1609, Winter of the Dead: A Novel of the Founding of Jamestown by Elizabeth Massie Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Massie
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soldiers manning the cannons which faced the forest, and the others wearily raking the river bottom with wood rakes for clams and crabs and chasing animals from the gardens and grumbling that they wished they had the hunting skills of the cursed natives.
After Jehuâs burial, Nat paced the fortress. He walked back and forth from the church, past the tents and cottages and storehouse to the gate and back again. From within some of the cottages he could hear the moans of those who were ill with fever and starvation. His nerves clawed the inside of his skin.
âJehu, you moron,â he said to himself. âI told you not to try plants you didnât know!â
He picked up several stones and hurled them through the fence of the sheepâs pen. It struck a ewe and her lamb, who squeaked and took several sideways, stumbling steps.
Then Nat stopped in front of Captain Smithâs cottage. Smith was not there. Nat glanced around, then went inside.
The captainâs home was neat. His wood and canvas cot had a wool blanket neatly folded at the end. On a wooden stool were writing utensils and a comb and knife. Several small crates were beneath the cot. Clothes, an extra shirt and vest and pairs of stockings, hung on nails driven into the wood framing.
Nat stooped down and pulled the crates from beneath the cot. He opened the first. In it were books and scrolls. Nat shut it and opened a second. Here were even more clothes, smelling of mildew, and an extra pair of shoes. Nat slammed it, too.
The third crate, smallest of them all, had a lock. Nat stood and kicked the lock solidly with the bottom of his shoe. The lock didnât break, but the lid of the crate cracked and Nat tossed the lock aside. He opened the box.
âAh,â he said in a whisper.
Here were trinkets, the ones Smith used when coaxing the Powhatans into peace or food. There were small looking glasses and bits of smoothed metal and patches of silk fabric stitched into pouches with drawstrings. At the bottom, blue glass beads. They were smooth and cool. These seemed to be the most popular trade item. Back in July, three entire deer were given to James Towne in exchange for a single bead, which the weroance who had approved the gift immediately strung with deer sinew and put around his neck as a symbol of his status.
He scooped up six of the beads and shoved them into his pocket. They clacked softly against the pebbles from the bank of the Thames.
A spear of excitement jabbed Natâs gut as he collected a helmet and left the fort. It was like being in London again, snatching a fish from the mongerâs barrow. He was a good thief. It was a talent heâd not practiced in quite some time. Now he would bury the beads where no one would find them and accuse him of theft, which would surely bring a noose to his neck. In time he might be able to use these beads to trade for food for himself.
The forest was more dense than it had been in the spring, with summer growth holding tight, the leaves of the tall trees linked together overhead in a solid canopy and the vines growing lush below. Nat carefully avoided one particular vine with tri-leaves which the men had discovered gave a dreadfully itchy rash where it touched.
This part of the woods was familiar. Nat had walked here enough to know the rise and fall of the land. He had even sketched a simple map from his memory, and the map was safely stored in his sack with his journal pages. He felt nearly as home here among the trees as he did back at the fort, although he knew to always walk softly and listen well. Heâd not seen any sign of gold, but that didnât mean it wasnât there. It was probably just below the soil, and soon he would take time to dig.
Then he found a good spot. It was close to the river, although the water was hard to see because of the undergrowth. The ground was mushy and covered with pine needles. Nat clawed soil up with his fingernails and tossed it aside.
After Jehuâs burial, Nat paced the fortress. He walked back and forth from the church, past the tents and cottages and storehouse to the gate and back again. From within some of the cottages he could hear the moans of those who were ill with fever and starvation. His nerves clawed the inside of his skin.
âJehu, you moron,â he said to himself. âI told you not to try plants you didnât know!â
He picked up several stones and hurled them through the fence of the sheepâs pen. It struck a ewe and her lamb, who squeaked and took several sideways, stumbling steps.
Then Nat stopped in front of Captain Smithâs cottage. Smith was not there. Nat glanced around, then went inside.
The captainâs home was neat. His wood and canvas cot had a wool blanket neatly folded at the end. On a wooden stool were writing utensils and a comb and knife. Several small crates were beneath the cot. Clothes, an extra shirt and vest and pairs of stockings, hung on nails driven into the wood framing.
Nat stooped down and pulled the crates from beneath the cot. He opened the first. In it were books and scrolls. Nat shut it and opened a second. Here were even more clothes, smelling of mildew, and an extra pair of shoes. Nat slammed it, too.
The third crate, smallest of them all, had a lock. Nat stood and kicked the lock solidly with the bottom of his shoe. The lock didnât break, but the lid of the crate cracked and Nat tossed the lock aside. He opened the box.
âAh,â he said in a whisper.
Here were trinkets, the ones Smith used when coaxing the Powhatans into peace or food. There were small looking glasses and bits of smoothed metal and patches of silk fabric stitched into pouches with drawstrings. At the bottom, blue glass beads. They were smooth and cool. These seemed to be the most popular trade item. Back in July, three entire deer were given to James Towne in exchange for a single bead, which the weroance who had approved the gift immediately strung with deer sinew and put around his neck as a symbol of his status.
He scooped up six of the beads and shoved them into his pocket. They clacked softly against the pebbles from the bank of the Thames.
A spear of excitement jabbed Natâs gut as he collected a helmet and left the fort. It was like being in London again, snatching a fish from the mongerâs barrow. He was a good thief. It was a talent heâd not practiced in quite some time. Now he would bury the beads where no one would find them and accuse him of theft, which would surely bring a noose to his neck. In time he might be able to use these beads to trade for food for himself.
The forest was more dense than it had been in the spring, with summer growth holding tight, the leaves of the tall trees linked together overhead in a solid canopy and the vines growing lush below. Nat carefully avoided one particular vine with tri-leaves which the men had discovered gave a dreadfully itchy rash where it touched.
This part of the woods was familiar. Nat had walked here enough to know the rise and fall of the land. He had even sketched a simple map from his memory, and the map was safely stored in his sack with his journal pages. He felt nearly as home here among the trees as he did back at the fort, although he knew to always walk softly and listen well. Heâd not seen any sign of gold, but that didnât mean it wasnât there. It was probably just below the soil, and soon he would take time to dig.
Then he found a good spot. It was close to the river, although the water was hard to see because of the undergrowth. The ground was mushy and covered with pine needles. Nat clawed soil up with his fingernails and tossed it aside.
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