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Show Page 2 I did not dare swat the rat for fear of striking Aunt Mary. It was a bold rat. It bared its teeth and continued snuffling round Aunt Mary's head. Though we have lived with rats since we came on board the Jonathan the last week in March, the sight of one so near made my hands clammy and a trickle of sweat crept down my back. I bethought myself of the bite marks I had seen on the neck of one woman who had died. Cautiously I slammed my shoe down on the wooden planking beside my aunt. Anne, sleeping on the other side of Aunt Mary, awoke with a start, but Aunt Mary slept on. Finally, holding my breath, I took careful aim and swung, catching the wily creature on the end of its tail. With a nasty squeak it was gone, no doubt to lurk about some other unwitting sleeper. Anne smiled at me in the dusk, then rolled over and was soon asleep. I envied her ability to fall asleep so easily. I found it nigh impossible to sleep soundly as long as the Jonathan was rocked and buffeted like a twig caught in a millrace. And once awake, the stifling heat, the biting lice, the retching, and the stench of unwashed bodies and vomit made more rest impossible. Lucky Aunt Mary, I thought, keeping a wary eye open for sight of scurrying shadows and lifting my skirts away from a runnel of seawater that flowed across the planking. She could sleep through anything. She did not move. Her breathing continued steadily, though even to my unknowing ears, it seemed labored and raspy. |