And so, for the next hour, John Smith
told Thomas Smythe of what had transpired in Virginia, of the discord
and factions, of the troubles
with the Indians,
of the plots against his
life.
“I have read Archer’s
and Ratcliffe’s letters,” Sir Thomas said, tapping
his fingers thoughtfully on the polished surface of the table in front of him. “Archer says you sided with the sailors
and refused to surrender your
commission as president; Ratcliffe says you were high-handed, and—how did he put it? You ‘were sent home to answer some misdemeanors.’ ” From the tone of voice, Smith
could not tell what his host was thinking.
Suddenly, Sir Thomas
looked up and smiled. “And I say Archer’s a rumormonger and Ratcliffe’s a bastard.
Have some aqua vitae.”
Relief, like a warm, welcome bath, washed over John Smith.
His frail, ravaged body straightened slightly; his awful wound felt as if someone had spread a healing balm over it. He was not,
then, out of favor with the Virginia Company Council.
He knew he was not at fault; he had followed
his own best judgment and had written
in his own defense, but he was,
after all, only the son of a yeoman farmer in Willoughby, Lincolnshire, and the men he
dealt with were the sons of old, distinguished families. Francis West and his brother Thomas, Virginia’s future governor,
were first cousins
twice removed to the late Queen
of England, and John Smith
had made an implacable enemy of Francis West.
from Jamestown: The
Novel
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