Chapter 68
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: To Survive (2)
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I created this community to survive.
And I probably won't die for at least a few hundred years. It's been nearly ten years since I arrived here, and not a single wrinkle has appeared on my face.
What that means is...
"... ."
"... ."
"... ."
... Unless something extraordinary causes it to collapse, this community will last for centuries.
And for a community that never existed in the first place to endure for hundreds of years means changing history.
"I oppose it."
Every decision I make will be etched into history.
I couldn't shake that thought.
"...We cannot accept them."
Manteo came to me during mealtime and said.
"Too much hatred has become entangled all at once. No matter how much I think about it, I can't see a way to accept them without sparking conflict!"
"Then."
I picked up my fork, spearing some lentils, and said.
"Can you think of a way to avoid war without accepting them?"
"...That's."
"They're starving to death. They'll do anything to survive. So, have you considered what they might do if we refuse them?"
"... ."
"Of course, Manteo, I believe you've thought it through carefully. And yet, you still think it's better not to accept them."
"But I see it differently."
"Even if war breaks out... No."
"... ."
"...My thinking was shortsighted."
With that, Manteo bowed his head deeply.
I knew exactly what he had been about to say.
-"Even if war breaks out, we can win."
Yes.
We can win.
Our enemies are just a coalition of starving tribes that don't even know how to use metal weapons. And it's a defensive battle.
If we fortify key positions and properly deploy cannons and muskets, we can win 'easily.'
We can achieve an overwhelming victory.
In other words.
We can easily massacre the starving refugees.
That wasn't an option for us.
As mealtime ended and I stepped outside, Hewett approached me, fidgeting awkwardly.
"Mr. Hewett? What's wrong?"
"...I heard about the war between the Catawba and Tutelo tribes. I'm not sure if accepting them is right."
"... ."
"When I think about how they tortured and tormented the defeated..."
"Mr. Hewett, this is exactly when we need to keep a clear head."
"...I'm sorry."
"Remember. Oiotan gathered survivors of the Roanoke Colony to plunder the Powhatan Confederacy. Imagine what would have happened if that plan succeeded."
"That's..."
"We must make decisions for the community. Our emotions can't get stuck on one side."
Besides, disputes, wars, and plundering between these tribes have always been commonplace. Even the locals around Croatoan have lived that way.
If we start assigning blame, it'll never end.
So there was no justification for expelling them outright.
And a pile of unjust decisions would eventually destroy the community itself.
That's why I accepted them. For the sake of the Virginia community, I had to.
Of course... my personal feelings played a big part too.
"...Thank you. Truly, thank you."
The man with snake tattoos on both shoulders weeping before me was the great chief of the Catawba Tribe.
And behind him, refugees from the Catawba and Tutelo tribes were pouring in.
Their numbers... were greater than our settlers'.
The Algonquin natives newly admitted ahead of them numbered well over 10,000.
Those Algonquins glared at the Catawba and Tutelo refugees, growling and singing low songs laced with mockery and threats.
All the residents gathered in our settlement were whispering among themselves.
Everyone expected fights to break out among the newcomers.
At least hundreds would die or be injured, they thought.
...Naturally, I couldn't just stand by and watch.
"Defendant, do you admit to burying and killing 15 Chowanoke tribesmen pointlessly?"
"W-What's there to admit or deny? It was wartime!"
"Not one of them was even 15 years old! How cruel!"
For now, we held trials. We defined so-called 'war crimes' and determined if they were sufficiently 'pointless' acts.
And we punished those who qualified. We avoided execution where possible, instead imprisoning them in suitable places for hard labor.
"Over here! Everyone gather this way! This way!"
Next, we began the meticulous task of assigning the new residents.
Dumping them into camps by tribal alliance would only heighten tensions.
If they pooled their rage and it ignited in a flash? No one could stop it.
Instead, we divided them into small tribal units and housed them interspersed among the English settlers and the other tribes already here.
Scattered among strangers, they'd be too busy adapting to their new lives to plot revenge.
In fact, these policies showed some effect.
For the first month or two after accepting them, no violent clashes occurred.
At least for the time being.
But no one could relax.
"P-People... my family died..."
No one optimistically thought this would last.
The air in the settlement grew heavier by the day; you could feel it on your skin.
Whenever a Catawba-Tutelo resident crossed paths with an Algonquin one, their tense glares froze the atmosphere.
...Still, I didn't regret it.
I had to accept them.
"Achak, Achak! Get up! We have to check the fields!"
"... ."
"W-What's wrong? Why the corpse-like face all of a sudden..."
"I dreamed about my family dying."
"... ."
"... ."
"... ."
Achak's words silenced the room instantly. He spoke as if reciting a poem.
"I dreamed about my family dying. My mother and father, my other siblings..."
"C-Calm down. You..."
"Are you calm? They're just a few steps away right now—our enemies."
"... ."
Achak shot to his feet and rummaged in the corner of the hut. As the others watched, an unpleasant smell wafted from there.
He pulled out a jar and held out the black liquid inside.
"The kerosene they gave me because I'm a potter. I've been saving it instead of using my rations."
"...You don't mean."
"I'm going to set it on fire. If I burn down that damned chief's place with this! It'll make them realize something."
"... ."
"... ."
"You all."
Achak's eyes gleamed as he spoke.
"Will you... stand watch for me?"
He tucked a knife into his belt, picked up the jar full of kerosene, and quietly left the hut.
The others followed him as if entranced. They loitered around the nearby woods pretending to hunt, killing time until sunset when people would be asleep.
They stealthily reached the large hut where the Catawba chief lived.
Thud. Flick!
Someone hurled a jar full of oil with a spark.
Flames erupted.
As everyone stifled cheers and turned to leave...
"Achak, what if he escapes?"
"... ."
Achak closed his eyes briefly, then opened them thinking of his mother with an arrow in her throat. He hid in a suitable corner, hand on his knife hilt, and said.
"Kill him in the chaos."
We had just finished charting and were eating a late dinner when the news arrived.
"Eleanor, which way was the Catawba great chief's house?"
"Out the building, then left, straight ahead... about five minutes or more..."
Whoosh!
I yanked the tablecloth off the long table and soaked it in water. I rolled it up tight, gauged the direction.
"Y-Yes, Nemo!"
Without further hesitation, I bolted from the church building. Outside, far away, one side of the sky glowed orange like a sunset.
It was 9 p.m. Well past sundown.
I didn't need to pinpoint the location; I ran like a madman. No. If the Catawba great chief died now... everything would fall apart.
Even if it was just a freak accident, it would cause problems. But if it wasn't an accident—if it was arson by someone—then what?
If someone who hated the Catawba and burned with rage acted on it.
Then the dominoes of violence and conflict would topple endlessly. Until tens of thousands in this community took up arms against each other.
If that happened, it was all over.
That thought fueled my legs. A voice in my head whispered that maybe I shouldn't have accepted them.
...Yes. Maybe I shouldn't have.
Immoral? Why would that be immoral?
I've already killed Spaniards with a chainsaw, haven't I? This is 'war.' And if it's not a war we started, why should I feel moral responsibility?
If I'd refused them, everything would be clean-cut. They attacked our allied tribes first anyway. They're the villains.
As Manteo almost said, we could 'overwhelm' them militarily. Crush people armed with mere slings and stone axes with our gunpowder weapons and steel swords.
That would be fine.
They attacked first.
If they got scared and fled elsewhere, it'd solve our problems completely—nothing to thank them for more. We could live peacefully.
After driving out all the 'bad guys.'
Abandoning everyone who sought our help.
Just like that.
...
...
...
'This community started when 30 Englishmen shared simple meals with people who might kill me.'
Because I generously gave food and water to those who might kill me.
-"What? That's absurd! We can't let those cruel things into this land!"
-"Exactly. They're... devils. Devils, I say! Great Chief, please exterminate them! Please kill them!"
Devils? Abandon them because they're evil? Can we really just accept that?
They only did it to survive.
I recalled the Catawba great chief weeping and thanking me. The Catawba people hugging me with tears upon arriving here.
Are they all villains?
That human nature reveals itself in extreme situations, or true colors show when survival is threatened...
I hate that kind of talk.
Humans face countless moments in life, countless emotions and thoughts passing through them.
Moments of happiness, depression, rage.
In every moment, a person reveals their nature.
Of course, people can be more cruel to others at times.
When their own survival, or that of their loved ones, is at stake.
Is that revealing their true nature?
Is it just to judge and brand someone based on actions in the most extreme circumstances?
I don't think so.
We're not gods.
We can't judge someone's good or evil.
"F-Fire! My God, f-fire!"
"No time to shout—fetch water! H-Hurry..."
"Great Chief? Why are you here... N-No! You can't go in! You can't go in!"
That's why we—people—have more urgent tasks than judging good from evil or branding others.
Helping each other to the best of our ability.
And saving each other.
Yes.
This community was built on that.
Forget that, and it crumbles.
So this was the best choice.
People who recognized my face shouted, and Catawba tribesmen rushed to grab me. I shook off their arms.
And plunged into the flames.
Beams, walls, ceiling were blazing. Amid the smoke, I found a half-conscious man with snake tattoos.
He was the great chief. He had lost one leg in the battle against the invading Muscogee from the south, when they were defeated and fled.
"Ugh... Gr-Great... Chief?"
"Grab my hand. Hurry!"
A pile of burning embers fell toward his head; I desperately swatted it away with my arm. Agonizing pain seared my flesh instantly.
"Gah! H-Hurry!"
"Wh-Why here?"
I wrapped his body in the water-soaked tablecloth and supported him as we moved. Flames blocked the entrance, embers raining down like fireflies.
But I would go.
With countless lives hanging on my shoulders, I would go.
I would save this community.