CHAPTER 1

'The big one? She's crossing the ocean.'

'The three-master? She's the Susan Constant, bound for Virginia.'

'For the new colony?'

'Yes. She's sailing tomorrow if the wind's right. Look, they're boarding already.'

The man who stood just inside the shade of the alleyway that opened onto the wharf half heard the important chatter of the sightseers, the shouts of the dockers loading gear onto the ship, and the screech of the wheeling seagulls. He had heard it all many times before. But the sound, all the same, was part of the familiar elation he felt as he studied the lines of the ship. Beautiful, new and strong – every year they were getting better. Perhaps this voyage would be the one ...

For days it had been the talk of the dockland taverns and guest-houses, as the ship's company assembled, drank together, got to know each other. For months the voyage had been prepared, from manoeuvrings in Court and county to the fixing of the smallest rivets in the Susan's hull. The lives of more than a hundred men had flowed slowly towards this wharf and this ship, from the landowner who had sunk half his fortune into the enterprise, to the sailor making the crossing for cash. There was even a song, which could be heard late at night droning through the lamplit alleys:

For the New World is like heaven

And we'll all be rich and free:

It's glory, God and gold in the Virginia Company…

And now the moment had come: a moment of mixed excitement and dread for most of the voyagers, but pure excitement for the man who stood waiting. He paid attention to the small crowd of men with families, saying goodbye on the wharf. That solid brown-bearded countryman, whirling his young wife around in a bear hug, then holding her at arm's length and looking into her eyes ... That ginger-haired boy, looking enraptured at the ship, then stunned as he saw his mother trying not to cry ... a promising-looking lad, that one ... They would be amazed how quickly he would remember their names. They would all have left a huge part of themselves in England and would be thinking back to it; while for him the start of the voyage would be the start of companionship, of real life.

Time to move. Time, as always, to be noticed. He braced himself just a little and stepped out into the sunshine, slinging his haversack over his shoulder and adjusting the sword and musket that already hung crossed on his back. He passed a bollard where two sailors were lounging:

'Hey, isn't that Smith?' said one to the other, who replied: 'Can't you tell?' and called out: 'Captain Smith! Are you for Virginia too?'

He was answered by a sailor leaning over the rail of the Susan. 'Of course he is, you half-wit! He's coming with us! Can't fight Indians without John Smith!'

'That's right,' John Smith called up, grinning. 'You boys need all the help you can get.' A cannon was just being lifted off the dock on a derrick to be swung across to the deck. John Smith stepped onto it, holding the pulley rope with one hand, and rode easily aboard his ship.

The ginger-haired boy had just come up the gangplank. He stopped beside the sailor. 'Is that Captain Smith?'

The sailor, red-haired too with a bushy beard, studied him. 'Aye, it is. Why?'

Thomas Rowe could not very well explain that, from the stories he had heard about Captain Smith's exploits, he had been expecting a scarred and grizzled fighter, not a man hardly ten years older than himself, with fair hair and a face it took your breath away to look at. He covered his tracks quickly: 'Have you sailed with him before?'

'Dead right I have, and the more times the better,' pronounced the sailor.

'Why?' it was Thomas's turn to ask, with interest.

The sailor spat reflectively. Instead of answering he looked Thomas over again: 'You going to the New World to stay? You're young to be leaving home alone and never coming back.'

'I can hold my own,' returned Thomas, wishing that his voice would finish breaking properly.

'What made you want to go? Respectable lad like you. Not girl trouble, was it?'

'Mind your own business.' Thomas was awed by the tough look of all the men he saw on the ship and the way they seemed to do their work with as little thought or effort as pouncing cats. Still, if he was now supposed to be a man among men he needn't put up with anything.

'No offence, boy. We need some of your sort. But it'll be a hard haul. Just as long as you know what you're in for.'

Reassured, Thomas confided: 'It's what I've always wanted to do.' Then he felt foolish, but the man punched him on the arm and said, 'Good for you, mate.' Then he came back to his original subject: 'You'll be right with Captain Smith. He looks after his men, and he's lucky. Know what I mean? Captain Smith, he does things that would get another man killed ten times over, and he gets away with it. A lucky captain means a lucky ship. You'll see.'

After a pause, Thomas said awkwardly, 'I'd best get down below and stow my gear ...'

'Go on. See you later,' said the sailor, grinning.

In the hold was pandemonium, with dozens of men spreading out gear and hammocks between the beams, portly well-shaved men with lace on their cravats, bare-chested, wild-haired sailors, solid countrymen, sharp-looking cockneys. Some were arguing that they or their masters deserved a better place, others, already well ensconced, were lounging, playing dice or whittling. The smell of bilge and unwashed bodies was strong already. Thomas picked a way through the throng, wondering where to put himself. Before he had got far a black-haired, red-nosed man in working clothes hailed him:

'Here, lad! Looking for something?'

'Only a place.'

'Come and join me. I was saving a good one here for a mate and he's made off. You all on your own?'

'Yes.'

'Plenty of room then. Well, when I say plenty: at least you get to know each other quick on these trips. Look, your bag'll go there. Macquarie's the name, Ben Macquarie.'

'I'm Thomas Rowe. ... Are you from Scotland?'

'Aye, I am. Dunblane. But things got a bit thin there, especially for a sheep-stealer who wanted to quit while he was ahead of the game …' he winked at Thomas. 'Come on, let's get back on deck and see the sights. We'll see more than enough of this hold and these fellows before we get to the other side.'

Thomas gave his name to the quartermaster and handed the money he had brought to the purser, and after a while left the ship to have supper and spend his last night on shore at the inn with his family. He could not think of much to say to them. He felt as if the voyage had already started, and the last meeting was unreal. He did not mention his new acquaintances to his father, feeling that he would disapprove; but in the New World, he already knew instinctively, things would be different: the honest man and the thief might change places, and he had better choose his friends with his heart and not his head. Thomas's siblings were awed into silence by the occasion, and his mother just gazed at him, drawing in her breath from time to time but letting it out without speaking. He wanted to tell his younger brothers about Captain Smith, but dared not mention even him: it would have come out that he himself already wanted to be like Captain Smith, and that would be hard on his mother.

The night passed and morning came. When Thomas and his family arrived back at the ship it had become orderly and quiet. Everyone knew their places now, and the sailors moved around purposefully, getting ready to depart. The only hubbub came from the rails where men hung over and their families and friends reached up, shaking hands, bantering, exchanging keepsakes and last-minute messages.

'Look,' said Thomas after a while, 'they're getting the guard of honour ready for the governor. We're all supposed to have boarded before he comes. I'd better get on, Mother.'

'All right,' said Mistress Rowe. 'God bless you, son,' said her husband. One more tight embrace and it was over. Thomas felt relieved, but very empty, as he scurried up the gangway.

The jingle of harness sounded through the noise of the crowd as a coach and four appeared, the horses trotting briskly. It drew up, a footman opened the door with a flourish, and out stepped Sir John Ratcliffe, Governor of Virginia. Tall, with a large paunch which he carried with dignity; his hair in dark ringlets; dressed in purple velvet with a plume in his hat and his chain of office round his neck, he strode haughtily across the wharf and onto the ship, just deigning to acknowledge the salutes of the crew and the cheers of the onlookers. After him came a slight, immaculately dressed manservant.

The captain welcomed Ratcliffe aboard and as soon as they had exchanged a few words the governor gave the word to depart. The gangplank was drawn in. A boat was launched ready to tow the ship clear. The last few rats, whiffling and squeaking, ran out along the ropes to make sure of their berths. The moorings were cast off one by one, and the ship moved out into the current. Thomas Rowe stood in a line of men waving at the rail, seeing sad faces getting further away, wishing he had told his mother how much he loved her. Governor Ratcliffe gazed around his panelled cabin and began demanding of Wiggins, his servant, where everything was. To a sing-song chant, the red-haired sailor and Ben Macquarie took their places among the others and began to haul up the mainsail. And John Smith, having given all his orders, walked forward to the bows as far as he could and looked ahead, impatient to reach the open sea.