Free 1609, Winter of the Dead: A Novel of the Founding of Jamestown by Elizabeth Massie Page B

English sailors and the king himself. “We find ourselves far remote from men and means,” said Smith. “Yet it is here that we shall discover the glory of a new route and bring England’s power beyond that ever known on earth! All other countries henceforth shall be cowed by the mere mention of England’s name and shall keep away for fear of our immutable power.”
    There was murmured agreement, and Nat found his smile widening in spite of the growing weariness of his arms. Virginia was truly the place of opportunity for all.
    They had been gone just over an hour upriver when Smith directed the shallop into a smaller tributary. This they followed until the creek became too shallow and reed-infested to venture farther. They would have to go back and travel farther upriver. Everyone climbed from the shallop and stood hip-deep as the shallop was turned around.
    And then an arrow smacked into the shallop, nailing a sailor’s forearm to the wood. He shrieked. Men spun about in the stream, trying to shoulder muskets and prepare for a fight, but it was too late. On the bank was a gathering of natives, bows drawn and arrows pointed at the Englishmen.
    There was a very long moment of silence and staring. The only sounds were that of the water coursing around the men and the shallop, the birds nearby, and the heavy breathing of the man whose arm was pinned to the wood.
    Richard, up to his neck in the murky water, lost his balance, cried out, slipped, and went underwater. Smith grabbed him up and shook him, growling that he should hold still and wait quietly.
    Another long minute passed as the men in the water and the natives on the shore studied each other. The natives were nearly naked, wearing only leather or grass loincloths. Their hair was shaved on the right side; the left was very long and coated with some sort of oil. Some of the men had this hair twisted into a knot with birds’ wings and pieces of antler woven through. One man’s hair even appeared to have a dried human hand laced in it.
    Nat felt his bladder go loose with fear; and it was only with a very small sense of relief that he was standing deep in the water.
    Suddenly one native jumped into the water as the others stood motionless, the bows and arrows still trained at the Englishmen. The native reached the pinned sailor, wrapped his hands about the arrow, and jerked it free. The sailor made no sound other than a horrific grunting through his teeth, and he drew the bloodied arm up to his chest.
    Now that the natives had made a move, Smith seemed confident to do the same. He raised one hand, palm flat, and dipped his head in a small movement of greeting. Nat sensed the gesture was to mean peace, although with the wounding of the sailor, Nat found it hard to believe Smith could offer anything on peaceful terms. But Smith was a survivor, and Nat had no choice but to follow his lead.
    Several soldiers and sailors made the same gestures that Smith had. The natives conferred quietly among each other, and then one whirled his hand to welcome the settlers onto the bank of the creek.
    Slowly, eying each other cautiously and the natives even more so, the men pulled themselves from the creek and followed the natives into the woods.
    Two young natives, about Nat’s age, brought up the rear, slapping their bows in the brush and talking softly.
    Nat and Richard were near the back of the group, keeping as close to the other men as possible without running into them.
    â€œThey are going to kill us,” Richard murmured. “How could Smith have let us go with them this way? Should we have not fought with our muskets?”
    â€œBe quiet,” Nat said, although he was certain the terrified pounding of his heart could be heard as surely as the pounding of English boot-steps on the ground.
    They came to a clearing, and in it, a tiny village. About fifteen houses sat about in no sense of pattern and with no true lanes. These houses were