It’s hard to be the Chief.

He always tried to do what was best for the tribe, and he always tried to be consistent in his decisions, but these two ideals didn’t always coexist. Today, a decision would be made that would violate one or the other.

When the white men who called themselves English first came, many of his people, the Croatans,  had assumed they were gods. However, once he found a way to communicate with them, he had quickly learned they were regular people not unlike himself, just paler, which the Chief originally found amusing. Not now.

As they established relations and exchanged knowledge, he had learned that these English used numbers to keep track of the seasons. These numbers dictated that they had arrived in the year 1584. They called the season “summer” when they landed, but he had no idea what the word meant. All he knew was it applied to a hot time when his tribe grew food for the upcoming cold season.

The English had eventually created a village, but they really seemed to struggle to survive. Since he had decided to ally the tribe with these men, he helped them even when it meant taking food out of the mouths of his people. It was a lean “winter”, as the visitors called it, that first one they spent together, but he felt sure that once the English learned to live off the land, they would be a powerful ally against the evil Mandoags in the area, especially with their metallic English weapons that could kill from a distance.

The white man’s village had survived, barely, but only until their year 1586 when the Mandoags had attacked the growing fortified village. Several of the English left had asked to join his tribe following the slaughter. No ethical concerns there. The extra men helped the his people, and he was able to help to the settlers he had sworn to protect.

Later that year, another group of English landed, but these were soldiers, not settlers. It didn’t take long for the Mandoag to find out about the warriors presence, and they quickly swept in and destroyed the white-skinned army.

Finally, this current group had arrived during the harvest of 1587. Their leader was a good man who the Chief had liked immediately, one who also cared deeply for his people. Governor White, as he was called, was shocked to find none of his military men still alive, but the Chief was happy to re-establish relations with this group of men related to those he had previously allied the tribe with.

White and the Chief had become fast friends. He still remembered the governor showing him how to write the name of his tribe in English. The Chief had taken to writing it every day to make sure he wouldn’t forget how. In fact, just a few days earlier while visiting the English fort, he had carved it in one of the walls and had even been carving it on a nearby tree when he was interrupted by a summons from his lead warrior, Fearless Wolf, to discuss the problem at hand.

He celebrated with Governor White the birth of the man’s granddaughter, Virginia and promised to keep an eye on the governor’s family and village when White had to go back to his homeland for assistance. Despite the seriousness of the situation, a smile briefly crossed the Chief’s stony face at the thought of the happy little girl.

Unfortunately, it was at this time the Great Drought had begun. His tribe had never seen a drought like this. When they first realized the importance of the phenomenon, the Chief’s medicine men began praying to the Great Spirit and performing various rain dances in hopes of relief, but none came. As it wore on and the tribe’s food was depleted, his men and women began to feel that the latest group of English had brought the dryness with them.

Then, he began to hear mutterings from his braves that their alliance with the settlers obviously displeased their gods who sent the drought to punish them.

Skirmishes began to occur between his men and the English as tension increased caused by the dry heat and shortage of food and water. The Chief tried to keep the peace, but he knew if Governor White didn’t return soon, something would have to be done.

Finally, things came to a head. The drought had been in effect for almost three years with no sign of White’s return. The breaking point was the discovery that corn was missing from their storage. Naturally, his men accused the English of theft, but the Chief could have handled that. It was the discovery in the corn storage tent of a gold ring with what the Chief recognized as English writing on it that revealed the harmful truth.

Now, a decision had to be made. Continuing to help these white thieves could only hurt his people, but if he let his braves have their way, it would go against all his past decisions regarding the white village. Something had to give. The tribe or those he swore to protect?

He looked at his sun-darkened arm and knew the answer. He had known it all along. Admitting it was the hard part.

He turned to Fearless Wolf who was waiting anxiously for his judgment.  It took him a minute to find his voice. His throat was dry as the words he dreaded croaked out.

“The English are no longer considered friends of the Croatans. Ride upon their village they call Roanoke.” He paused, putting it off, but it had to be said. “Kill them all,” he whispered.

The smile on his warrior’s face betrayed his feelings towards the Englishmen. The Chief knew it meant no mercy would be given in the attack. As the brave turned to get his fighters ready, the Chief called out, “Wait!”

The warrior turned back in exasperation that he tried to hide unsuccessfully.

“There should be a small female child about three years old. Do not kill her. Bring her to me.”

Fearless Wolf paused to consider this before nodding and heading out of the tent. He knew better than to argue with his Chief.

There. It was finished. A tear rolled down his deeply carved face. He hoped that if his friend ever returned, he could at least return little Virginia Dare to the governor as a comfort. Who would comfort the Chief’s guilt and sorrow, he didn’t know.