1609, Winter of the Dead: A Novel of the Founding of Jamestown Read Online Free Page B

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.”
    â€œDon’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.
    â€œGet the rope now and climb out,” said Nat.
    â€œWhat about you?”
    â€œGo 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.”
    â€œYou’re not strong enough.”
    â€œThis 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.”
    â€œWhat do you propose, then? That I stay here and rot?”
    â€œQuit 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.
    â€œGoodnight, Nat,” called Richard.
    â€œIt 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.
    â€œWhat?” 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.
    â€œQuick,” 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.
    â€œAll right, Nat,” said the mysterious