"Alsoomse and Wanchese" Scenes

Chapter 2, Pages 17-18

 

On the back of my paperback historical novel Alsoomse and Wanchese, recently published, a browser of books can read the following:

 

“Mother, I want to question things. Know the why of things. Decide things. Why must weroances, priests, and a husband – kind or not -- decide who I must be?”

            “We gave you your name for a reason.”

            “That is not an answer.”

            “Be respectful, child, dutiful. The gods have taught us our roles. We must obey them, please them. We must please also the wise ones who speak to them. Life is perilous, Alsoomse. Kiwasa makes it so. Weigh what you think before you act. Accept.”

 

He marveled at the potency of his temper. He was surprised that his blow to Askook’s head had not been followed by a fist to the throat and a crushing knee to the side of the skull.

He savored the idea.

Something inside him had interfered.

Had Askook been a Pomouik, he would not have hesitated. He was a warrior. Any man who chose to make himself an enemy needed to beware.

Askook had laid bare his deficiency.

 

Roanoke Island. 1583. Rejecting tribal conformity, deciding what is true, what is just, desiring independence, accomplishment, fulfillment, Algonquian 17-year-old sister Alsoomse and 19-year-old brother Wanchese suffer repercussions.  Alsoomse pushes continuously against tribal convention, the imposed role of women, the dictatorial authority of men, rulers and priests.  Wanchese’s short-temper and quest to meet his deceased father’s expectations place him three times in mortal combat. 

 

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I have always been interested in the English/Algonquian/Roanoke story, how the English came to North America in 1584 to find a location to establish a settlement, how a year later English soldiers alienated entirely the local population, how in 1587 over 100 English common folk (not soldiers) including several women and children were tricked into settling on Roanoke Island and how their governor John White had to return to London to try to acquire ships and supplies to transport them to a different location, and, how, finally, in 1590 White returned to find that his people had vanished.

 

The more deeply I researched the story, the more curious I became about the Algonquian natives.  Who were they?  What was their culture?  What were their aspirations?  Their conflicts? 

 

Other writers of historical fiction that have written about some aspect of the Roanoke story focus on the English.  I decided to write an Algonquian story.  Think for a moment about all the Native American people that inhabited America before the White Man crossed the ocean and began his conquest.  As human as any homo sapiens -- advanced or primitive -- these people had no alphabet to form written words to record their life experiences.  I contend that any human being – famous or anonymous – who suffers the vicissitudes of life has an instructive story to tell. Few get told. That is one important reason why authors of historical and contemporary fiction write.

 

Alsoomse and Wanchese begins in late August 1583 and concludes a year later after English explorers -- secondary characters -- have come to Roanoke and left.  Their presence is but a complication to the Algonquians’ ongoing collective and individual inter- and intra-tribal conflicts.

 

I do not expect any prospective reader of my fiction to purchase either of my novels without first sampling my writing.  Below is the first of seven Alsoomse and Wanchese scenes that I will be posting.

 

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Chapter 2, Pages 17-18

 

Humphrey Gilbert and his crew sensed how close to Sable Island’s rocks the Squirrel, riding the turbulent waves, had approached. If he dared to put out to sea, how many days or weeks would it be before he would be able to return? On this island roamed wild pigs and cattle, set ashore decades ago by Portuguese explorers. Here existed the necessary food supply for his planned settlement! The alternative was to return to the Queen disgraced! The Newfoundland fishermen had warned him about Sable Island, about how too many ships had been destroyed on its rocks. “Approach it in the best of conditions. And lead with your smallest ship.” Well, in both instances he had done the opposite.

He had spurned the advice of the Delight’s master, Richard Clarke.

“If you must, utilize a south-west-south course.”

Clarke had contradicted Gilbert’s intended west-north-west direction. “That will take you to disaster, Admiral. The wind is at south and night is at hand. Unknown sands lay a great way off the land.” Gilbert had had to threaten to bring down Elizabeth’s wrath upon Clarke to force the master to comply.

Slanting rain pelted him. He turned his face away from its force. Minutes passed. Sailors were staring at him, turning their faces when he attempted to make eye contact. He would wait a bit longer!

If the fog lifted, he could then be certain. If not, …

The waiting was interminable! He stared, at drifting, amorphous shapes.

A ferocious blast of wind caused him to slip and then fall on the rain-drenched deck. He careened down the deck’s slope, his right leg striking stanchions. Adjusting to the roll of the ship, gripping a foremast spar, painfully, he stood. The boards beneath his feet trembled. Fear constricted his throat.

“Admiral! Here!”

Gilbert hesitated, then followed the beckoning sailor to a cluster of four seamen just aft of broadside. There! The fog had opened. Gilbert's lead ship, the Delight, his largest, was coming apart on dark rocks. And in the water . . . the ship's crew: heads, flailing arms. Miraculously, a boat in the water, just beyond, in one eye-blink, capsized. Churning bodies, disappearing. Gone!

For an hour Gilbert’s two ships maintained their positions. Then he ordered their departure. All one hundred of the Delight’s crew had perished. Numbed with guilt, he retired to his cabin.