Toiling under the weight of huge logs and straining to lift them into position had worked the men up into mutiny. Mutterings of strange torments in the way of revenge were whispered from one to another. Adam, who had no liking for Ratcliffe, egged them on.
“You fellows might just as well be slaves in Africa, toiling and moiling for some wooly-headed chief. Why not choose a President for yourselves? I have the very man in my eye.” Then he launched into a description of Smith’s exploits on the Pamunkey, embellishing the tale with such wonders as would have put Don Quixote to the blush. “I can tell you a few little tricks, I learned up there, of dealing with a traitor, that are uncommon good.”
This recital acted as a lighted fuse to the gunpowder of their feelings, and the explosion took place just as Smith arrived. Throwing down axes, hammers, chisels and spades, they gave themselves up to fierce anger against Ratcliffe.
When he judged the moment to be ready, Adam threw up his hat and yelled, “Smith! Smith for President!” The cry, was taken up on every side as they moved in a body back to the settlement, carrying Smith in their midst.
So dark were their scowling looks, and so fierce their gestures, that Ratcliffe made haste to scuttle aboard Newport’s ship and place himself behind the protection of the guns. A vote was then taken, and by an overwhelming majority Captain Smith was elected President of the colony.
As soon as the excitement quieted down a bit, Captain Smith drew John Laydon aside.
“Did you know a Mistress Forrest has arrived with Newport, bringing a maid called Anne Burras with her?” he said.
“Anne here?” John replied in bewilderment.
“Yes, I suspect it is that bewitching damsel. Have an eye upon Wingfield. Watch over her whenever possible.”
With his heart palpitating between love and fear of his reception, the young carpenter hastened to the cabin of Mrs. Forrest, where he found Anne looking through the window at the excited men and wondering what the trouble was.
“Anne, Anne!” he cried, his rugged face beautiful with the strength of his great love.
“Good-day to you, Master John Laydon,” responded Anne, eyeing with disfavor his coarse woolen jerkin and rough, toil-worn hands.