1609, Winter of the Dead: A Novel of the Founding of Jamestown (3 page)

Nat's eyes widened. “How did you make that appear?”

“Oh,” said Smith. “I have learned a lot in my travels. I have learned how to make things appear and disappear. This can be very useful at times. Very useful indeed.”

“I can imagine,” said Nat. So, not only was Smith dramatic and loud and confident, he was good at sleight of hand. What an amazing life this man must lead.
I would like to be just like him someday,
Nat thought.

But as Smith moved the shilling from one hand to the other, his face grew somber. He glanced over his shoulder. Captain Newport and Captain Gabriel Archer had come out of the Great Cabin beneath the stern's quarterdeck and stood talking quietly and looking at Smith. Newport was tall with broad shoulders and very little hair. Archer had a narrow face and fidgety eyes.

“The bad weather may have calmed,” Smith said softly, “but the environment on this ship is more unpredictable now than ever. It will not be long before we are embroiled in a great turmoil.”

Richard frowned. Nat said, “What…?” But then he knew it was best to keep quiet. Best to act like he didn't understand. But he did understand. Many of the gentlemen on the ship didn't like Smith. They were jealous of him and thought he was too arrogant. Often they grumbled about his attitude. Now it seemed as if the other captains might also feel the same way. This couldn't be good for the voyage. With some luck or perhaps some divine interference, the men would keep their distrust to themselves and not cause any trouble before they reached the shores of Virginia. Not only was there the peril of rough seas, unpredictable winds on a long trip such as this, there were also Spanish ships on this very same sea who would welcome the chance to attack and rob an English ship. If the men fought seriously among themselves, they would be less able to deal with other dangers they might meet.

But then Smith smiled and clapped Nat and Richard on the shoulders. “And where is my page, that good-for-nothing? Go send him to me. I have errands which need to be done. If he's sleeping, douse him with water!” With a chuckle, Smith walked away, past Archer and Newport, who paused to watch him and then began talking again.

Down below, men were talking, coughing, and spitting. As always, Nat had to pause on the ladder to regain his vision in the dim light. Then he and Richard placed the buckets behind the base of the ladder and wormed through the men to their pallets. Nearby, on his own rumpled mattress, Samuel sat glaring at the two boys. He held his open wooden box in his lap.

“Samuel,” Nat said. “Smith is calling for you.”

“Yes,” said Richard. “He is furious. I've never seen his face so red or his hands so palsied!”

“You,” hissed Samuel, without making a move to get up.

“You?” said Nat. “You what?”

“You urchins,” Samuel said.

“I beg your pardon for being an urchin,” said Nat. “But such is my fate. Forgive me for my worthlessness.”

Samuel's eyes drew up and his lip quivered furiously. “You've stolen from me, you stinking beggars!”

“I don't know what you mean,” said Nat. Richard dropped to his mattress, already bored with this game of words.

Samuel shook his head. “I'm missing paper and ink, and no one but you would have the nature to steal.”

“Paper?” said Nat. “Why do you think I'd steal paper? Certainly I can't read nor write, I haven't your education.”

“You are sneaky and clever!” Samuel snipped. “Just wait, you won't know when my revenge is coming! You two just wait and see!” He slammed his black hat onto his head and stormed away, the feather bouncing.

“What do you think he will try?” asked Richard. “I have never heard him so angry.”

“Who knows and who can care?” said Nat.

“Did you steal his paper and ink?”

“Why would I? I am as ignorant of letters as you. Now come. We have work to do.”

The day went on as usual, emptying waste, serving food, washing out the most severely soiled clothing of the gentlemen with seawater, repairing loose planks alongside the sailors.

But that night, after all had turned in for the evening's rest, Richard's yell woke Nat with a start.

Sitting bolt upright and blinking the cloud of sleep away, Nat looked to his right where Richard slept. Richard was not there. He then heard Samuel's voice, near the center of the 'tween deck. “Catch them, urchin! You will need them in Virginia!”

“Give them to me!”

Nat jumped up, hopping over sleeping men, trying not to step on anyone's head.

“Samuel!” shouted Richard.

Men were awakening now, yelling and complaining.

“You boys shut your mouths or I'll shut them for you!”

“What is the commotion?”

“I'll give you a wallop if you do not quiet down!”

Nat found his way to the center of the 'tween deck, his eyes now adjusted enough to see what was going on. Samuel had pried the wooden grating from the hold's hatch, and was dangling Richard's shoes over the hole. Richard was reaching out for them, but clearly afraid that if he made a quick move, Samuel would indeed drop the shoes down into the stinking black pit at the bottom of the ship.

“Samuel, give me the bloody shoes!” Richard said.

“Give me my paper and ink back.”

“I don't have your paper. Give me my shoes.”

“Be quiet, boys!” shouted Edward Brookes. “You will go over the side of this ship into the ocean if I get my wish!”

Nat said, “Samuel, give Richard his shoes before the men beat us!”

“No!” Samuel giggled and threw the shoes into the hold.

Richard gasped, then grabbed Samuel by the collar. “You worthless beast! I need my shoes!”

“Then go get them. I will not stop you. If you need your shoes, by all means, go into the hold and get them.”

Suddenly there was a whoosh and a blow, and Nat was struck to his side, his breath knocked out. He lay stunned, struggling to pull air back into his lungs. Edward Brookes then knocked Samuel over, but Richard jumped out of the way in time.

“You boys get to your places before I kill the whole of you!” Brookes said. “And I am a man of my word!”

Samuel groaned, sat up, and said, “I will go, sir. Do not strike me again.”

Brookes grunted once more, then, seeming somewhat satisfied, stumbled back to his mattress.

Samuel said quietly to Richard, “Best be after your shoes, boy. I would not be in Virginia with my feet bare. It could be dangerous and quite cold.” Then he giggled and walked away.

“My shoes,” Richard said, almost as if in mourning.

“I will help you get them in the morning when it is light,” said Nat.

“My shoes are leather, and there are more vermin down there than anywhere else on this ship,” said Richard. His voice was shaky. “If I wait until tomorrow, they will be chewed to scraps. I will go down now. I have no choice.”

“We do not have a lantern, Richard. If I try to borrow one from a gentleman, he will say I am stealing, you know it. Stealing will have me whipped and then tossed overboard.”

“All I need is rope. I think the shoes went straight down, so if I go straight down, too, I should find them without too much trouble.”

Nat nodded reluctantly. He went to the ladder and found a length of rope coiled on a nail on its side. He tied one end around the bottom rung of the ladder, then took the length to Richard. All around, men flopped over on their mattresses in various stages of sleep, snoring, burping, farting. Richard grasped the rope, whispered, “God help me, I never wanted to go down into that dreadful place,” and lowered himself into the hold.

Nat could imagine what was down there with Richard—water snakes swimming in standing water, enormous rats grown fat and vicious with constant feeding on the men's food supplies and an occasional caged chicken. He shivered and gooseflesh stood up on his arms and neck.

“I've never smelled such foul odors,” Richard called up.

“Shh! Get the shoes quickly. I'll pull you back up.”

There was silence for a few moments, then the sound of Richard swearing as he rummaged below, feeling for the shoes. All around Nat, the men began snoring once more.

Hurry! Get out of that wretched place!

Nat leaned over a bit farther, straining to hear, hoping Richard would not be bit by something poisonous.

And then there was a shrill giggle immediately behind Nat and something struck him between his shoulder blades and he was tumbling headlong into the rancid darkness of the hold. He landed on his side with an “umph!” His left arm was twisted beneath him, and hot, stabbing pains shot through it.

A voice very near him said, “Nat! Is that you?”

Nat croaked, “Samuel knocked me down into this place!”

“The cursed brat!”

Nat got his feet beneath him and stood dizzily. The flooring was as he feared, slimy and damp and uneven. The smell down here was worse than he could have imagined. It was like sticking his head into a waste bucket full of excrement.

“Are you all right? Did you break anything?”

Nat moved his left arm and gritted his teeth against sparkles of pain that traveled the length of it. “I think not. My arm can move, but it hurts dreadfully. God! I cannot have a broken arm. How would I survive the rest of the journey with a broken arm?”

“You can move it truly?” asked Richard.

“Yes.”

“Then it is not broken. Perhaps bruised or sprained.”

“Yes,” said Nat. Then he heard a hissing sound, and the chickens nearby squawked.

“Snakes, Nathaniel!” cried Richard.

“No, I don't think so.”

“Or huge, rabid rats like the dog back in London. We cannot see them before they bite us on the legs!”

“Richard, the hissing sound is only water running in the bilge. Be calm or you will only make matters worse.”

“How can they be worse?”

There was a pause, and Nat said, “At this moment, I do not really know.” Then, “Did you find your shoes?”

“I found one of them.”

“We have to find the other, then we must get out of here straightaway.”

Then Richard said, “How?”

“How? What do you mean?”

“You have a hurt arm. How will you get out of here?”

“I…,” Nat began. But Richard was right. Richard could pull himself up the rope, but there was no way Nat could do it with only one good arm. “I do not know.”

“Don't fret,” Richard said, the fear in his voice barely disguised. “We'll find a way. But first the shoe.”

Nat swallowed and his throat was dry.

It took a while to find the shoe. Nat grimaced as he felt around the filthy flooring, around crates and barrels as he held his bad arm close to his body. He tried not to think of things waiting in the darkness to bite his fingertips, but every strange sound and sensation caused him to draw his hands back in terror.

And then Richard said, “I have it!”

Nat stood up. His knees were soaked through with stinking water, and his hands were scratched and full of splinters. His arm throbbed.

“Get the rope now and climb out,” said Nat.

“What about you?”

“Go on without me. Maybe my arm will heal enough in a day or two and then you can throw the rope back down to me. If not, I'll just stay down here until we land, and if I am not dead, they can take me out with the chickens and pigs.”

There was silence, then Richard broke into laughter. “You are such an actor, Nat! What drama! Now hear me. When I am out, I'll toss the rope back to you. You tie it about your waist and I will haul you up.”

“You're not strong enough.”

“This trip is making a man of me. Just wait and see.”

There was a deep breath and grunt, and Richard was climbing the rope. Nat could feel the air move as Richard's legs kicked out, working to hoist his body upward. A minute later, the whispered call came from above. “Catch the rope now and tie it tightly!”

Nat's hand felt around until it found the rope. He pulled at it to get enough length to put it around himself.

But it was too short.

He pulled again and met with taut resistance. “Richard, the rope is too short to make a loop!”

A quiet curse from above, then Richard said, “Let me find more rope and we will tie them together.”

Nat stood in the stinking darkness, not wanting to move now that he was alone in the hold. Visions of tremendous rats sprang into his mind again, and he wished he had tall leather boots like a captain to protect his ankles.

Then Richard's voice came. “Nat, there is no more rope to be found here on the 'tween deck.”

“What do you propose, then? That I stay here and rot?”

“Quit whining. I will find more rope in the day, when it is light and I am allowed up deck. Find a barrel. I will have rope in just a few hours. Be patient.”

Nat stretched his hand out and moved forward until he found a barrel. He sat atop it and stared out into nothingness.

“Goodnight, Nat,” called Richard.

“It is not very good, but what can I do about it?”

Richard swore softly, then was gone.

Nat drew his legs up and crossed them.
There are no poisonous snakes nor rats with deadly jaws,
he told himself. But he kept his legs crossed and away from the floor just in case. His mind went fuzzy, and even though he fought to stay awake, he fell into a restless sleep.

Rope smacking against his cheek made him startle into consciousness. His eyes flew open.

“What?” he said. “Where am I?” Then he remembered. But it wasn't day. Who had lowered rope into the hold while it was still nighttime? He squinted up into the darkness, but could see nothing but the outline of a head.

“Quick,” said a man's voice. “Loop this around yourself and tie it tightly. I will get you up.”

Nat reached for the rope. His left arm was still sore and now it felt swollen. Carefully he drew the end around himself and tied it, then slid the loop up beneath his arms and took hold. He stood up on the barrel. It was only a matter of six or so feet to the hatch.