on.
Natives from everywhere began flooding back in.
"P-Please take us in. We have no land left to stay."
Chowanoke tribe.
Moratuc tribe.
Pamlico tribe.
Secota tribe.
...And countless others whose names I didn't even know.
By tens, hundreds every few days, they migrated here.
Tribes that had served me as Great Chief, long trading gifts with the Virginia community.
Seeing them, exhausted by hunger and wounds, begging fealty to the 'Great Chief'...
It was heartbreaking.
Compiling their lists into charts was work enough, but treating the injured and feeding the starving came first.
Eleanor and the medical volunteers rushed about breathless; tablet-holding 'administrators' dashed everywhere tallying numbers.
The results...
"Injured make up at least one in ten refugees, big or small."
"..."
"Looks like... wars happened. Everywhere."
"Manteo, if there were wars, why didn't they report to the 'Great Chief'? Even if minor, I thought war matters fell under his purview..."
Manteo answered my question.
"They probably tried... but collapsed before they could."
"Meaning."
"Yes. Seems like foreign tribes suddenly swarmed in impossibly. Tribes crumbling everywhere caused the chaos."
Foreign tribes swarmed in?
...From the south?
Migrations usually stem from food shortages, and the south has milder climate, more abundant food than north.
Invasions from north make sense, but from south? Odd.
-"The Spanish are building their Florida colony down there. They might feel threatened by Virginia, so watch for southern unrest."
...Ah.
Drake said that when we first met.
One or two years ago—and now Spanish expansion's effects were reaching us.
'My God.'
Chills.
Just their decision to expand Florida, and our colony reels countless times.
From such people, we must survive.
Anyway, seeing my sour face, Manteo answered cautiously.
"And above all, the southern situation is dire."
"...South? Where those new invaders hit?"
"Yes. We should prepare."
... 'Prepare'.
Manteo's words rang hollow to me.
Days later, at the council, the emptiness crystallized.
"The Catawba and Tutelo, who seized the new Chowanoke lands... have sent word of submission."
"What? Impossible! We can't let those monsters into our lands!"
"Exactly. They're... devils. Devils, I say! Great Chief, please exterminate them! Kill them all!"
This crisis wasn't something to 'prepare' for.
Like ants facing a landslide.
We had to withstand it with our bodies.